Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

“Oh, you’re an angel,” she said gratefully, taking the cup.

“How was your drive with the notorious Lord Pascal? I do think he’s the most heavenly looking man.”

Amy found herself smiling, although she’d felt troubled and harried when she’d first come in. “Isn’t he just? One itches to immortalize him in marble.”

“His name was linked with Fenella’s and Helena’s, I gather. He clearly has an eye for a pretty girl. Watch yourself. He has a terrible reputation. One glance from those blue, blue eyes, and ladies go quite silly.”

“I can imagine.” Amy sipped the tea, considering what Morwenna said.

All her life, she’d heard gossip about Pascal. He’d not only flirted with Fenella and Helena, but with Caro, too. He seemed to have a penchant for widows. Was Amy Mowbray merely another in a long list?

“So did you?”

“Did I what?” Amy found a seat near the fire. The day had been warm for March, but as night drew in, a chill tinged the air.

“Did you go silly?”

For a long moment, she stared into the flames. When she answered, her tone was thoughtful. “You know, I think I might have.”

Morwenna laughed in delight and rushed over to hug her, threatening to spill the tea. “I’m so glad.”

“What are you glad about?” Sally asked, sweeping in and stripping off her driving gloves. Amy had been impressed with her friend’s talent as a whip. Even from yards away, she’d seen that Sally handled a team of horses with aplomb.

Morwenna straightened and briefly Amy forgot her confusion about Pascal, and said a silent prayer of gratitude. Her sister-in-law looked pretty and happy and vital in a way she hadn’t since the news of Robert’s drowning. “Amy’s made a conquest.”

Sally strolled across to the tea tray. “Pascal? Good for you, Amy.”

“I didn’t say that,” Amy said.

“He was very quick to call. And he was most attentive in the park. I thought poor little Miss Compton-Browne might burst into tears.”

“I’m not up to his standard,” Amy said, in no hurry to tell her friends of Pascal’s marital intentions. She could hardly believe them, let alone expect anyone else to.

“Nonsense,” Sally said, settling on the green-striped sofa and taking a bite of the delicate sugar biscuit she’d chosen to accompany her tea. “You need to accept that while you’ve hidden away like a little country mouse for most of your life, you’re now a beautiful peacock, and all London knows it. Having Pascal, who is so generally admired, in pursuit only confirms your triumph.”

“He’s a dreadful flirt.”

Sally’s eyes sparkled. “Not so—he’s a highly accomplished flirt. And there’s absolutely no reason not to flirt back. When we came to London, it was on the clear understanding that we were to have fun.”

“Are you suggesting an affair?” Morwenna asked. “How wicked.”

Sally shrugged. “If Amy likes him, why not? She’s a widow, and a few discreet adventures won’t spoil her chances of remarrying.”

“I haven’t thought about remarrying,” she said slowly. Odd that marriage popped up in two conversations today.

“No reason you should. Except that you’re young and pretty, and you might fall in love again.”

Grimness tinged Amy’s laugh. “There’s no ‘again’ involved. I didn’t love Wilfred. I married him to get my hands on his herd of prize shorthorns.”

Sally gaped at her, then let out a peal of laughter. “Amy, you’re priceless. I think in that case, it’s well and truly time to seek a handsome lover.”

“Who knows?” Morwenna sent Amy a sly glance. “Perhaps you’ll find Lord Pascal more entertaining than a field full of fat Herefords.”

“He’s definitely prettier than a Hereford,” Sally said.

“Sally, you have no idea how beautiful a fine cow can be,” Amy said with perfect sincerity.

Morwenna threw up her hands. “Amy, you’re utterly hopeless.”