Page 65 of The Duelist for the Ton
As they turned a corner, Stephen caught sight of the party beside a vast lawn, at the far end of which, three targets had been set up, concentric circles of bright colors that shimmered in the sunlight. Earl Hardwick and his countess sat apart from the others, who stood in various attitudes—some holding teacups, deep in conversation, such as Countess Thorpe and Countess Weston, and others inspecting an array of bows set out on a longtable. Stephen caught sight of Lady Trelawney picking up a bow, helped by Miss Whitcombe, before she set it down again.
Where was…she?
Then he spotted her. Standing at the end of the table, holding a bow, was Lady Portia. Her hair, swept back in a simple, elegant style, shone in the sunlight, the color of a raven’s wing that glimmered with an almost blue sheen. Her eyes, the color of sapphires, were creased into a frown of concentration as she stroked the carved wood of the bow. Her dress, a simple gown of pale blue, was a more muted tone than the silks of the other ladies, but it emphasized the color of her eyes, rendering her the loveliest creature in the garden—nay, the loveliest thing he had ever seen.
He caught his breath and stared at her, drinking in the sight like a man dying in a desert. If only she would remain in that attitude so that he might feast on the sight all day.
Then a male voice called out, “Ah! Come to help me entertain the ladies, Reid?”
Lady Portia stiffened and looked up, and the frown disintegrated, morphing into a smile as her eyes sparkled with delight.
Earl Hardwick, who’d spoken, rose from his seat.
“I thought you might enjoy a little male company, Lord Hardwick,” their hostess said. “Ladies, we’ve another gentleman to entertain us.”
After taking Hardwick’s hand, Stephen greeted the ladies in turn, until he reached the lone figure at the end of the table.
“Lady Portia.”
She took his hand, and he lifted it to his lips.
“You greet me last,” she said, an edge to her voice, “even though you had to pass me by to speak to Olivia.”
He tempered the little devil in the back of his mind that let out a cheer. Most men would consider jealousy in a woman tobe a mark of his virility. But she had no need to be jealous—how could she, when every other woman was nothing to him, compared to her?
“Consider how one eats a fine meal, Lady Portia,” he said. “I myself prefer the savory course near the end. Once I have undertaken the duty of tasting the earlier courses—the roasted meats, soup, and some such—I can permit myself to linger on the final course in the knowledge that I am not obliged to move on to the next.”
She tilted her head to one side, and her eyes darkened. “Are you likening me to acheese straw?”
“Lady Portia, I meant no offense. I—”
The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. “I’m rather partial to a cheese straw.” She glanced about the garden. “I cannot see your sister.”
“Angela is still in London,” he said.
“I should have liked to see her again.”
“Even after her incivility toward you at Vauxhall Gardens?”
She smiled. “I’m not one to take offense at a little incivility from a young girl—and I’d never forgive myself if I were the reason for your not bringing her with you today.”
He took her hand. “Rest assured, you are blameless. I acted out of Angela’s benefit. I fear her impetuousness may lead her to harm. She’s not ready to attend a house party.”
“Then you must permit me to invite her to family supper once we’ve returned to Town,” she said. “And Olivia also, of course. I should like to see Olivia gain a wider acquaintance with those who would not judge her for her birth. Her Season proved something of a disaster, and while Whitcombe seems convinced that she’ll make a successful match, I know it pains dear Eleanor to see Olivia being subjected to the spite of others.” She nodded toward Miss Whitcombe, who was laughing withLady Trelawney. “Of course, there’s no such danger today—she’s in good company.”
“The best company,” Stephen said, bowing over her hand.
“I feel a little sorry for poor Earl Hardwick,” she said.
“How so?”
“For the duration of the morning, he’s been the only gentleman among a company of women. A large group of ladies in a social gathering can be a fearsome prospect for a gentleman.”
“It depends on the ladies, surely?” he said. “Though I confess surprise at Hardwick’s deciding to forgo the shooting. He’s an excellent shot, or so I hear.”
“He’s also an overprotective husband. Lady Hardwick’s expecting their fourth child.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Given the history regarding Hardwick’s first wife, he is to be forgiven for wanting to remain by Beatrice’s side at all times. He remained in her bedchamber through each confinement—can you credit that?”
“Is that not the definition of love, for a man to act out of character?”
