But…maybe she had been secretly hoping it would make him at least a tiny bit jealous.
“Olly!” said Carver, walking his horse up next to where they were standing. “Come to play chaperone with us? I’m dreading this day a little less now that I know you get to suffer with me.” Luckily the rest of the group was engrossed in conversation and hadn’t heard her brother’s ineloquent speech. But he wasn’t wrong. The day would, unfortunately, be vastly more enjoyable with Oliver present. Everything was more enjoyable with him. And more attractive. And smelled better.
“You know how much I enjoy being tortured by the ton,” said Oliver with a glittering smile.
“I do. Which is why I was a little surprised when I heard you didn’t wish to make up one of our party.”
Oliver’s eyes slid to Elizabeth’s—slow and deliberate, piercing her with one of his looks, conveying meaning in a secret language only the two of them could understand. He raised his brows. Her face filled with heat.
“Believe me, Kenny. I’m just as surprised by my choice to not attend as you are.” He smiled wickedly in Elizabeth’s direction. “But Hatley did not feel comfortable leaving your sister and persuaded me to take his place.” Oliver inched just the slightest bit closer to Elizabeth. She could feel the hairs on her arms stand up from the challenging look in his eyes but refused to acknowledge the sensation. “You don’t mind, do you, Lizzie?”
She pressed her lips together in a closed smile before replying, “Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t mind.” Except she did, very much. She wanted to murder Robert for giving up his place. And murder Oliver for acting so smug about finding a way into the party he had clearly been excluded from. Well, murder him or kiss him. One of the two.
Elizabeth turned her eyes to Lord Hastings, poised upon his horse. She was a little surprised when she realized he was watching her from the corner of his eye. Watching her and Oliver? She was suddenly filled with the urge to shove Oliver away from her. He was going to sabotage everything somehow. She just knew it.
Chapter Nineteen
How many times, really, could a woman say, “Oh, Mr. Turner, you’re so droll!” and reach out and touch his sleeve?
Five.
Elizabeth knew because that’s exactly how many times she had heard Miss Barley utter the insipid phrase. Elizabeth had been forced to ride behind Oliver and the woman who was named after a grain and possessed the eyelashes of a spider. She had listened to her flirt with Oliver, and he had returned her flirtations with charming smiles for the entire ride thus far. One obnoxious smile after another.
How was it that Elizabeth was supposed to be having an afternoon of flirtations that made Oliver jealous—No, wait. Where had that thought come from? She was not here to make Oliver jealous. The flirtatious afternoon was only meant to encourage Lord Hastings. But instead, her thoughts were too focused on trying not to grind her teeth into dust while being forced to watch Oliver prove how effectively he could flirt with the opposite sex.
Miss Barley had used every trick in the book. At one point she had even asked Oliver to ride a little closer to her so that she might retrieve a leaf—or rather, a nonexistent leaf—from his hat. They had not even ridden through foliage. The worst part of it all was that Oliver complied with every one of Miss Barley’s outlandish requests. And there were many. Elizabeth continued to hope that Lady Olivia or Miss Marion would draw Oliver’s attention—if only so that Elizabeth might have received a respite from hearing the woman’s nasally voice. But, alas, no. The two younger ladies seemed perfectly content to ride in one another’s company, giggling and swapping stories in hushed voices.
Elizabeth envied the young ladies. It would have been nice to gain a female friend in London, rather than constantly be on the receiving end of Miss Barley’s haughty sneers anytime Oliver reciprocated one of her vapid compliments. Miss Barley’s eyes seemed to claim Oliver, and warn Elizabeth off from interfering. Elizabeth didn’t plan to. She didn’t have any desire to compete with the woman.
So she told herself. But if it were true, why was Elizabeth laughing loudly at something Lord Hastings had just said, despite having not even heard it? She knew the answer as soon as she received the response she had secretly been hoping for. Oliver looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.
