Serena

“I see. So, are you telling me she has not given you reason to believe she will accept?” his lordship asked softly, and he felt compelled to lean forward.

What was she up to? Was her reticence a trick—a cunning trick to keep Freddy on the line while she scouted other more desirable suitors?

He had no doubt at that moment that Serena Moorely was leading his nephew a lively dance, keeping him on a string, making certain … making certain of what? She must know he was ready to propose? He shrugged this off. He had no doubt whatsoever that her game was deep, though he wasn’t quite sure what her game was. “What about her uncle? Does he approve of your courtship of his niece?”

“He said to me very clearly just before he became ill that he had little or no say as his niece was fully capable of making up her own mind.” Freddy sighed. “Not sure what that means.”

“I see,” his lordship answered, unsure as well. “Right then, what about your mother?”

“My mother?” Freddy returned in horrified accents.

“Indeed, don’t you think your mother will object?”

“Yes, I already know that. Isn’t that why you are here?” Freddy got up from the breakfast table and paced. “But what can she do, after all?”

“You do not reach your majority for a few years yet, and it isn’t what she can do, it is a matter of how she will feel, although she can make it difficult for you until you get full control over your fortune … which is, as I have just said, not for another few years, you know.”

“I don’t care. She should support my decisions,” he answered roughly.

“And if she doesn’t … how will you support a wife on as student’s allowance? Indeed, although your trustee—me in fact—must continue to support your estate, a wife can be expensive … gowns, balls, routs … many things, and your allowance will not be sufficient for such expenditures.”

“Mother will have to increase my allowance. You can talk to her,” Freddy responded.

“You do know better, don’t you? And if she takes a miff from the start … what hope does your future bride have to fit in comfortably with the family?” Ah, his lordship thought as he watched the flitting expressions on Freddy’s face. He had given him some meat to chew. It was time the lad looked beyond the beauty of a woman and into the reality of what marriage would mean.

* * *

The sun’s rays streamed through the large bay window of the Moorely morning room and lit on the squire’s face.

Serena cast a fond glance in his direction, for he had fallen asleep in his favorite chair. She moved to tuck in the colorful knit blanket she had made him the previous winter, and he opened his eyes and startled her. “Don’t fuss!”

She nearly jumped but instead, laughed and wagged a finger. “You did that on purpose, you naughty thing.”

He grinned. “Go out … enjoy the fin

e day. You don’t have to coddle me. I’m on the mend and shall be up and about in no time.”

She bent and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “I can see that, but I can’t go out just yet … we are expecting a visitor this morning.”

He opened his eyes wide and with some interest asked, “Are we? And who might this visitor be?”

“Lord Pendleton.” Serena found she could not meet his inquiring gaze. In fact, she didn’t want to think about his lordship, or the fact that every single time she did, she felt fluttery and forgot she was a grown woman. She couldn’t explain what always came over her when he happened to be about, but she knew if she didn’t get it under control, she was headed for heartache.

“Pendleton, eh? Ah … young Freddy’s uncle. I know of the family. The very pink of the ton … travels in all the first circles. What does he want?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” she said, again not meeting his eyes with her own.

“Well, well, and was he at the ball last evening?” Evidently the squire meant to pursue this line of inquiry.

“Yes …”

“And did you waltz with him?”

“I did.” She moved away and went to look out the window. She hadn’t slept until the wee hours of the morning. She couldn’t stop recounting everything he had said to her, everything she had said to him, the touch of his hand at her waist as they moved around the dance floor, the fact that she had wanted him to kiss her. Mad—she was obviously going mad. It probably was what happened to spinsters, and that was what she would soon be if she went on as she had been.

“What are you dreaming about, for you haven’t heard a word I said,” her uncle demanded, his eyes alive with interest.

She laughed, went back to him, and tweaked his hooked nose, but he caught her hand and made a face at her. “She-devil. What are you keeping from me? Tell me about the ball.”