Beatrice’s features remained composed, her gaze floating over Blythe with little interest before returning to the perusal of her clasped hands.
Blythe’s agreeable smile faltered. “A moment of your time, Your Grace?” he said in a low voice. “There is a matter requiring your attention.”
“If you’ll excuse us.” David nodded and followed Blythe some distance from the Foxwoods so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Why didn’t you tell me you know Foxwood?” he said before Blythe could speak.
Blythe ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, causing the ends to stand up. “I beat Foxwood soundly at whist during Lady Ralston’s ball last year,” he replied, avoiding the larger question. “Won quite a tidy sum. Embarrassed him, I’m afraid, by bringing his poor playing to the attention of the rest of the table. Later, in the ballroom, he was quite rude to me in front of his wife and daughter. Our discussion may have become heated.”
“I see.” It didn’t quite explain the strange tension he’d witnessed, but David didn’t question him further. Whatever had occurred between Blythe and the Foxwoods had been well before David decided to wed Beatrice. He glanced at Blythe, trying to conjure in himself a hint of jealously or possessiveness over the possibility that his friend might desire Beatrice and found...nothing. There was only a lingering sense of annoyance that Blythe hadn’t told him he knew the Foxwoods. He and Blythe had been friends nearly their whole lives. There wasn’t anyone David trusted more, even when Blythe deliberately withheld information, as he was doing now.
“Foxwood is a poor loser. Don’t ever play cards with him, Gran. He holds a grudge.”
“Now you’ve told me.” He started to walk away, but Blythe took his arm.
“That isn’t what I needed to discuss.” He pointed to the young lady David had observed earlier, still speaking to Aunt Pen. “I need to make an introduction. Wait a moment.”
Blythe strode over and bowed to her before tilting his head in David’s direction. She nodded, with little enthusiasm, but followed Blythe, her adoration of him apparent.
As the young lady neared, David studied her exquisitely sculpted features. Where had he seen her before?
“Your Grace, may I present Lady Theodosia Barrington.”
She lowered her head, immediately dropping gracefully, the skirts of her gown billowing out around her. “Your Grace.”
David was staring at her. Notexactlyher, but—
Barrington.
Lady Theodosia was obviously Andromeda’s sister, both daughters of a low-born mother who thought naming her children after characters in Greek mythology would obscure the fact she’d once been a lady’s companion.
Andromeda’s sister raised her eyes, glancing at Blythe with absolute worship before looking at David. Theodosia’s eyes were the same spectacular blue, the distinctive indigo ring unmistakable around the darker pupil.
“You are related to Lady Richardson are you not?” he said, watching as Theodosia struggled to pull her attention from Blythe. The poor girl was besottedandhalf-blind, though no less beautiful for either affliction.
“Lady Richardson is our cousin, Your Grace. My sister Andromeda accompanied me to The Barrow. She is,” Theodosia looked across the terrace, doing her best not to squint, “somewhere. Taking a turn about the gardens, I expect. She adores the country.”
Theodosia, much like her sister, wasn’t the least impressed with David. Not his size nor the fact he was a duke. She had the same self-possessed manner and confident way of speaking as Andromeda. Obviously being raised by a lady’s companion resulted in a lack of the modesty required of young ladies.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up, my lady.” Blythe stayed by Theodosia’s side, flattering her with his attention. “If not, we’ll go in search of her.”
Theodosia blushed, likely at the thought of her own ruin should Blythe lead her into the gardens, before her brow wrinkled in consternation at the arrival of Lady Meredith, who also seemed intent on adoring Blythe.
Excusing himself, David found his way to Haven, who was sitting at a table alone with an enormous plate of tiny finger sandwiches and cakes in front of him. From this vantage point, David could see most of the gardens.
Desire lashed him at the thought of that gorgeous, annoying creature roaming about his beds of hollyhocks and peonies. Alone.
“Cucumbers.” Haven ate a sandwich in one bite. “I was hoping for something a bit more robust. There isn’t any more chicken left. Or ham. And Ilikeham.” He resolutely bit into another sandwich of cucumber.
“Dinner is not far off,” David said absently, his gaze once again drawn to the gardens. Instead of staying on the terrace with the rest of the guests, as a proper young lady should, Andromeda had set off to explore on her own. It was an obvious attempt to avoid him and one that would ultimately fail.
“My aunt has created a spectacular menu, Haven. I’m sure you’ll be pleased.” His friend was always starving as if he could never get enough to eat.
“She’s quite pretty.” Haven gestured with the crust of his sandwich in the general direction of Lady Beatrice.
“She’s suitable.” It seemed the only compliment he could bestow on her. Suitable. It sounded very trite.
“No, not Lady Beatrice.” Haven discreetly pointed his finger in the direction of Blythe, who stood just to Beatrice’s left with Theodosia Barrington. “Her. The one who is giggling over Blythe and keeps running into things.”
