by Rose Pearson
Shrugging his shoulders, he frowned hard, trying to reconcile all that he felt and all that he considered. Whilst everything that he said was quite true, there was still something more about his acquaintance with Miss Bartlett that was lacking. Whilst he had been grateful for Lady Croome and her support in encouraging the acquaintance, he had found it very difficult to have even the smallest conversation with Miss Bartlett, despite his attempts. She had begun to relax just a little after a good few minutes, but their discussion had been stilted, and even he had struggled to think of what to say. As they had walked in the park, Oliver had found himself wishing for the ease of manner that came whenever he spoke with Lady Croome. With her, he never once struggled with what to say, with what to remark or comment upon. There had never been any difficulty between them in that regard, not even from their very first conversation! When Lady Croome and Miss Bartlett had walked back to the carriage, leaving him to walk behind, he had found himself unconsciously comparing the two ladies and finding that, no matter what he considered, Lady Croome was always superior.
“I am being foolish, of course,” he said aloud, a little irritated with himself. It would not do to compare the two women, especially since he had been acquainted with Lady Croome for some time and had developed an intimacy within their friendship that could not be easily replicated. “I am sure that I should give a little more consideration to Miss Bartlett, especially given that Lady Croome has put so much effort into encouraging the acquaintance.” Even as he spoke, Oliver became aware of a small stab of pain entering his heart. Confused, he frowned hard, wondering at why he had felt such a thing simply because he had mentioned Lady Croome and her attempts to find him a suitable bride. He had asked her to do so, had he not? Why then would he feel such a strange emotion when she was being very successful indeed in all that he had asked her?
“Is something troubling you?”
Jerking himself out of his own thoughts, Oliver shook his head quickly. “Nothing,” he lied. “Save for what I am to do about Miss Bartlett.”
This did not appear to convince Lord Jennings, for his brow lifted, and he looked back at Oliver with a doubtful expression.
“I am conflicted as to whether or not I continue the acquaintance, or if I do nothing but give up and ask Lady Croome for her next suggested lady,” Oliver continued hastily, doing his utmost to cover up his own feelings so that he would not have to either continue to consider them himself or speak of them to Lord Jennings. “Miss Bartlett may, in time, begin to speak openly to me, but that will take many weeks, if not months, to achieve, and I should like to, at the very least, know the lady fairly well before I wed her.”
For some inexplicable reason, this statement brought Lord Jennings to laughter, which only made Oliver all the more confused. Looking back at his friend, he waited until the man’s laughter had subsided before spreading his hands in silent question—but Lord Jennings did not answer him as he wished.
“It is of little importance,” Lord Jennings said, his lips still pulled into a wide grin. “And I am afraid I cannot advise you regarding Miss Bartlett. That is entirely your own decision, Yarmouth.” His smile faded, and an expression of seriousness flooded his features. “Although I would say that anything that requires a great deal of effort must be worth that effort. If you are to continue with Miss Bartlett, then you must expect to consider her seriously as your bride, for you shall put in a great deal of time and energy into discovering her character given that she is both quiet and reluctant to converse with you.”
Oliver rubbed one hand over his eyes. “That is quite so,” he agreed, grateful for his friend’s advice. “Now, perhaps we should consider departing so that my mind is not taken up solely by Miss Bartlett.” He smiled at his friend. “If you are quite ready, that is?”
They were both to attend an evening assembly but had not been in any hurry to make their way there. Lord Wimple’s evening assembly would be very much like the gentleman himself, they had concluded. Slow to begin, only to burst into life after some hours had passed. However, although Oliver had been initially very glad to wait at home for a few additional hours, he now found himself eager to make his way there at once, if only so that his mind might stop whirring.
