Page 2 of The Baron Without Blame
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Of all the people who could have thrown open the balcony doors at that exact moment, it had to be Phoebe Leighster. Phoebe, who considered herself so clever to have married a marquess last year. Phoebe, who made up for her lack of friends by gossiping about anyone and everyone. Phoebe, who dramatically screamed, “Not Lolly Turner!”
Lolly straightened squarely onto her two feet and pressed both palms onto her pannier, as if that would sort everything out. “Lady Leighster, how clever. Have you seen my mother?”
This did not sort everything out. No sooner had Lolly gotten the word “mother” out than did Mama arrive, stopping short just behind Phoebe, her rouged lips opening into a horrified “o.”
“My skirts got caught on the balcony.” Lolly addressed this to Mama. “This gentleman was kind enough to free them for me.”
The gentleman in question was still crouching. As if cued by her words, he stood, and Lolly stole a look at him. Before, she had only been able to make out a general shape. He was tall, that much she had gathered; now she took in the fashionable wig; a slim nose; silver and blue silk stretched across broad shoulders; strong legs in breeches and stockings.
A dashing figure to match his deep, velvety voice.
She looked away. His handsomeness would only hurt the situation, so there was no point in delighting in it.
“Lord Preston, I am shocked!” Phoebe Leighster declared. She did look rather horrified, and Lolly wondered if she had extramarital designs on this Lord Preston.
He was a baron, if Lolly remembered the family correctly, and only recently inherited. She stole another glance; yes, now she saw the black crepe ribbon tied about his left arm. The poor man was still in mourning, and now caught on a balcony with her.
“You have not been introduced,” Mama said, her dark eyes turning from Lolly to Lord Preston and back again.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Lord Preston said. “I did not realize the balcony was occupied until Miss Turner sneezed, and then I hesitated to leave when she was indisposed by…a mischievous wardrobe.”
Lolly knew he hesitated because it was indecent to mention her skirts, but she also heard how it sounded. To her mother or to Phoebe – or to her father, who unfortunately Lolly now spotted fast approaching – it sounded like Lord Preston was searching for some explanation to cover a clandestine kiss.
She wished it had been a clandestine kiss. At least that would have been worth all this fuss.
Lolly held up the offending skirt as proof. “You see? My dress is quite ruined. We must go home at once.”
Except here came her father. He hovered behind Phoebe Leighster for all of two seconds. Then, with frighteningly white lips, he stepped onto the balcony. “What is going on here?”
“It was my allergies,” Lolly tried to explain. Mama spoke at the same time: “I only left her alone for a moment!”
But it was Phoebe Leighster who spoke loudest. “Lolly Turner, caught on the balcony with a man she hasn’t been introduced to!”
Lolly felt a hundred eyeballs turn towards the balcony. She wondered what the other guests could see from the ballroom. The white silk in Lord Preston’s hand? The red of her nose from such terrible sneezing? Or just the horrified backs of her parents and Lady Leighster?
Her father looked her over once more. Then he turned. “Well, Preston?”
Panic surged into Lolly’s throat. She needed to stop this. She needed to explain. But when she opened her mouth, the air – filled with perfumes and colognes and flowers and city fumes – tickled her throat and nose, and she couldn’t help it.
She sneezed again.
And Lord Preston had no choice but to say, “I shall call upon you tomorrow, Lord Turner, to make a formal offer.”
Chapter Two
London townhouses all looked the same to Martin. Too slim, too tall, with windows staring blankly into the gray streets. The Turner residence was no different, even with potted flowers blooming at either corner of its door. The liveried butler accepted Martin’s card on a shining silver tray, then escorted him directly to Turner’s study without seeing if anyone was at home.
Martin supposed they had been waiting all morning for him to call.
What a sticky situation.
He would have married in the next few years, anyway. After all, he had the title now, and the land, and everything that went with it. Just last night, his peers had been all too eager to tell him what to do with it. The most obvious of which was to find a wife and see to heirs.
It was only that Martin hadn’t yet aligned himself to that goal. He didn’t know what kind of wife he wanted, whether he needed someone who could support a political career or someone who wanted seven children or someone who would simply leave him be.
He had hoped to solidify his other plans before asking a poor soul to trudge alongside him.