“How funny you are, my lord,” Elizabeth said, looking at Hastings over a slightly lifted shoulder like she’d seen other women do when they were trying to look attractive. Was she doing it correctly? She sort of felt as if she looked deranged. And whose attention was she truly trying to gain? Lord Hastings’s or Oliver’s?
Lord Hastings’s. Definitely Lord Hastings's attention. She simply needed to focus on the viscount and block out the ugly jealousy she was feeling toward Miss Barley and the attention Oliver was giving her.
Lord Hastings's brows pulled together but he smiled, evidently confused, but nonetheless enjoying the sudden attention. “Well, I suppose that taking a toss during a fox hunt and nearly being trampled to death might be viewed as humorous. In a sort of dark way, I suppose.” Oh. Is that what he had just said? Oh, dear.
Elizabeth noticed Oliver’s ears strain back like they always did when he was trying not to release a full laugh. She needed to recover herself. It was time to take the game up a step. No, not a game. What she meant was, it was time to ensure her relationship with the man riding beside her.
Elizabeth steered her horse a little closer to Lord Hastings's and looked at him with doe eyes. “It’s only humorous because it is so unexpected. I dare say it’s very unusual for a…strong gentleman such as yourself to ever lose his seat.”
Despite herself, Elizabeth peeked up at Oliver. He hadn’t turned back around, but his head was now angled in such a way that she knew he was listening.
Lord Hastings looked confused again. “Perhaps. But if you will remember, the story to which I was referring was inflicted on one of my friends. Not me.” Oh, drat. Her face flamed. She should have known it wasn’t him. Lord Hastings didn’t seem to do anything besides float around to various card parties and bury his head in politics in the House of Lords. He would never engage in something so exciting as the fox hunt. He probably wasn’t even enjoying himself on this ride. She still f
elt uncomfortable that Mary had forced an event on them that Elizabeth knew Lord Hastings would not enjoy.
A weak smile was all she could muster. She looked over her shoulder at Rose, feeling her spirits sinking with every increasing minute of the day. Her sister-in-law returned her pleading look with a firm nod that Elizabeth knew meant turn around and be confident!
It was time to pretend she was Rose. Elizabeth turned back and squared her shoulders. But her heart faltered a little when she realized Oliver had been looking back at her. A soft smile played on his lips and for a brief moment, Elizabeth completely forgot about all of her determination to take her heart back from him. She would have given anything to be riding next to Oliver just then.
“Mr. Turner,” said Miss Barley, diverting Oliver’s attention back to her after spotting his smile toward Elizabeth. “Is it not wonderful to see Lady Elizabeth thriving amongst Society?” Elizabeth was aware of Lord Hastings speaking to her but she narrowed her eyes on Miss Barley, knowing the woman too well now to trust that her comment to Oliver was a compliment. The conniving woman continued, “Because knowing how close you are with her family and how much you care for her like your own sister, you must be eager to see her well-situated. Or…perhaps I am wrong and your sentiments toward her are not familial after all?”
Elizabeth sucked in a breath, waiting for Oliver’s response to the forward woman, and wishing Lord Hastings would cease talking so she could hear him more clearly. She didn’t have to hold her breath long, Oliver responded almost immediately. “You are not wrong, Miss Barley. Lady Elizabeth is my dearest friend, and I am most eager to see her established in her own home.”
Elizabeth had thought it wasn’t possible for her to feel any further pain or disappointment when it came to Oliver. Apparently she had been wrong. His response somehow served to make her heart sink even lower. When would she come to terms with the fact that he was never going to regard her as anything other than a friend? Did he have romantic feelings toward Miss Barley? Would he finally decide to settle down with a woman? And if so, was this how their friendship would look for the rest of their lives? It felt all too wrong.
“…and so I think it’s safe to assume that you will be receiving an invitation soon,” said Lord Hastings, pulling Elizabeth’s attention back to the present. What was that about an invitation? Blast. She hadn’t been listening to him again. But in her defense, the man did have a rather monotonous voice. Simply adding a bit of modulation would go a long way to augment his storytelling abilities.