Page 10 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“You want to say something?” his aunt asked.
“Um...um...” He could see how his aunt was staring at him, and he knew she expected something. “Yes,” he said swiftly, feeling as though he had finally understood what she wanted. “May I have the honour of the first dance?” he asked Miss Worthington.
His aunt inclined her head fractionally, her expression relaxing. He had clearly guessed correctly. He looked swiftly away and towards the lady, who he’d just asked to dance.
He saw her eyes widen, and then she blinked, twice, as though he had asked her the question in formal Latin, so she didn’t understand. She probably understood Latin, he thought swiftly, recalling the library incident, as she cleared her throat.
“Yes. Yes, you may.”
Her gaze moved to the floor, and he could swear she felt shy, like him. It wasn’t possible, though, since she was so well-tutored and seemed to have so much more polish than he did.
“Thank you,” he said smoothly. He swallowed again, his throat tightening again, this time in relief. He had managed to be polite and mannerly, at least.
He looked up and Aunt Julia was watching him, her extremely dark eyes warm. He felt instantly better, even though he did wonder instantly, what plan was in her mind. He knew her. Nothing she did was trivial.
“My lord? Lady Walden?” Aunt Julia said smoothly. “How is the springtime here in London?”
“Fine, fine,” Lord Walden replied at once, beaming at Aunt Julia. “The townhouse is most commodious, and we like it very much.”
“Yes,” Lady Walden agreed. “A grand place for parties. Though we have not the space you have in Haredale Manor, of course.” She gave a light laugh, a fine, high sound.
Owen turned and looked at the young lady. She wasstanding very still, her shoulders slumped, looking at her toes. She seemed terribly uncomfortable, and he felt his heart twist. She looked unhappy here, and he could find some sympathy in his heart for that. He felt terribly awkward too.
“...and the townhouse has capacity for hosting six guests in their own suite...” Lord Walden was saying as he turned towards her parents.
He saw Miss Worthington stiffen, and he bit his lip. She was clearly uncomfortable with this evident assertion of their wealth, and he couldn’t blame her. It was a little disconcerting, if he was honest. His aunt certainly wasn’t flaunting the Haredale estate at Lord Walden.
“Um, miss?” he said, clearing his throat. She looked up at him suddenly, and those blue eyes lanced through him, her gaze unfocused.
“Sorry...I don’t know if I misheard you. Didn’t mean to be rude,” she murmured, and he felt his fear turn to confusion. She was clearly forcing herself to be polite, the words not touching her eyes, which looked as though her thoughts were miles away. He shivered.
“No, you didn’t,” he said at once. “Um...I was wondering if you liked frescoes. There’s one over there. On the wall. That’s the normal place. For frescoes, I mean.” He winced; cheeks hot.
You’re babbling,he told himself crossly.What will she think? That you’re a simpleton.
His tutor would have been ashamed of him. He swallowed hard. She looked up at him and he expected that beautiful gaze to burn him. But oddly, it had lost some of its force as if his rambling foolery had made her soften to him.
“A fresco? I’d like to see it,” she said at once.
“Oh? That’s good.” He swallowed hard, relieved.
He felt heat flood through him as he walked with her towards the wall he meant. There was one fresco in the ballroom,near the back, showing a scene of wheat being harvested. It was a pastoral scene, one of the style that had been awfully popular forty years ago, and he stood with her looking up at it. The sky in the painting was pale blue, dotted with clouds, and trees framed the scene of beautiful women with rather low-cut gowns raking up the wheat while men worked with blades to cut it.
“It’s well painted,” Miss Worthington commented.
“It is?” he stammered. “I mean...yes. It is.” He drew a breath, inwardly calling on Grantham or his father to give him strength. He’d been away from society for too long and it seemed he was forgetting his manners.
“The shading on the arms is exquisite,” she murmured.
“Yes. Yes.” This time he managed to sound distant and unmoved. That was a lot better than awkward and babbling nonsense.
“And the cart. It’s got just the right level of detail.”
“Mm. Very fine,” Owen murmured. She was gazing at him, and she looked a little confused. He felt his stomach tighten.
Maybe I’ve offended her somehow. But I still think quiet and disinterested is better.
“And the detail on the faces is well done too.”
