Stacie frowned. Lady Halbertson?
“I met her yesterday at Mrs. Phillips’s luncheon,” a second lady put in, “and she certainly put on an excellent show of not being concerned in the least by the announcement.”
“I’d heard she and he had parted some months ago,” a third lady said.
“Be that as it may,” the first speaker intoned, “it must have been particularly galling for her ladyship to see him going from her bed to Lady Eustacia’s, so to speak, and all within a few months. I find it difficult to credit that a widow in her situation wouldn’t have entertained some degree of hope of snaring a catch like Albury.”
“I daresay you’re right,” the second speaker said. “She must at least have had her nose put out of joint.”
“No matter how well she’s hiding that,” the first speaker stated.
The ladies’ voices shifted and grew slightly muffled. Stacie held her breath and peered around the edge of the screen. Five other screens were erected around the room, but the center of the room presently held only a maid.
Stacie walked quickly to the door and let herself out.
In the corridor, she paused. Was she surprised that Frederick had had a mistress? Hardly. And it seemed they’d broken off the liaison months ago—long before she’d approached Frederick. And according to his mother, he’d been hiding in Surrey for months before that.
Of course, if he drove up to town to visit his mistress, he was hardly likely to inform his mother.
Not that Frederick’s love life, past or future, was any real concern of hers, yet she had to admit to being curious about what sort of woman Lady Halbertson was—about what sort of lady had caught Frederick’s eye.
According to the three anonymous ladies, Stacie wasn’t going to find out that night. She returned to Frederick’s side just as the musicians started the prelude to a waltz. Smiling, she reached for his hand. “Come, my lord, and sweep me off my feet again.”
He arched his brows at her, but readily acquiesced. He twisted his hand, and his fingers closed firmly about hers, and he led her onto the floor.
She sighed and smiled up at him as she turned in to his arms and he set them elegantly twirling. “This,” she announced, “is one definite benefit to being engaged—being able to waltz with you many more times than twice without creating a scandal.”
His answering smile was pleased, arrogantly proud, but cloaked an underlying intensity she hadn’t expected.
In an attempt to tease out his thoughts, she tilted her head and said, “I confess I’m enjoying the role of your fiancée far more than I’d anticipated.”
The sense of him considering something—weigh
ing something—only grew.
When he said nothing, she finally arched a brow at him. “What is it?”
He searched her eyes, her face, then, still smiling, said, “I’m glad that being my fiancée isn’t beyond your skills.”
She almost snorted. “When it comes to being arrogant—and do remember I have Ryder with whom to compare you—I hereby declare that you take the cake.”
He laughed and swept her into a vigorous, perfectly gauged turn, reducing her to laughter, too.
Chapter 10
The following day, they’d agreed to attend an alfresco luncheon at Lady Waltham’s estate by the river at Twickenham.
Frederick drove them down in his curricle. Most of the other guests were there before them; they walked onto her ladyship’s lawns and, as they’d expected, found only the crème de la crème of the haut ton present—one of the reasons they’d chosen that event after two evenings enduring ton crushes, and with two balls to attend that evening, neither of which they could avoid.
As they paused to chat to the first group of guests they came upon, Frederick glanced at Stacie; lips curved, eyes bright, features dramatically alive, she truly had relaxed into the role of his fiancée. His campaign was progressing very much as he wished, and this outing—recommended by Mary—held the promise of allowing them to ease just that little bit closer. Despite the select guest list, the lawns were a trifle crowded, encouraging couples to wander between beds and borders that, in this season, were bountiful and lush, creating avenues that, along some stretches, were effectively private.
Having attained the status of acceptably engaged couple, he and Stacie were able to wander freely, with no need to remain within sight of any others. They were some way from the lawns when they turned down a long avenue with deep borders on either side. Prompted by he knew not what, nonchalantly, he reached out and twined the fingers of one hand with hers—and she accepted the touch without protest, as if she found nothing overly remarkable in him claiming her hand.
As if she’d grown accustomed to feeling his fingers around hers. He looked ahead and fought to keep a too-wide smile from his face.
Surveying the colorful flowers, she paused to examine the nodding heads, then, as they strolled on, without prompting, launched into a tale of the exploits of her brothers in disrupting a long-ago garden party.
He listened to her words and watched her face, tracing the changing expressions that flowed across her vivid features. Warmth of a sort he’d never felt before bloomed in his chest and spread. Under its heady influence, he was tempted—so tempted—to use his hold on her hand to draw her to a halt and claim a kiss—a proper kiss—there, in the privacy of the colorful avenue.