Page 48 of Oddity of the Ton
“Oh!” she cried. “You understand.”
He lifted his hand and, with light fingertips, traced a line along the side of her face. Then he plucked a stray tendril of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, caressing her earlobe. Her breath caught, and she closed her eyes, relishing the sensation.
I believe I do understand you, Eleanor, as you understand me.
She opened her eyes to see him looking directly at her, a flicker of need in his eyes.
Had he spoken aloud? Or had she merely dreamed it, as she had dreamed of him so many times before?
Then he lowered his hand, and her heart ached at the sense of loss.
“Would you permit me to see some of your portraits?” he asked.
Heavens!What would he think if he saw her portraits of him? There must be fifty, at least, each one revealing how shesaw him—as a demigod. If he thought her soft in the head already, then one perusal of her sketchbook would confirm his suspicions.
“Forgive my forwardness, Miss Howard,” he said. “It’s not for me to ask such a thing. I merely wish to know you better.”
Her heart leaped with hope. “Do you?”
“Of course. Any betrothed couple is expected to be well acquainted with each other. And we must convince the world that we are betrothed—at least until we part.”
Eleanor swallowed her disappointment at the blunt reminder of the falsity of their circumstances.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she mumbled.
“Excellent!” he said brightly. “And now, rather than continue with my inquisition, I should begin your first lesson in the language of thedim-witted Society miss.”
He winked, and she couldn’t help smiling. Of course they’d part once their game was over. But, rather than wallow in self-pity over the inevitable ending, she should enjoy the time they had.
“Shall we begin with a few simple phrases, Miss Howard?”
She nodded.
“Good—very good. Now, you must repeat each phrase after me, then I’ll explain its true meaning.”
He glanced around the park, where people milled about—couples strolling beside the Serpentine, children herded by their governesses, lone gentlemen riding along the path, their horses’ tails swishing in the air to deflect the flies.
Eleanor’s gaze settled on a small party ahead, Lady Arabella Ponsford together with Lady Irma Fairchild, and—oh my—they were accompanied by Mr. Moss.
“What is it, Miss Howard?” her companion asked, concern in his voice.
“Th-there’s someone I know ahead.”
“You mean the Ladies Arabella and Irma, and Mr. Moss? You’ve nothing to fear fromthem.”
“I doubt that,” she said. “I once trod on Mr. Moss’s toe at a ball, and he’s never let me forget—neither has Lady Arabella. She always gets the better of me.”
“Then let us remedy that,” he said. “Now, on first greeting an acquaintance, you ought to remark on the weather, or her state of health.”
“Even if I have nothing of interest to say about either?”
“Precisely,” he said. “Society language isn’t intended to garner interest. It’s merely the steps in a particularly dull dance to navigate oneself from one end of the ballroom to another. So, with Lady Arabella, you could begin your greeting by saying, ‘I trust you are well.’ Or, if you wish to elicit a response, you could ask her a question, such as ‘And how are you on this fine day?’”
“Even if I care not one jot how she is?”
He let out a laugh. “The less we care about the person to whom we’re speaking, the more we should enthuse over them.”
“So, we should say the opposite of how we’re feeling?” Eleanor asked. Then she glanced ahead at Lady Arabella arm in arm with Lady Irma.
