Page 30 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Oh dear. You caught me by surprise. Are you all right?” he asked the woman, who he now recognized as Miss Wentham.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she bobbed a curtsy, her pink skirt brushing the ground. “I am fine, thank you, Lord Longley.”
She glanced at Amelia, then looked back at him. “When my mother spotted you, I knew we simply must say hello.” She gestured at the two women behind her. “This is my sister, Mrs. Cordover. I do not believe you’ve met.”
Andrew nodded to both women. “Charmed, Mrs. Cordover. Mrs. Wentham. Do you know Miss Hart?”
“They’ve met,” Miss Wentham said briskly, not giving either her mother or sister the opportunity to respond—not that they seemed inclined to. “May we walk with you, my lord?”
He sneaked a look at Miss Hart, who had withdrawn back into herself, although he couldn’t say whether that was a result of the Wenthams’ presence or his own bungle.
“I have been enjoying Miss Hart’s company,” he said. He didn’t wish to be rude, but how many men would want to be stuck between two potential future partners?
Not him, that was for certain.
“She will continue to accompany us, of course,” Miss Wentham demurred. Studying her expression, no one would ever know the disdain she’d shown toward Miss Hart previously.
“I’m afraid we cannot dally long. I must return Miss Hart to her parents before the hour is up.” That wasn’t true, but he couldn’t think of any other excuse that would not be impolite.
“And so you shall.” Miss Wentham didn’t seem at all put off. “Let us walk, then.”
Casting a quick apologetic glance at Miss Hart, Andrew fell into step with the other women. He kept Miss Hart tucked against his side, but though she was physically close, she didn’t speak a word, and it felt as if there may as well be a chasm between them.
He tried to include her in the conversation, but Miss Wentham was adept at monopolizing his attention and steering away from any subjects on which Miss Hart may be willing and able to contribute. The more she chattered away, the further Miss Hart faded into the background.
At first, he thought perhaps she was just shy, but as time moved on, he began to notice the firm line of her mouth and the tension at the corners of her eyes.
She was miserable.
“Where did you get that dress?” Miss Wentham asked her, smiling slyly.
Miss Hart glanced down. “From Madam Baptiste.”
Miss Wentham pouted with faux sympathy. “Last season? The cut is a little outdated.”
“I think it suits her,” he said, refusing to allow anyone to denigrate her in his company.
“Perhaps it does.” Miss Wentham seemed amused, as if her casually cruel comments were the height of witticism.
He stopped walking and checked his watch. “My apologies, but we really must be off.” He tugged on Miss Hart’s arm and guided her away from their companions. Mary hurried behind, shooting a nasty look at Miss Wentham.
“Well, that was lovely,” Miss Hart remarked when they were far enough away not to be overheard.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have entertained the notion of walking with them when she was clearly out to make trouble.”
Miss Hart seemed startled by the apology, which only irritated him more. People should expect common decency.
“Don’t think on it,” she said. “No harm was done.”
“No one has the right to make anyone else feel inferior,” he growled.
Her eyebrows rose. “I’m not sure if you realize this, but as far as most of the ton is concerned, I am inferior. I’m the daughter of a merchant and a social climber. Even if not for that, I am something of a wallflower, which would earn me disdain in my own right. When the two are combined, I am a crime against the aristocracy waiting to happen, and everyone knows it.”
He stared at her, stunned by the eloquence with which she had spoken. Miss Hart may be slightly awkward and unwilling to open up most of the time, but she was clearly an intelligent woman who felt passionately about the things that mattered to her.
He looked her in the eyes. “If I may speak bluntly?”
She nodded. “Please do.”
