The Ideal Bride (Cynster 11)
She exchanged nods with Caro, then continued, “I came to ask if there had been any difficulties at all with the diplomatic delegations. It was such an unusual idea to encourage them to attend—we need to gauge the success of the strategy in case we decide to try something similar again.”
Muriel locked her gaze on Caro’s face. “I have to say I find it hard to credit that the diplomatic crowd, especially the foreigners, found much to excite them at such an event. As Sutcliffes, we have a certain reputation to uphold—we don’t want to be associated with any suggestion of foisting boring entertainments on those in
diplomatic circles.”
Beneath his polished veneer, Michael bridled; Edward, not so experienced in hiding his feelings, stiffened. Muriel’s accusation, for that’s what it amounted to, was outrageous.
Yet Caro simply laughed, lightly, apparently ingenuously—she put both him and Edward to shame. “You’re worrying about nothing, Muriel, I assure you.” She laid a hand briefly, reassuringly, on Muriel’s arm. “The diplomatic crowd, especially the foreigners, were delighted one and all.”
Muriel frowned. “They weren’t just being polite?”
Caro shook her head. “It’s the balls and glittering functions of which that crowd has a surfeit—simple pleasures, relaxing entertainments in the country—those are, for them, golden moments.”
Smiling, she gestured down the terrace; still frowning, Muriel turned and walked beside her.
“From the diplomatic standpoint, and I’m sure Edward and Michael will bear me out in this”—with a wave, Caro included them as they fell in behind—“everything went perfectly, without the slightest hitch.”
Muriel stared at the flagstones. After a moment, she asked, her tone flat, “So you don’t have any suggestions on how we might improve things?”
Caro halted, her expression openly pensive, then she shook her head. “I can’t think how one might improve on perfection.” The words held a glimmer of steel. She caught Muriel’s eye and smiled graciously. “Now, will you stay for tea?”
Muriel looked at her, then shook her head. “No, thank you—I want to call on Miss Trice. Such a terrible thing for those two men to have attacked her. I feel it’s my duty to give her every support in overcoming her ordeal.”
As they’d all met Miss Trice numerous times since the attack, and been reassured, not just by the lady herself but by her sunny good humor, that her “ordeal” had left no lasting mark, none of them could find anything to say.
With a telling sense of relief, they made their farewells.
“I’ll see you out.” Caro conducted Muriel through the open drawing room doors and on toward the front hall.
After exchanging a brief glance with Michael, Edward followed, hovering just behind, attaining that all-but-invisible state only the best political aides could achieve.
Michael remained on the terrace; within a few minutes, Caro and Edward rejoined him.
Edward was frowning at Caro. “It’s true—she’s jealous of you! You should have heard the questions she put to me before you two joined us.”
Caro smiled reassuringly at Edward. “I know, but you mustn’t take it to heart.” When he continued to look mutinous, she went on, “Just consider—normally Muriel’s the most…I suppose ‘senior’ is the right word—hostess or lady hereabouts. But when I come home, even for a few weeks, I—without exerting myself in the least—take her place. That has to be galling.”
“Particularly,” Michael put in, “for one of Muriel’s disposition. She expects to be at the center of things.”
Caro nodded. “She craves the notice, the position, but you have to admit she works hard for it.”
Edward humphed.
“Anyway,” Caro said, “Muriel might not have wanted tea, but I do.” She glanced at Michael. “I’m ravenous.”
He offered his arm. “Long walks through the countryside tend to have that effect.”
Whether Edward believed them neither knew; they were both too experienced to look to find out.
They found Elizabeth in the parlor, and consumed vast quantities of scones and jam, then Michael, reluctantly, rose to take his leave. Caro met his eyes; he saw her consider inviting him to dine, then decide—to his mind correctly—against it. They’d spent all day so close; they both needed time alone—at least, he did; he suspected she did, too. Perspective was something they both knew the value of.
She walked with him to the parlor door, gave him her hand. “Thank you for a most…enjoyable day.”
Holding her gaze, he raised her fingers to his lips, kissed. “It was truly my pleasure.”
Pressing her fingers, he released her.
Caro noted the last glance Michael exchanged with Edward before he turned and left the room. A changing of the guard; it couldn’t have been clearer. Michael had remained with her throughout the day; the evening was Edward’s watch.