It was not that he only considered Miss Bartlett through all of this, but rather that Lady Croome was present in his thoughts also, although he could not quite understand why. There was no reason for him to continue considering her, no real explanation as to why he struggled to remove her from his thinking, but try as he might, she continued to linger there. When he thought of Miss Bartlett, he thought of Lady Croome, comparing the two as though they were in competition. Perhaps, he told himself, it was simply because the intimacy he shared with Lady Croome at present was what he sought from his potential bride to be and, in finding that ease of conversation and manner lacking, he then felt inclined towards Lady Croome herself rather than Miss Bartlett.
“You ask me if we are to make our way to the evening assembly and then continue to sit there as though stupefied!”
Oliver jerked in his seat, looking up to see Lord Jennings giving him a bemused glance.
“My apologies,” he said quickly. “I was lost in thought.”
“Considering Miss Bartlett again?”
Oliver nodded, ignoring the guilt that flooded him as he lied to his friend. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Lord Jennings chuckled and moved towards the door, leaving Oliver to scramble after him. As they walked to the front of the house together, Oliver was left with the uncomfortable feeling that his friend did not quite believe him when it came to expressing what he had been thinking about. There was a knowing gleam in Lord Jennings’ eye, but still, Oliver did not want to be honest about his strange thoughts regarding Lady Croome. They would fade away quickly, he told himself. It was only because he was in this situation of being forced to find a bride that he was now struggling with his own considerations. There was nothing more than that.
“Good evening, Lady Croome.”
Oliver’s heart leaped in his chest as Lady Croome dropped into a quick curtsy.
I am merely glad to see her, he told himself as she smiled up at him. At least with Lady Croome, I am not expected to play the part of a gentleman interested in pursuing a further acquaintance! I can just be as I am at present.
“You look a little tired, Lord Yarmouth,” Lady Croome said with a note of concern in her voice. “Are you quite well?”
“I believe he has a lot on his mind regarding Miss Bartlett,” Lord Jennings interrupted before Oliver could say anything. “Very uncertain about the lady, I must say.”
Shooting a hard look at Lord Jennings—a look which was not easily accepted for Lord Jennings only grinned and shrugged—Oliver turned his attention back to Lady Croome, seeing her enquiring expression, although the concern had not quite left her eyes.
“I am quite all right,” he said as she smiled at him. “Lord Jennings and I have been discussing the merits of Miss Bartlett, that is all.”
Lady Croome dropped her gaze, a slight redness flooding her cheeks. Confused, Oliver came a little closer to her, instantly forgetting about Lord Jennings’ presence.
“Is something wrong, Tabitha?” he asked quietly, his words almost drowned out by the sound of the musicians beginning to play. “Has Miss Bartlett said something that I should know of?”
Oliver’s chest became a little tight as Lady Croome slowly lifted her head, her eyes searching his face and her tongue licking her lips in a most nervous fashion. His hand found hers in an instant, wanting to know what it was that troubled her and, at the same time, wishing eagerly to take away the anxiety that was clearly written there.
“You must forgive me, Yarmouth,” Lady Croome said, her hand pressing his, and it was not until that moment that he realized just how cold her fingers were. “But something has occurred that—”
“Lady Croome!”
In an instant, Lady Croome dropped his hand and turned herself quick
ly to greet an older lady who had clearly made her way across the room to greet her.
“Good evening, Lady Sutherland,” she said quickly, throwing Oliver a glance over her shoulder. “How are you this evening?”
“Very well indeed,” Lady Sutherland replied, a light Scottish lilt dancing through her words. Her eyes, Oliver noticed, turned towards him with an eagerness that sent a small chill running down his back, although, of course, he stepped forward and made to greet the lady at once.
“You are acquainted with Lady Sutherland, Lord Yarmouth?” Lady Croome asked, her eyes a little round as she looked up at him. “I believe you met a few Seasons ago.”
Oliver nodded, recalling the imposing figure of the lady he had once been introduced to but whom he had never again spoken to. “It was two years ago, I believe?” he asked, bowing low. “Although I might be mistaken.”
Lady Sutherland laughed, her bright manner encouraging Oliver a little.
