Lady Bess

Suddenly their eyes met, and Bess saw a look of male appreciation in his. She knew that look. She had had quite an education during her first Season on the London scene.

His look filled her with anticipation, and this feeling spread through her with a sense of wild abandon. However, she was immediately deflated when he looked away from her to respond to something a new arrival, Annabelle Wilkes, had said to him. The older woman had just arrived alone, and Bess hesitated on the next step as she watched him politely hand Annabelle off to the Huxleys, who were on their way to the ballroom.

Bess managed the last of the steps, unable to look his way lest he look back at her and see her doing so. No wonder, she thought, he must think her too young to take seriously—she was certainly feeling and must be therefore acting like an absurd girl instead of a sophisticated woman.

The next thing she knew, he had somehow managed to span the distance across the central hall and arrive at the foot of the staircase to take her fingers lightly in his hand in greeting.

His smile held and mesmerized her. His blue eyes glittered and made her heart flutter, and his voice stroked her when he said, “Ye look ravishing, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Bess, please. I have grown quite used to my nickname over the years and find that I prefer it … and thank you.” She openly looked him over with a twinkle in her eyes, knowing she was being absolutely outrageous. “So do you.”

He nearly snorted with his amusement but restrained himself so that he could instead gently kiss her fingers. His eyes were alight as he came up to answer, “Ye are very generous, lass. Ravishing, am I? And so I wish I could be, so long as it pleased ye.”

She took away her hand.

Stunned. She felt stunned by everything he said—everything he did. This was the man she had been waiting for. Here was that knight riding across the battlefield to scoop her up and take her away. She loved the way his blonde hair fell around and framed his handsome face. She loved his cavalier, even presumptuous style, but she had to get control of herself. She had on this meeting already gone a bit too far.

He obviously felt her withdrawal and seemed to find it amusing. He probably found her amusing, as one often found children amusing. Her pride kicked in and made her want to put up her chin and saunter off. She had been right to believe he was merely dallying with a child. He was simply amusing himself in the moment, nothing more.

He said, “Lady Bess, then. ’Tis pretty enough, ye know, but I fear I doona like it as much as I like the name Elizabeth. I think I shall call ye Elizabeth.”

She wrinkled her nose and looked up at him. “Oh, please do not—I would not like that at all.”

He looked surprised. “Such vehemence, lass? Why not, then?”

She sighed and avoided his blue, inquiring eyes. “You will think it silly.”

“Will I? I doona think so. Nothing could be silly coming from yer lips.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You are teasing me, and I am not fooled. I know you think me no more than a schoolgirl,” she said with a rueful shake of her head.

He laughed out loud and touched her elbow to stop her from walking any further towards the drawing room, and she was forced to look askance up at him as he said, “How should I think ye such a thing, when any dolt can see ye be a woman fully grown. In fact, I think someone told me ye just turned twenty.” He shook his head. “Nearly an old maid then.”

She giggled and wagged a finger in mock rebuke. “An old maid, indeed, my lord.” She then eyed him and asked, “Did someone suggest such an awful thing? Old maid, humph.”

“Aye, for a certain. Mrs. Huxley gave it as her considered opinion that any young woman past the age of twenty would find it difficult to make a match,” he answered promptly. “Only this afternoon, she told me ye were out an entire season, and though ye had offers a plenty, ye took to none. Said if ye weren’t careful ye would end an old maid as ye had just turned twenty.”

Bess laughed and then grimaced at him teasingly. “Why were you even talking about me?”

“Aye then, as we were all planning to coom here for dinner tonight, yer name very naturally came up,” he said.

“To what end? To call me an ‘old maid’? That does not fadge.”

He chuckled. “As it happened, lass, I asked aboot ye. I wanted to know how it was such a beauty as yerself had not yet been snapped up.”

She felt her cheeks get hot and cast him a quick glance. “You are quizzing me.”

“Aboot what?” He looked surprised.

“That you should call me a beauty after what you must be used to,” she answered easily.

“M’lovely Lady Bess, ye canna be unaware of yer looks? I am no offering ye a piece of flattery, mark me on that.” He had an easy smile and gave it to her as though reassurance of his words before he asked, “So, tell me, how is it ye aren’t engaged yet?”

“Why not ask Mrs. Huxley that question,” she said with a tease in her voice, “the next time you two choose to gossip about me?”

“I already did, and she directed me to ask ye,” he said easily.

Bess laughed. “Well, I should think the answer rather obvious. I was not in love with any of my very fine suitors. I do not wish to marry for convenience.” She felt herself blush, as she didn’t know this man well enough to discuss such a private matter.