The Ideal Bride (7 page)

 
“
Damn
!” Plastering on a smile, she swept up to Edward. “You’re on duty for the next while.” She lowered her voice. “I have to go and haul your irons out of the fire.”

 
Edward blinked, but he’d stood as her deputy through far worse crises; he nodded and she moved on.

 
Casting a last glance about the room, reassured there were no other impending disasters threatening, she slipped into the front hall. Catten stood guard there; he told her Geoffrey had taken Michael to his study.

 
Her heart sank. Surely after all he’d seen of
 
Elizabeth
 
that evening, all the serious questions
 
Elizabeth ’s performance
ought
to have raised in his mind, Michael wasn’t so boneheaded as to persist with an offer?

 
She couldn’t believe he was that stupid.

 
Almost running, she hurried to the study. With barely a tap, she opened the door and swept in. “Geoffrey, what…”

 
With one glance she took in the scene—both men leaning over the desk, poring over some maps spread on its surface. Relief swept her; she hid it behind a disapproving frown. “I know you’re unused to these affairs, but really, this is not the time for”—she gestured at the maps— “constituency matters.”

 
Geoffrey grinned apologetically. “Not even politics, I’m afraid. There’s a blockage on a tributary to the river. It’s in Eyeworth Wood—I was just showing Michael.”

 
With a fine show of sisterly exasperation, she linked her arm in Geoffrey’s. “What am I to do with you?” She bent a mock frown on Michael. “You, at least, should have known better.”

 
He smiled and followed as she led Geoffrey from the room. “But the woods are mine, after all.‘

 
Her heart no longer beating in her throat, she ushered them back into the drawing room.
 
Elizabeth
 
glanced over and saw them enter; her eyes flared—Caro smiled serenely back. And made sure Michael had no further opportunity to speak with Geoffrey by retaining her hold on her brother’s arm and taking him to talk with General Kleber.

 
The end of the evening drew near. Gradually, the guests took their leave. The diplomatic contingent, more accustomed to late nights, were the last remaining. They’d gathered in a group in the middle of the room when Ferdinand spoke.

 
“I would like to invite all those who would enjoy it to join me for a day’s cruise on my yacht.” He looked around the circle; his gaze came to rest on Caro’s face. “It is moored in Southampton Water close by. We could sail for a few hours, then find a pretty spot to anchor for lunch.”

 
The offer was generous. Everyone present was tempted. With a few questions, Caro ascertained that the yacht was sizeable, large enough to accommodate them all easily. Ferdinand assured her his crew would arrange a luncheon; it was too good a prospect to dismiss—on more than one count.

 
She smiled. “When should we go?”

 
They all agreed that the day after next would be perfect. The weather was currently fine and not expected to change; having a day to recover before they came together to enjoy each other’s company again would work nicely.

 
“An excellent notion,” the countess declared. She turned to Caro. “Aside from all else, it will put that boat to better use than I suspect it has been put to date.”

 
Caro hid a smile. The arrangements were quickly made. Michael accepted; she’d been sure he would.

 
As everyone turned to leave,
 
Elizabeth
 
tugged her sleeve.

 
She stepped to the side, lowered her voice. “What is it?”

 
Elizabeth
 
glanced past her to Michael. “Have we done enough, do you think?”

 
“For tonight, we’ve done all we reasonably can. Indeed, we’ve done brilliantly.” She glanced at the group filing through the doorway. “As for the cruise, I couldn’t have planned that better myself. It’ll be the perfect venue to develop our theme.”

 
“But…” Still looking at Michael, who was talking to General Kleber, Elizabeth bit her lip. “Do you think it’s working?”

 
“He hasn’t offered for you yet, and that’s the most important thing.” Caro paused, reassessing, then patted
 
Elizabeth
 
’s arm. “Nevertheless, tomorrow’s another day—we should make sure he’s occupied.”

 
With a swish of her skirts, she returned to the group. A quick word in the countess’s ear, a quiet moment with the duchess and the ambassador’s wife, and all was arranged. Or almost all.

 
As he followed the bulk of the guests out of the front door, Michael found Caro beside him.

 
She slipped her hand in his arm. Leaning closer, she murmured, “I wondered if you’d like to join us—me,
 
Elizabeth , Edward, and a few others—on a trip to Southampton tomorrow. I thought we might meet in town late morning, have a look around, then lunch at the Dolphin before a quick visit to the walls, and a gentle journey home.”

 
Looking up, she arched a brow at him. “Can we count on your escort?”

 
Another—and quieter—opportunity “through which to evaluate Elizabeth . Michael smiled into Caro’s silvery eyes. ”I’ll be delighted to join you.“

 
He hadn’t realized Caro had intended a shopping expedition. Nor that Ferdinand Leponte would be one of the party. Arriving at Bramshaw House at eleven, he’d been bidden to join Caro,
 
Elizabeth , and Campbell in the barouche; the day was fine, the breeze light, the sunshine warm—all had seemed in place for a pleasant outing.