“You are quite correct, Lord Yarmouth,” she said, clearly delighted that he had recalled her. “But I do not think you were ever introduced to my daughter.” Her eyes fixed to his, and Oliver, despite his surprise at such a statement, forced himself to remain entirely composed.
“No, I did not,” he said with something of a tight smile. “I do not think I ever had the pleasure, Lady Sutherland.”
She laughed again, but this time, the sound began to grate on Oliver’s ears. A quick glance towards Lady Croome told him that she was a little embarrassed, for there was more color in her cheeks than had been there at the first and her eyes were darting from Lady Sutherland to his face and then back again.
“Then,” Lady Sutherland replied, already beginning to turn away, “I shall have the introductions made at once. Do excuse me for a moment, Lord Yarmouth.”
The moment Lady Sutherland stepped away, Oliver turned to Lady Croome.
“What is this?” he whispered, his brows lowering. “Another young lady I am to be introduced to?”
He expected Lady Croome to drop her head with embarrassment, to murmur something that he might be able to consider later, but instead, she lifted her chin and looked directly into his face, her red cheeks already beginning to fade.
“I did not think that Lady Sutherland would be as eager to introduce her daughter to you as all that,” she said firmly, “but yes, you are quite right. It is another young lady for you to consider—and one that Lady Sutherland herself suggested when she approached me some days ago.” One shoulder lifted. “I should be glad of a little appreciation rather than the outright disdain you have shown at present.”
Oliver opened his mouth to refute this, only to close it again as he realized that every word Lady Croome had spoken was quite fair. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself a little. He was not angry with her but perhaps just a little overwhelmed with the swiftness and the confidence of Lady Sutherland’s greetings towards him.
“I would have appreciated knowing that Lady Sutherland intended to introduce her daughter, that is all,” he said as Lady Croome folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “It was a surprise.”
“And as I have said,” Lady Croome replied, frostily, “I did not know that she intended to do so this evening and certainly not with such force. If you recall, we were in the midst of a conversation, and I was about to speak to you of Miss Bartlett but instead was rudely interrupted.” Her brows dropped low and she turned her head away. “Forgive me for trying to do what you have asked of me, Yarmouth.”
A little ashamed of himself, Oliver began to attempt to apologize, only to see Lady Sutherland coming back towards them with a young lady in tow.
His breath caught.
If this was Lady Sutherland’s daughter, then he did not think he had ever seen anyone as beautiful in his life before. She was graceful in her movements, tall and willowy, with a gown of delicate yellow that only drew his attention to her glistening gold curls that, despite being pinned back into a most elegant style, still whispered across her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were a vivid blue and, when she dropped into a curtsy, Oliver was grateful for the few moments he had to bow towards her, for he was struggling to regain his composure, such was his reaction to her beauty.
“Lord Yarmouth, might I present my daughter, Lady Marina,” Lady Sutherland said with a broad smile as though she knew precisely what he was thinking and feeling at that present moment. “Marina, this is the Earl of Yarmouth.”
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Lady Marina’s voice was gentle, her eyes not searching his face in a bold manner but holding his gaze for just a moment before dropping to the floor. She did not say anything more but instead stood quietly, waiting for his response or for her mother to speak.
“As I am glad to make yours,” Oliver found himself saying, his tongue feeling a little too big for his mouth. “Are you quite enjoying the Season thus far?” It was not a question that required a prolonged answer, and her quick response left him struggling to think of what else to say. It was quite ridiculous, of course, for he ought not to base his consideration of a lady on her features alone, but there was something about Lady Marina that seemed to drag him towards her, seemed to force his eyes to linger upon her face.
“My daughter and I were not in London last Season,” Lady Sutherland explained quickly. “She was a little unwell but has since recovered.”
This did not bring a smile to Lady Marina’s face. In fact, there was no reaction at all, for she instead simply continued to keep her eyes fixed to the floor, no smile playing about her lips or frown marring her brow.
