Page 3 of The Meriwell Legacy
What would qualify as something of an inexcusable nature?Alaric was tempted to ask, but held himself back. He didn’t need to encourage Edward—the man was stuffy and stiff enough, convinced of his own superiority, and haughty and condescending with it.
More, Alaric was well acquainted with Percy’s parents. Percy was his mother’s favorite, her youngest child, and consequently would have to blot his copybook in some fairly major way to earn even her displeasure, much less her censure. As for Viscount Mandeville, he’d always treated Percy’s occasional lapses from grace as nothing more than the usual peccadilloes to be expected of a younger son of Percy’s station. Alaric knew that was the viscount’s opinion because Percy’s father had told Alaric so.
Clearly, Edward’s presence at the house party was nothing more than Edward being Edward. Self-important and self-aggrandizing.
Alaric felt compelled to state, “I doubt anything of any real moment will occur. As Monty and I were just remarking, Percy appears to have outdone himself in assembling a felicitous combination of guests.”
Preparing to move on, Alaric glanced about—only to realize he’d remained stationary for too long. Miss Glynis Johnson and Prue Collard were advancing on him, with Robert Fletcher and Monty in tow. It was impossible to mistake the shy intent in Miss Johnson’s eyes. Alaric knew many young ladies viewed him as an unattainable icon, one they’d all like to try their hands at attaching. Clearly, Miss Johnson was set on having her tilt at his windmill.
Inwardly resigning himself to the inevitable, he heard a suppressed snort and turned in time to note that Edward had grown even more rigid, his expression setting in stonily severe lines. Alaric had to wonder what Edward had heard about Prue Collard; it had to be she who had incited his disapprobation given Miss Johnson was, as far as Alaric had gathered, of pristine repute. Prue’s reputation, on the other hand, was distinctly spotty.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Before the others reached them, Edward curtly bowed, turned on his heel, and stalked into the crowd.
Alaric watched Edward go—put to flight by Prue Collard—and decided he owed Prue his very best smile. He turned to greet her and bestowed his welcome with gracious languor, making Prue beam with genuine good humor.
“No need to dazzle me, Carradale.” A good-natured, kind-hearted brassy blonde whom censorious souls might describe as being no better than she should be, Prue halted beside him, drawing Miss Johnson to face him. “As I was saying to Glynis here, you’re not one to exert yourself over any lady.”
“Nonsense.” Alaric aimed an easy smile at Glynis Johnson; a slender, sweet-faced young lady with wheat-blond hair piled in a knot on the top of her head and pretty pale-cornflower-blue eyes, Glynis provided an unflattering contrast for Prue, confirming the older lady’s good nature. “I refute Mrs. Collard’s assertion utterly.” Even though it was true.
With two quick comments, Alaric drew Monty and Robert into a glib, light-hearted exchange centering on the classic romantic pursuits.
“I always thought Romeo’s address to the balcony was a trifle overdone,” Robert stated, eliciting indignant if laughing protests from both ladies.
The five of them continued to entertain each other with similar nonsensical banter.
After ten minutes of easy repartee, Glynis Johnson laid a tentative hand on Alaric’s sleeve. When he looked at her, she softly said, “I find I’m in need of some cooler air. I wonder, my lord, if you would stroll with me on the terrace—just for a few minutes.” She glanced toward a grouping of three chairs set against the wall; on them sat Mrs. Fitzherbert and the two chaperons, Mrs. Macomber and Mrs. Cripps. “I can’t imagine anyone will make anything of it.”
Alaric agreed, although he doubted his reasoning was the same as Miss Johnson’s; all those present knew his tastes did not run to seducing innocent young ladies.
He was more than experienced enough to have refused Glynis’s request without giving offence, but he was, frankly, curious over why she’d chosen him as her escort. With a half bow, he said, “Of course. A few minutes on the terrace will doubtless refresh us both.”
They excused themselves to the other three, none of whom evinced any notable reaction, but as he turned Glynis toward the long windows open to the moonlit terrace, Alaric caught a flash of satisfaction in Prue’s eyes. As he guided the younger lady over the low step into the cool of the night, he deduced that—for some reason—Glynis Johnson had enlisted Prue’s aid in approaching him, presumably so Glynis could have the next minutes alone with him.
Intrigued, he gave Glynis his arm, kept a gentle, unrevealing smile on his lips, steered her along the flagstones, and waited to see what she had in mind.
Artless chatter appeared to be the answer. Contrary to any expectations he might have entertained, Glynis seemed, if anything, relieved to be on his arm; she strolled, apparently carefree, beside him.
Amused, Alaric continued to wonder what she was about. He was too well versed in social exchanges to need to think to keep up his end of the undemanding conversation. For her part, Glynis prattled happily about events and people she’d met during her Season—the plays she’d seen, the exhibitions she’d attended.
She was animated and engaging, but naturally so, and while anyone glimpsing them through the drawing room windows might imagine she was flirting with him, Alaric sensed nothing of the sort. Even when her eyes met his, their expression was open, innocent of guile.
She wasn’t trying to attract him or even to elicit any response from him, yet…
The night air was pleasantly fresh, and strolling with a pretty lady on his arm was no hardship. Her gown, fashioned in that year’s style, was of pale-blue silk, a hue the moonlight rendered almost silver.
Alaric listened to Glynis Johnson’s chatter, nodded and smiled when required, and continued to observe and assess.
After ten minutes had passed and he steered her back into the drawing room, he’d seen her dart two swift, almost-too-quick-to-be-caught glances at someone among the company.
Some gentleman?
It wouldn’t be the first time Alaric had been used as a pawn to incite jealousy.
Not sure what his next move ought to be—he was far more experienced in house-party dynamics than she—he guided her to where Percy and Monty were standing in a group with Cyril, Viscount Hammond, his sister-in-law, Caroline, and Colonel Humphries.
Cyril and Caroline welcomed them eagerly. While the older Walter Humphries chewed Percy’s and Monty’s ears over some matter of military history, Alaric stood beside Glynis and chatted easily—waiting for his chance to depart.
He needed time alone in his library to consider his next steps, matrimonially speaking.
