She smiled freely, totally without restraint, making no attempt to mask her joy. “I’m so glad.” Her smile only grew. “It wouldn’t have worked, you know.”
“I realized that.”
“Good.” She couldn’t stop beaming; if she’d been younger, she would have danced. “I’d better go.” And tell Elizabeth the good news.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then inclined his head and released her hand. He waved her on to the stables.
Michael walked beside her, waited with her while Hardacre brought out her gig. Her smile…it was radiant. He felt smugly content that he’d spoken the right words to put it on her face. It was a joy to behold; it warmed him from the inside out. He stood basking in the glow, his hands clasped tightly behind his back to make sure he didn’t reach for her and spoil the moment.
The gig arrived; he helped her to the seat. She’d continued to fill his ears with plans for the ball, yet her words were now transparently free of any overarching intent; they were straightforward expressions of her thoughts—he heard the ring of clarity, and realized he’d taken a significant step closer to Caro herself, a significant step deeper into her confidence.
He waved her off with considerable satisfaction.
Once the gig and she had disappeared around the drive, he set off, still smiling, to walk back to the house.
His words had lifted a burden from Caro’s shoulders; even if he had the moment again, he wouldn’t have scripted it otherwise. Her joy had been fascinating, a true delight, even if it had prevented her from realizing that in shifting his attention from Elizabeth, he’d fixed it on someone else.
Someone a great deal more experienced than Elizabeth.
Smile deepening, he looked up at the house and walked steadily on.
He was actually looking forward to Muriel’s supper tonight.
“Ah, there you are, Michael!”
Severely handsome in plum silk, Muriel swept forward as he walked into her drawing room.
He shook the hand she offered, then glanced around the room. It was decently filled, largely with ladies although there were some other gentlemen scattered among the skirts.
“Let me introduce you to our new members.” Muriel steered him to a group stationed before the French doors presently open to the rear garden. “Allow me to introduce Mrs. Carlisle. She and her husband have recently come to live in Minstead.”
His politician’s smile to the fore, he shook Mrs. Carlisle’s hand and learned she and her husband had moved to the district from Bradford. He progressed around the group, meeting two others new to the area and renewing his acquaintance with the three other ladies who had known him for years.
Although they did not vote, here as in any district it was the ladies who were most active at all levels of community service, organizing gatherings like the church fete and supporting institutions such as the orphanges and workers’ refuges. Michael viewed their goodwill and support as a key factor in shoring up his personal standing as local Member; only with that secure could he safely devote his mind to the wider challenges the Prime Minister was intent on handing him. Consequently, he did not begrudge the time he spent at evenings like this; indeed, he was happy to grasp the opportunity Muriel had handed him and make the most of it.
He was engaged in doing precisely that when Caro entered the room. Facing the hearth, he was chatting to two gentlemen before the fireplace when instinct prompted him to glance up into the mirror above the mantelpiece.
Caro stood framed in the doorway, looking around. Dressed in a delicate, simply styled gown of printed silk, she drew the eye, yet seemed to fit perfectly into the setting. Pearls draped her throat and glowed on one wrist, from which a matching reticule hung; beyond that, she wore no other ornamentation, and needed none.
She located Muriel; smiling, she moved to greet her.
Covering his lapse, he continued discussing the corn price, then glibly excused himself and strolled on. To intercept Caro.
She started slightly when he appeared beside her; no one else would have noticed—no one else was watching her so intently. Capturing her hand, he managed to stop himself from raising it to his lips, contented himself with placing it on his sleeve. “I wondered when you’d arrive.”
She returned his smile with one that still held a large measure of her earlier joy. “It’s such a lovely evening, I decided to walk.” She glanced around. “Have you met everyone?”
With his head, he indicated a group by the side of the room. “I haven’t spoken with Mrs. Kendall yet.” He caught Caro’s gaze, let his smile deepen. “She’ll want to tell me about the boys’ home. Come and support me.”
He intended to behave as he meant to go on; he wondered how long it would take her to recognize his new direction.
She steeled herself, faint tension infusing her spine as if to guard against the effect he had on her, but, still smiling, still glowing with that inner happiness, she inclined her head. “If you wish, but I can’t think what support you might need from me.”
Glancing at Michael’s face, Caro saw his smile flash—was it her imagination that, just for that instant, painted it predatory?—but his expression was easy as he met her gaze and murmured, “You’re the only one in the room of similar background—you’re the only one who truly understands my jokes.”
She laughed; as before, the touch of humor soothed her taut nerves. She was content to accompany him while he spoke with Mrs. Kendall, who did indeed want to discuss the boys’ home, then they moved on to speak with others, some intent on claiming her attention, some his.
That afternoon, on returning from the Manor floating on a cloud of unfettered relief, she’d gone straight to the parlor and reported their success to Elizabeth and Edward. They’d celebrated over tea, congratulating themselves and admitting, now they could, that playing such tricks on Michael, mild though they had been and definitely for his own good, had not sat altogether well with them.