 
The others joined them at Totton on the road to Southampton. The duchess, the countess, the ambassador’s wife, and Ferdinand Leponte. Ferdinand predictably tried to engineer a reallocation of seats, suggesting Michael join the older ladies in the duchess’s landau, but Caro waved the suggestion aside.

 
“It’s barely a few miles, Ferdinand—too close to bother rearranging things.” With the tip of her furled parasol, she tapped her coachman’s shoulder; he started the barouche rolling. “Just have your man follow and we’ll be there in no time, then we can all walk together.”

 
She sat back, then glanced at Michael, sitting beside her. He smiled, let his gratitude show. Her lips twitched; she looked ahead.

 
They spent the half-hour journey discussing local events. Caro, he, and Edward were less well informed about local affairs than Elizabeth ; encouraged, she filled them in with the latest news.

 
He was pleased to discover she kept abreast of local matters.

 
“The church fete is the next big event.” Elizabeth grimaced. “I suppose we’ll have to attend, or Muriel will be after us.”

 
“It’s always an entertaining day,” Caro pointed out.

 
“True, but I do so hate the feeling of being
obliged
to be there.”

 
Caro shrugged and looked away. Inwardly frowning yet again, Michael followed her gaze out over the expanse of Southampton Water.

 
They left the carriages at the Dolphin and wandered along High Street, then the ladies determinedly turned to the shops along French Street and Castle Way.

 
The gentlemen—all three of them—started to drag their heels. Started to realize they’d been inveigled into being packhorses under false pretenses, to wit, by having elusive carrots dangled before their noses.

 
Edward, doubtless more accustomed to such trials, merely sighed and accepted the parcels Caro and the ambassador’s wife dropped in his arms. Michael found himself landed with a bandbox tied with wide pink ribbon, bestowed on him by Elizabeth with a sweet smile.

 
Chattering together, the ladies entered the next shop. Michael glanced at Ferdinand. Holding two gaudily wrapped packages, the Portuguese looked as discomposed and disgusted as he himself felt. Looking at Edward, at the relatively innocuous brown packages Caro had handed him, Michael raised his brows. He met Edward’s eyes. “Want to swap?”

 
Edward shook his head. “The etiquette pertaining here is that you have to hold on to whatever they hand you, or else they’ll get confused.”

 
Michael held his gaze. “You’re making that up.”

 
Edward grinned.

 
By the time the ladies finally consented to return to the Dolphin, where luncheon awaited them in a private parlor, Michael was burdened with the bandbox and three other parcels, two tied with ribbon. The only aspect of the situation that lightened his mood was that Ferdinand was all but invisible behind the ten parcels his aunt and the duchess had stacked in his arms.

 
Michael felt something perilously close to fellow feeling when, together with Ferdinand, he tumbled the packages onto a settle in the inn parlor. They exchanged glances, then looked at Edward, who had escaped relatively lightly. Reading their expressions, Edward nodded. “I’ll arrange to leave these here.”

 
“Good.” Michael made it clear by his tone that any other outcome would precipitate mutiny.

 
Ferdinand just glowered.

 
The luncheon started well enough. Michael sat on one bench beside
 
Elizabeth , with Caro on his other side and Ferdinand beyond her. The other four sat on the bench opposite. He wanted to question Elizabeth as to her aspirations, angling to learn what she looked for from marriage, but the two leading comments he introduced both somehow ended back with the balls, parties, and entertainments of London.

 
On top of that, the countess and the duchess, speaking across the table, distracted him. Their comments and queries were too needle-sharp, too acute to be lightly turned aside. They may not be their husbands, yet they were assuredly sounding him out; he had to pay them due attention.

 
Edward came to his aid once or twice; Michael met his gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly in appreciation. Elizabeth , however, seemed sunk in her own thoughts and contributed nothing.

 
hen the desserts arrived and the older ladies shifted their attention to the crème anglaise and poached pears. Seizing the moment, he turned to
 
Elizabeth , only to feel a sudden warmth against his other side.

 
Turning that way, he realized Caro had shifted along the bench, realized with an eruption of hot anger that she’d shifted because Ferdinand had shifted into her.

 
He had to fight down a surprisingly powerful urge to reach behind Caro and clip Ferdinand over the ear. It was what he deserved for behaving like such a boor, yet… diplomatic incidents had arisen from less.

 
He fixed his eyes on Ferdinand’s face; the Portuguese was currently intent on Caro, looking down, trying to read her face. “So, Leponte, what sort of horses do you keep in town? Any Arabs?”

 
Ferdinand glanced up at him, momentarily at sea. Then he colored faintly and responded.

 
Michael kept asking questions, about carriages, even the yacht, focusing everyone’s attention on Ferdinand until the meal ended and they stood to leave.

 
As she followed him out from the bench, Caro squeezed his arm lightly. It was the only acknowledgment she made that she appreciated his support, yet he felt an unexpected, somewhat righteous glow.