Lord Blackthorne said nothing, merely took another sip of his tea.
Miss Jenyns ogled him with occasional glances from the corner of her eye. Penelope kept looking back and forth from Cecilia to her husband, as if she awaited something really interesting to happen. Cecilia suddenly felt a twinge of sympathy for him.
“Lord Blackthorne was in the Eighth Dragoon Guards under my father’s command,” she said.
“Ah, a cavalryman,” Mrs. Webster said with apparent relief, as if she held to the standard belief that a mounted soldier was far superior to one in the infantry. “And where did you serve, my lord?”
“Most recently in Bombay, India, madam.”
“Did you see much action?”
He glanced at his leg. “Some, but it is nothing I would discuss in the company of ladies.”
“War must be ... quite ferocious,” Miss Jenyns murmured, her eyes wide. “I heard about all those poor soldiers who died in that massacre in Afghanistan.”
Cecilia watched Lord Blackthorne’s face, and saw the faint touch of sadness like a ghost in his eyes. Thousands and thousands of soldiers, women, and children had died, picked off by Afghani sharpshooters in the mountain passes during the retreat from Kabul. The newspapers had claimed it one of the worst defeats in the history of the British Empire.
“A soldier is trained to handle all manner of tasks,” he said, “and actual battle is only one of them. Often it is more a matter of perfecting skills while simply waiting.”
He didn’t want to speak of those who’d died—perhaps he’d known too many of them.
“Then patience is important to a soldier,” Lady Stafford murmured. “I imagine that helps when one is newly wed.”
Cecilia tried not to blush, for that comment could be taken so many ways—as Lady Stafford probably intended.
Lord Blackthorne only nodded.
“You must have been anxious to meet your new wife,” Mrs. Webster said.
It was as if the ladies were taking turns trying to get something—anything—out of him. Cecilia felt tense as thread in a loom, realizing that she and Lord Blackthorne had never discussed how they should explain their marriage.
“But I understood he had a duty to perform,” Cecilia said, trying not to sound like she’d cut him off before he could speak. “I was content with his letters until such time as we could be together.”
“A good writer is rare,” Lady Stafford said. “Lord Blackthorne, you must be exceptional to win the heart of our practical Lady Cecilia—pardon me, Lady Blackthorne.”
“So romantic,” Miss Jenyns said.
Lord Blackthorne glanced at Cecilia, and with the slight arch of his brow, it was as if she could read his thoughts:I wrote romantic letters?
“And there were so many men she could have chosen from,” Penelope spoke earnestly. “She’s been sought after since she came out of the schoolroom at seventeen. Oh, the proposals from besotted men—”
She broke off when Cecilia stared pointedly at her. Lady Stafford lowered her amused gaze to the cake she nibbled, while Mrs. Webster regarded Penelope with fond exasperation.
“Then I am lucky to have won Lady Blackthorne’s regard,” Lord Blackthorne said, setting down his teacup. “Ladies, I must take my leave. Lord Appertan is waiting for me in the park.”
“He told me you’re shooting together,” Penelope said. “He is quite the shot.”
Lord Blackthorne nodded at her pleasantly enough, but Cecilia could only imagine that a trained soldier would be far superior. With the aid of his cane, he rose to his feet, then surprised her by lifting her hand to his lips.
“Have a pleasant afternoon, my lady wife.”
He spoke the words so close to her gloved hand that she could swear she felt the warmth of his breath through to her skin. His dark eyes met hers, and she couldn’t decide if he laughed at her or was trying to please her.
She watched him as he limped across the room and out onto the terrace. When she turned back, all four ladies’ gazes were fixed on her with varying degrees of interest.
“I knew he was romantic,” Miss Jenyns murmured.
They only stayed for another half hour, but it felt interminable. Even Penelope abandoned her, saying she wanted to watch Oliver and Lord Blackthorne shoot. Her grandmother gave her permission, after reminding her they would be leaving soon.
