The Reasons for Marriage (Regencies 5)

“Good evening, Lord Scoresby.” Lenore smiled sweetly at his lordship.

Forced to take her hand, thus relieving Lady Moffat of his far too close attention, his lordship murmured a greeting.

“I hear you have recently set up your town house, Lady Moffat?” Lenore smiled encouragingly at the young matron.

Lady Moffat grabbed her branch like a woman sinking, blithely describing all aspects of her new household. Lenore artfully drew Lady Harrison into the safety of the conversation. Within five minutes she had the satisfaction of seeing both Lord Scoresby and Mr. Marmaluke nod and drift away, vanquished by wallpaper patterns and upholstery designs. But Mr. Buttercombe was only dislodged when Frederick Marshall strolled up.

“I hear the Pantheon bazaar is very useful for all the knick-knacks you ladies enjoy scattering about the place.”

Lenore was sure neither young woman noticed the twinkle in Frederick Marshall’s eyes, but, seeing the way the sisters responded to his easy address, she was too grateful for his assistance to quibble. He was one of the more easygoing of the gentlemen present and seemed amenable to playing the role of gallant to their ladyships’ innocence.

Seeing Smithers pushing the large tea-trolley in, Lenore excused herself and crossed the room to perform her last duty of the evening. Rather than station the trolley by the fireplace, her normal habit, she had Smithers place it between two sets of long windows, presently open to the terrace. With Eversleigh still by her father’s chair, the area around the fireplace was likely to prove too hot for her sensibilities.

She had no trouble distributing the teacups, commandeering gentlemen at will. However, she took Harriet’s cup herself, not liking to lumber anyone else with the task. One never knew how Harriet would react.

“Thank you, dear,” Harriet boomed. Lenore winced and settled the cup on a small table by her aunt’s side, confident that by now most of the guests must have realised her aunt’s affliction. She turned to leave—and found herself face to face with His Grace of Eversleigh.

“My dear Miss Lester—no teacup?” Jason smiled, pleased that his calculated wait by her father’s side had paid the desired dividend.

Lenore told herself she had no reason to quiver like a schoolgirl. “I’ve already had a cup, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. Then, as you’ve already dispensed enough cups to supply the company, perhaps you’ll consent to a stroll about the room?”

The “with me” was said with his eyes. Lenore stared up into their grey depths and wished she could fathom why they were so hypnotic. Perhaps, if she understood their attraction, she would be better able to counter it?

“Just like his father! Forever after lifting some woman’s skirts. Not that he’ll get any joy from Lenore. Far too knowing, she is.” Harriet snorted. “Too knowing for her own good, I sometimes think.”

Lenore’s cheeks crimsoned with embarrassment. Glancing about, she saw that no one else was close, no one else had heard her aunt’s horrendous pronouncements. No one except their primary subject. Drawing a deep breath, she raised her eyes fleetingly to his. “Your Grace, I beg you’ll excuse my aunt. She’s…” She foundered to an awkward halt.

A rumbling chuckle came from beside her.

“My dear Miss Lester, I’m hardly the type to take offence over such a minor transgression.”

Lenore could have wilted with relief.

“However,” Jason continued, seizing the opportunity fate had so thoughtfully provided, “I suggest we quit this locality before your esteemed aunt is further stimulated by our presence.”

Difficult to counter that argument, Lenore thought, giving conscious effort to maintaining her calm smile as she permitted Eversleigh to place her hand on his sleeve and lead her away from the fireplace. As she fell into step beside him, she saw her aunt’s maid Janet and her father’s valet Moreton slip into the room. As soon as her father and his sister had finished their tea, it was their invariable custom to retire. Mr. Pritchard would have already gone up. Given what she sensed of the mood of the guests, Lenore felt her own departure would not long be delayed. Catching sight of the Ladies Moffat and Harrison, still under the wing of Frederick Marshall, she decided to drop them a hint.

She attempted to veer in their direction, but her escort prevented her, trapping her hand on his sleeve and raising his brows in mute question.

“I should just like a word with Lady Harrison, Your Grace.” Lenore seasoned her request with a smile and was surprised to see her companion shake his head.

“Not a good idea, I’m afraid.”

When she stared blankly at him, Jason explained, “I fear I make Lady Harrison and Lady Moffat somewhat nervous.”

Lenore decided she could hardly blame them. Waspishly, she replied, “If you were to suppress your tendency to flirt, my lord, I dare say they would manage.”

“Flirt?” Jason turned his gaze full upon her. “My dear Miss Lester, you have that entirely wrong. Gentlemen such as I never flirt. The word suggests a frivolous intent. My intentions, I’ll have you know, are always deadly serious.”

“Then you are at the wrong house, Your Grace. I have always considered the theme of my brothers’ parties to be entirely frivolous.” Lenore had had enough. If he was going to use her to sharpen his wit upon, then two could play at that game.

“I see,” Jason replied, a smile hovering on his lips. He started to stroll again, Lenore perforce gliding beside him. “So you consider this week to have no purpose beyond the frivolous?”

Lenore opened her eyes wide, gesturing at the throng about them. “My lord, you have visited here before.”

Jason inclined his head. “Tell me, Miss Lester. Am I right in detecting a note of disdain, even censure, in your attitude to your brothers’ parties?”