To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

She shook her head, feeling the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “No! Of course it was nothing.” A forced chuckle left her mouth and she smiled awkwardly. “Nothing at all. We both understand that neither of us feels that way about the other.” Elizabeth resisted the urge to grimace from the pain of those words that were only half-true.

H

e stared at her for a moment. Usually she could read every expression that flashed across Oliver Turner’s face—a talent she had developed from spending countless hours with the man over the course of ten years. But just then, she hadn’t the slightest idea what he was thinking. “Right.” He handed her the slipper. “I’m glad we are both in agreement. Because, honestly Lizzie, you mean so much to me, and…” she wanted to shut her eyes against the words she knew were coming, “…I would never want to lose your friendship.”

She wasn’t exactly sure why falling hopelessly in love with each other would mean they had to sacrifice their friendship…but it didn’t truly matter because she had already prepared herself to hear those words.

Because Elizabeth refused to be a lovesick, pining woman, and also because this little situation only added to her resolve to find someone new to whom she might give her affections, she said, “I agree wholeheartedly.” For good measure she added, “Besides, I’m completely convinced kissing you would have been exactly the same as kissing my brother.”

His head kicked back a little and his brows stitched together. “Well…perhaps not exactly the same.”

She moved past him toward the ballroom door, relishing his offended scowl a bit more than she should have. “Oh, yes—exactly the same. It would have been stale and boring and just plain unremarkable.” She heard him let out a scoff.

It felt a little too good to make him pay for that almost-kiss.

She paused, her hand on the knob of the door, and looked back. “I think you ought to find another entrance back into the ballroom. I’d hate for someone to see us entering together and assume the worst.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Then you would be forced to marry me. A dreadful fate for us both.”

Elizabeth slipped quickly back into the ballroom and shut Oliver behind.

Chapter Three

Oliver’s boots clacked against London’s sidewalk, a haunting echo in the deserted street. It was quiet—almost too quiet compared to the usual bustle of Town. But it was six o’clock in the evening on a Wednesday, which meant most everyone on this elite side of town was inside, dressing and preparing for dinner and a night full of dancing and socializing at Almack’s Assembly Rooms.

He was of course going as well, because he always went. London counted on him to go and flirt with their daughters and dance with their wallflowers. It was his unofficial job to make aging mothers blush and smile and become more pliable toward whatever demand the young ladies were hoping to make on their pitiable guardians. Oliver wasn’t exactly sure when that had become his post in life but, nevertheless, it was.

To say he disliked his situation in life would be a lie. Was it taxing at times? Yes. Did it sometimes demand more of him than he felt he could give? Yes. Did it sometimes land him in courtships, the thought of which made him shudder? Absolutely. But somehow, Oliver still didn’t mind. In fact, he felt a small satisfaction anytime he contributed something to lift another’s day, something to lessen their burden, make them smile. To make them pleased with him.

And thankfully, none of those courtships ever lasted.

Every flirtation or courtship Oliver entered followed the same pattern. They started with a hope so bright he felt the need to squint in its direction and ended with a false conversation about how their relationship had grown into a friendship much too dear and they were better suited for a platonic life. As your friend, I could never ask you to sacrifice a future full of love and devotion for a life of mere friendship.

Which was a little ironic considering he was hopelessly in love with his best friend. But he had to push those thoughts away. He couldn’t marry Elizabeth because—well, he simply couldn’t. Recently, Oliver had even decided to put the whole idea of marriage behind him.

Thankfully, romance and love-filled marriages had become quite in mode over the past few Seasons. Every lady who received his heart-melting speech looked at him as if he were the very manifestation of Eros, sent to earth with the sole purpose of helping her find true love. And perhaps he was. Not a god—but sent to earth to set up love matches among his friends and acquaintances. Because, honestly, he was deucedly good at it.

Nearly every lady Oliver had ever courted had ended up married within two months of their separation. Even Lord Kensworth—or Kenny, as Oliver had nicknamed him ten years ago when they had first become friends—had profited from this odd talent of his. A woman who Oliver had briefly harbored a tendré for—which, admittedly, happened more often than not—had ended up falling in love with Kensworth. They had been married one month ago to the day and Oliver liked to think his presence in the situation was the catalyst for making it happen.

There was a reason people of the ton had nicknamed him “Charming.” Some thought it was because of his smile or the way he flirted, but that wasn’t it. The lesser-known reason was because he seemed to be young ladies’ lucky charm. Oliver was sought after because to court Charming was to find oneself married and well situated swiftly after. But he didn’t mind…for the most part. It was nice to be wanted. And nice to know that in the end, he wouldn’t be responsible for that woman’s happiness. Oliver would never have to worry over becoming his father.

Oliver quickened his steps as the sight of Hatley House—where Elizabeth would be staying for the Season—came into view. But, then he realized that his steps had quickened and forced himself to slow down. Rushing to see Elizabeth was ridiculous. On the other hand, she was new to London and likely feeling a little alone. As her best friend, surely rushing to make certain she was settled and happy was the honorable thing to do? He let himself hurry his steps again until he was standing in front of Hatley House. The home belonged to Mary and Robert, the Countess and Earl of Hatley.

He drew in a deep breath, willing his thoughts and emotions to all line up where they ought to be. Elizabeth was his friend—Kensworth’s younger sister—and that was all. Nothing more. There could never be anything more between them.

Before Oliver took another step toward the front stoop something caught the corner of his eye. He turned to face the small alley that separated Hatley House from the neighboring home and looked up. His body tensed when he realized that a woman was hovering half out of a window on the second floor—a line of knotted bed linens dangled from the window, forming a sort of rope. He didn’t even need to see the woman’s face to know who it was.

Elizabeth.

Oliver jogged into the alley and craned his neck to look up at his friend, who had apparently gone mad enough to risk her life climbing out of a second story window.

“Lizzie!” Oliver called out as quietly as he could and still have his voice reach her. He glanced sideways toward the street, hoping his voice hadn’t alerted any bystanders to Elizabeth’s madness.

“Oliver?” said Elizabeth, pausing her descent and peering down over her shoulder with such a pleased smile that it made a warm sensation spread through his chest.

No. No warm feelings, Oliver.

But then her smile fell away and she just looked annoyed that he had caught her. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, resisting a grin at the sight of her—skirts bunched up in her hand, excitedly scaling down a wall using bed linen as a rope, with more length of her legs showing than he was comfortable admitting he had noticed. Granted, it wasn’t actually much. No more than he had already seen when she would lift her skirts to walk with him through the streams of Dalton Park during the blissful summers of their youth. But the difference was, Oliver no longer felt the same way toward Elizabeth as he had during most of those summers. She had been a child back then, but certainly was not now.