“I am glad indeed to hear you have recovered,” Oliver found himself saying, quite desperate to have Lady Marina look at him again, eager to discover whether or not he could make her smile. “London society would be all the poorer without your presence, I am sure.”
This, finally, brought the lady’s eyes back to his for a moment, and, much to his delight, Oliver saw faint color coming to the young lady’s cheeks.
“Have you been to the theatre of late?” he asked as Lady Sutherland looked on approvingly. “There was the most magnificent of plays only last week, which I very much enjoyed.” He turned to gesture to Lady Croome, who had attended with him. “My dear friend...”
The space where Lady Croome had been standing was now entirely vacant. His words died away, his brow furrowing hard as his eyes tore around the room, searching for her. Why had she disappeared in such a fashion? Was it because of what he had said? He had been irritated with her when he had not had any cause to, but he did not think that such a thing would drive Lady Croome away. Heat climbed up his spine as a flood of guilt covered his heart. He had been much too harsh with her and certainly not at all grateful. That had been wrong of him, and he would need to make amends.
“Lord Yarmouth?”
Dragging his attention back to Lady Sutherland and her daughter, Oliver saw the way that she looked at him speculatively, clearly waiting to hear what else he had to say.
“Forgive me,” Oliver replied with a shake of his head. “I thought that Lady Croome still stood here. As I was saying, Lady Marina, I greatly enjoyed the theatre last week, for Lady Croome, Lord Jennings, and I all attended together and had the most excellent of evenings.”
Lady Marina’s mouth curved gently, and, finally, he saw the lady smile. There was a sense of satisfaction in seeing such a thing, and Oliver felt his heart lift, pushing aside the guilt that had held it in its sway for a time.
“We have an intention to attend the theatre very soon,” Lady Sutherland said, once more giving no opportunity for her daughter to speak. “We have not managed to attend as often as I would have liked.”
“Then you must permit me to accompany you,” Oliver said with a small inclination of his head. “It would be a great honor for me, I assure you.”
This seemed to bring about opposite reactions in both the ladies. Lady Marina’s eyes widened, and she looked at her mot
her quickly, although without any sense of eagerness coming from her. Lady Sutherland, on the other hand, was already nodding feverishly, all manner of questions coming to her lips, one after the other. Within a few minutes, an outing to the theatre had been arranged for two days hence, with Oliver promising that he would call for them both in his carriage and would, of course, be glad to show them to his own private box. This seemed to delight Lady Sutherland greatly, for her face was split with a smile, and her eyes danced with excitement.
Lady Marina, on the other hand, had gone a little pale and, whilst she thanked Oliver for his kindness and stated that she was already looking forward to attending with him, there was no happiness in her expression whatsoever. Oliver could not quite understand it but chose to ignore the lady’s reaction completely. It might very well be that Lady Marina was simply nervous about stepping out with a gentleman. The ton would, of course, notice that he had done such a thing and, as such, whispers and rumors would abound, but, Oliver considered, that was to be expected. It was not something that he was at all concerned over, thinking that he would be quite glad to have someone as beautiful as Lady Marina on his arm.
“Ah, they are beginning to dance!” Lady Sutherland cried, turning her head to see some couples starting to form a small group, ready to dance the cotillion. “How wonderful.”
The smile on Oliver’s face spread all the more quickly. “Should you like to dance, Lady Marina?” he asked, offering her his arm and seeing how she started in evident surprise. “The cotillion is an excellent dance, I think.”
Her eyes went to her mother, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod, which Oliver only caught out of the corner of his eye. With a faint appearance of a smile, she took his arm and nodded, allowing him to lead her towards the others. Oliver walked with a sense of pride filling his heart, fully aware that the beau monde would notice his companion and would, most likely, marvel at her beauty and at the fact that he was the one accompanying her for the dance. His steps felt light, his face captured by a broad smile that he did not think would easily fade.