Page 15 of A Gentleman's Reckoning
Geny laughed with the words, “you are biased,” on her lips, but they died unspoken on her tongue. There, in front of her,stood Mr. Rowles. He wasn’t speaking with anyone in particular, and indeed was looking a little out of place as he searched the crowd. Because she saw him first, she was able to witness his reaction when he discovered her presence.
He started in surprise as soon as he caught sight of her, then turned more fully to face her. She could not tell if he was happy to see her or not and feared it made no difference to him. Then he smiled, and it sent the giddy feelings soaring that she had been keeping at bay. Although she returned his smile, she was distressed to have had the reaction of a schoolgirl—and here she was, a young woman of twenty-three. With that smile of his, she could only assume that, gentleman or not, Mr. Rowles wasverysuccessful with women. The thought made her pinch her lips and rein in her outward display of enthusiasm.
He came before her and bowed. “Lady Eugenia, what a surprise to see you here. Truly, I did not expect it.”
“Nor I you, Mr. Rowles.” She noticed his glance at her side and remembered Margery’s presence. “Please allow me to present you to Miss Buxton. She is a friend of mine.”
“A pleasure, Miss Buxton.” Mr. Rowles bowed, then turned back to Geny as though she had absorbed his entire interest. The small gesture reassured her because she knew that Margery was very comely. He could have been forgiven for staring.
Margery returned the greeting, then touched Geny’s arm. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I can see my mother sending me looks from here, which means she wishes to speak to me.”
“Of course,” Geny said, and Mr. Rowles bowed again as Margery left.
“How do you know Mrs. Sookholme?” Geny asked before an awkward silence could come between them. She feared it—and feared he would find her uninteresting.
“I was only just introduced to her. A friend had me invited tothe party since I am…new to this area. I do not have many acquaintances here.”
The fact that he stumbled on his words made her think that he was about to say something else, but she put it out of her mind. She nodded and smiled inanely, a slight panic rising within as her own conversational arts seemed to have fled. Then Mr. Rowles caught her gaze and held it, which steadied her.
“And how do you know our hostess?” he asked. “Have you come with your…family?”
Once again, he hesitated in his speech, and she wondered whether he could be equally as nervous around her. His regard that evening seemed more purposeful than when they had first met. It was as if their brief time together visiting the orphanage had given them cause to become friends. She hoped she was not imagining it.
“I have only just met Mrs. Sookholme. And I came with Miss Buxton, to whom I’ve just introduced you. She spoke to me of the ball yesterday and secured an invitation for me. There are many people here who have in the past contributed to the finances of the asylum, and some are supporting it still. She thought I might like to meet them and thank them in person.”
He studied her, and once she stopped talking, she felt the weight of his regard even more. It made it difficult to breathe or know where to look.
“You are an extraordinary woman, my lady. You truly seem to care for the asylum as though it were the central-most part of your life. Do you not attend parties for pleasure?” He left unspoken what she could only assume. Did she mingle with people of her status?
“I attend Almack’s almost every week because my father wishes me to.” She stopped suddenly, wondering if he knew what that was. “It is a place where people gather on Wednesday evenings to dine and dance.”
Laughter sprang to his eyes, and she did not know the causefor it but suspected she had committed a social solecism. It should have made her feel more unsure of herself as though he were laughing at her, yet it did not seem as though he were. It also made his expression more approachable.
“And do you attend the opera and other parties?” he asked, making no further reference to Almack’s.
“Oh, yes, of course. I frequently attend the opera and am often invited to the musicals held by certain members of society, along with the balls, the routs, the card games. All the usual things.” She was rambling.
The laughter faded from his eyes, but his smile was warm. “It is even more impressive, then, that you are so devoted to the orphans. I could not help but notice that it is not a simple duty to you, as though you are doing a good work. I have the distinct impression that nothing could keep you from giving your time there. I do not know many such people.”
She turned to him. “Are you not? I would think that the simpler people are, the more they would be concerned with benevolence.” She frowned as soon as she spoke the words, realizing too late that she had insulted him by declaring the people he frequented were simpler.
“What I think is that there are good and benevolent people in all spheres of society, whether simple or elevated. And there are, unfortunately for us all, dastardly people in those spheres as well. Those who behave in an ignoble fashion and who set out to deceive others can be found in the Upper Ten Thousand as easily as they can in the merchant class or a village of tenant farmers.”
She raised her brows. “You sound as though you are speaking out of experience.”
The dark look that had come over him disappeared, and his smile returned. He shook his head. “Forgive me, my lady. Iwasspeaking out of experience. But let us set our minds on the people who are good. Like you.”
She laughed that he would think it. “Good enough, I suppose. I do not think about goodness or trying to achieve such an impossible standard. It is much better to focus on attempting to love.”
Strains of music sounded from the far corner of the ballroom where a small orchestra was seated on a raised dais, and she turned toward it, then cast her eyes to the people setting up for a quadrille in the center of the floor. She hoped he would ask her to dance, and this caused her to return her regard to him where she caught his expression. There was an intensity there, and she wondered at it until the echo of her words rang in her mind.
…attempting to love.Good heavens! She had been talking about the orphans. Not romantic love. But had he assumed she was speaking of that? Or making allusions to himself? Suddenly she was flustered and could feel a deep, burning heat rise up in her cheeks. It was both merciless and flattering, then, that he held her gaze until she blinked and looked away.
“I fear this is presumptuous of me, given the difference in our status,” Mr. Rowles said, “but would you do me the honor of dancing with me, my lady?”
Geny held on to every bit of her rigorous upbringing to keep her feelings from springing out in all directions and returned a careful, gracious curtsy. “I would be delighted to dance with you, Mr. Rowles.”
He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand around it. As they walked to the floor, she smelled his scent that was like wood smoke, and citrus, and…and grass.Was that it?Did he use a soap like that, or was that just his natural scent? She felt the firm muscles of his arm, so unlike other suitors who offered to escort her—or when Mr. Dowling offered his slender arm. Mr. Rowles was likely a man accustomed to hard labor, she reminded herself, attempting to use this as an excuse to forget about any possible future with him. This endeavor wassingularly unsuccessful, for she could only think about how much she would like to be wrapped in those strong, protective arms.
