“Now!” Walking briskly, whisking Elizabeth down the terrace, Caro studied her. “Are you all right—is your throat sore?”
“No. It’s truly quite—”
“Caro?”
The soft call had them all turning. Edward Campbell looked out from the French doors. “I think you’d better…” He gestured back into the drawing room.
“Peste!” Caro looked at Edward for a moment, then glanced at Michael, then Elizabeth. Releasing Michael’s arm, she caught Elizabeth’s hand and placed it on his sleeve. “Walk. To the end of the terrace at least. And then you can return and practice by charming the general for me.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Oh, but—”
“No buts.” Caro was already stalking back to the drawing room. She flicked a hand back at them, rings flashing. “Go—walk.”
She reached Edward; taking his arm, head rising, she swept back into the drawing room.
Leaving Michael alone with Elizabeth; suppressing a grin—Caro was quite amazing—he looked down at her. “I suspect we’d better do as instructed.” Turning her, he started slowly strolling. “Are you enjoying your summer thus far?”
Elizabeth threw him a resigned smile. “It’s not as exciting as London, but now Aunt Caro is here, there’ll be lots more happening. More people to meet, more entertainments to attend.”
“So you enjoy meeting new people?” A healthy attitude for a politician’s wife.
“Oh, yes—well, as long as they’re young people, of course.” Elizabeth pulled a face. “I do find ‘making conversation’ with old fogeys or those one has nothing in common with a trial, but Caro assures me I’ll learn.” She paused, then added, “Although I have to say I’d much rather not have to learn at all.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “I’d much rather just enjoy the parties, the balls, the routs and not worry over having to talk to this one or that. I want to enjoy being young, enjoy dancing and riding and driving, and all the rest.”
He blinked.
Leaning on his arm, she gestured widely. “You must remember what it was like—all the fun to be had in the capital.”
She looked up at him, clearly expecting him to smile and nod. After leaving Oxford, he’d spent most of his time as a secretary to important men; he had been in the capital, yet he suspected he’d inhabited a parallel universe to the one she was describing. “Ah…yes, of course.”
He bit back an admission that it had been a long time ago.
She laughed as if he’d been twitting her. Reaching the end of the terrace, they turned and ambled back. She continued telling him of her wonderful months in London, of events and people he didn’t know and had little interest in.
As they neared the doors to the drawing room, he realized she’d shown no interest in him—in his likes, acquaintances, his life.
Inwardly frowning, he glanced at her. She was treating him not just as a family friend, but worse, as an uncle. It hadn’t occurred to her—
“Finally!” Caro emerged through the doors, saw them, and smiled. She glided toward them. “It’s so balmy out here—perfect for a pleasant interlude.”
“Ah, my dear Caro, you read my mind—”
Caro swung back. Ferdinand had followed her onto the terrace; he broke off as he realized there were others present.
She reversed direction
, intercepting him. “Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby and Elizabeth have been enjoying a stroll—we were just returning to the drawing room.”
Ferdinand flashed his white smile. “Excelente! They may go in and we can stroll.”
She’d intended to turn him back into the drawing room. Instead, deftly, he turned her. Half turned her—she caught his arm and was about to correct him when she sensed Michael move close.
“Actually, Leponte, I believe that’s not what Mrs. Sutcliffe meant.”
The delivery was urbane, his tone impossible to take exception to, yet steel rang beneath the words.
Mentally rolling her eyes, resisting an urge to pat Michael’s arm and assure him she was perfectly capable of dealing with would-be gigolos like Ferdinand, she shook Ferdinand’s arm, dragging his gaze, belligerently locked with Michael’s, back to her. “Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby is right—there’s no time for a stroll for me. I must get back to my guests.”