Lady Bess

“Hmm, I don’t know precisely. Robby has been jabbering at me all week about this top sawyer friend he met at a horse race some years ago who would be stopping by for a visit. This must be he.”

“Don’t you know his name?” Bess whispered now as they walked back to the gentlemen.

“Er … he is a Scotsman and titled.” Donna scrunched up her face. “What did Robby call him … Dun something, oh yes, the Earl of Dunkirk, that’s it, Dunkirk,” she said with a bright smile, obviously pleased she had recalled his title. “Yes, his title, Robby says, and his enormous wealth puts him at top of the beau monde for the season. He is considered the very Pink of the ton.” She pinched Bess’s sleeve and warned, “Stop it, don’t ogle him.” At Bess’s shocked expression, she laughed out loud.

“I wasn’t,” objected Bess, still finding it difficult to look away from him.

Donna sighed. “He is not for you.” She clucked her tongue. “Anyway, Robby said something about his being taken with the Lady Sonhurst.”

“Oh,” Bess said and heard the distress in her own voice. “Sonhurst, I don’t think I have ever come across her.” She felt a tickle of jealousy. What the deuce was wrong with her? She had never been smitten by a handsome face before or jealous. Jealousy was so destructive. She would not allow herself to feel that way—after all, she didn’t even know the man. And then she asked on a sad sigh, “Do you mean he is going to ask for Lady Sonhurst’s hand?”

“I don’t know, Bessy love, but I do know her or of her, the Sonhurst woman. She doesn’t travel in our circles. She is in Prinny’s set, and gossip puts her—”

“Oh, gossip is an ugly thing, Donna. Don’t want to hear it.”

Donna shrugged. “Yes, well, in her case, I count everything I’ve heard as truth. One only has to look at Sonhurst, Bess, to know what she is. And she is not that much older than we are and already a widow.”

“Well, these things happen,” Bess said with a slight shrug.

“I know, especially when you marry a man who has one foot in the grave already, for that is what she did.”

“Donna!” Bess said, shocked, and then giggled as she tweaked her sleeve. “Your husband is waving us to come over.”

“Yes, but one more thing, Bessy—this Scotsman isn’t the sort for you. Just look at the rakish way he walks. He must think a lot of himself, and you are, even if you are older than I, just a green girl. Besides that, I heard Robby say that he was a rogue. So, don’t look his way.”

“A rogue?” Lady Bess repeated, intrigued in spite of Donna’s warning. “That could mean almost anything.”

Donna released a chagrined sigh and said, “Well, we are about to find out just what it means about him. Only look at the way he is looking at you. I think I should slap his handsome face.”

“What? Why?” Lady Bess was astonished by this.

“Because I am a married lady, and I know just what that look means.”

* * *

Introductions had gone smoothly, but Bess had felt like a schoolgirl, unable to speak up, and she was sure she was blushing when the earl took her gloved hand.

Apparently her father was already acquainted with the earl, and an easy conversation between them and Robby kept them engrossed for a time. During that time, Bess had the opportunity to watch the charmer keep both men entertained.

The sky had clouded over, and she glanced away to inspect the darkening clouds with some misgiving, hoping they could finish the day without getting soaked. It was spring but still quite cool.

She returned her attention to the Earl of Dunkirk and noted that he had easy manners and that his smile was more than simply engaging. His smile was devastating. And if that wasn’t enough to slay a woman and confiscate her heart, that Scottish accent did the rest. That accent, oh, but it had attacked her brain and turned her into an infatuated moron.

She was somewhat startled when he broke away from her father and Robby and directed a question her way.

“Yer hunter is a sweet goin’ mare, Lady Elizabeth,” he said easily and with that rich Scottish burr. “I watched yer last fence, and though she was blowing a bit, she took it in a nice steady stride.”

“Yes,” Bess said and couldn’t think of another word to add to that. She felt a fool.

Donna saved the moment by saying, “I don’t think we were fast enough, though. My fault. I thought we were supposed to pace ourselves.”

The earl laughed. “It certainly looked as though ye were riding like the wind.”

“Bess … Bess!” an excited male’s voice called, and she turned to see a man running toward the assembled group.

“Fleet,” B

ess answered happily, going forward to take his gloved hands. “What? Have they posted the times?”