“Cynster.” Lord Loxton’s heavy expression lightened, and he held out a hand. “Gerald Loxton, sir. Delighted you could join us.”
Gregory smiled his easy social smile and shook Loxton’s hand. “I’m pleased to have this opportunity to make your and your lady’s acquaintance, sir. Thank you both for the invitation.” He directed a polite half bow to Lady Loxton and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.
“It is we who are honored to welcome you, sir.” Lady Loxton turned her smile on Caitlin. “My dear, I hope I can call on you to deputize for me and introduce Mr. Cynster around. We’ve several parties yet to join us, so we’re stuck here for the nonce.”
“Of course.” Caitlin had already exchanged warm greetings with her ladyship and had exchanged smiling nods—almost affectionate ones—with his lordship.
Lady Loxton smiled at Gregory with some satisfaction. “While we can’t hold a candle to the ton events to which you’re accustomed, I hope you’ll find our little county gathering a pleasant way to meet those who live round about.”
Gregory murmured suitable words of anticipation, then moved on beside Caitlin as she led the way into the room.
Somewhat to his surprise, in what followed, Lady Loxton’s expectations were fulfilled. As Caitlin had warned him, the local gentry were indeed curious—about his intentions at the Hall and about what type of man he was—but their interest was mild and relatively unassuming and never pushed into the intrusive.
The local minister, one Reverend Millicombe of All Saints Church in Earls Barton, proved typical of those there, welcoming Gregory warmly and mildly asking if he intended to remain in the area.
He replied with his now-customary answer, namely that, at that time, he had no firm plans to return to London. That he had no intention of making any such plans was a revelation he kept to himself.
After exchanging comments about various walks in the area—Millicombe was a keen rambler—and comparing those with walking trails in the Kentish Weald, the good reverend expressed a hope that he would see Gregory at church one Sunday soon, to which Gregory returned a vague answer, and they parted on that note.
Caitlin continued to act as his guide, smoothly steering him from group to group and making the necessary introductions, for which he was grateful. While he took in the information, matching faces with names and houses and occupations, the exercise also brought to the forefront of his mind an issue that, over recent days, he’d largely forgotten.
His chatelaine was a lady. But more, given the way the local gentry responded to her and she to them, her status was rather higher than anyone else’s there. Possibly as high as his.
Possibly higher.
Everyone there was old enough to have developed well-honed antennae for class—something that, in England, had remained a necessary survival skill for millennia—and every person there treated Caitlin Fergusson as if she were…as high-born as he.
Indeed, even he had fallen into the habit of treating her as a social equal. As a lady of his class.
That conscious realization brought the host of questions the observation had previously raised rushing back to his mind.
Why, at her age, was she so content to remain tucked away, more or less socially isolated, at Bellamy Hall?
And the way the other young ladies hung on his every word and watched him so eagerly only underscored Caitlin’s lack of interest in pursuing a socially acceptable marriage.
At her age, just like all the other young ladies there, she should be husband hunting.
And the higher her social class, the more that should have been true.
She remained a conundrum, a puzzle he was growing increasingly determined to solve.
Even though she had now introduced him to all those present, he remained by her side as they circulated through the gathering, his awareness and attention focused solely on her.
Caitlin was surprised to find Gregory clinging to her side—almost as if he needed her to protect him from the admittedly overeager and overenthusiastic overtures of the five young ladies among Lady Loxton’s guests. But after hearing him deftly—charmingly yet firmly—depressing the pretensions of Miss Holgarth, the most brazen of the five, Caitlin seriously doubted he needed any help.
That said, she could understand why, when two matrons with daughters in tow bore down on them, he murmured by her ear, “Don’t you dare leave me.”
She fought to quell the shiver that whisper sent slithering down her spine and endeavored to keep her expression unrevealing as, with delighted smiles wreathing their countenances, Mrs. Quinn and Mrs. Moffat engaged.
At first, Caitlin was amused by the various approaches the ladies took in an attempt to winkle invitations to Bellamy Hall. It was not her place to suggest such visits nor to refuse them, but the extent to which the ladies pressed increasingly made her uncomfortable, especially when, from his tone, she sensed Gregory was losing his social patience.
The younger ladies had grown progressively impatient with their mothers’ lack of success, and finally, the pair boldly stepped forward and attempted to use their feminine wiles to snare Gregory’s attention—only to discover he was perfectly capable of turning into an impervious block. He smiled, he nodded, but he didn’t respond as they wished.
Caitlin wondered how long it would be before the witless pair prodded him into saying something cutting and gave thanks when the Loxtons’ butler appeared and announced that dinner was served.
Lady Loxton claimed Gregory’s arm, while Caitlin smiled on his lordship and accepted the arm he offered her.
Dinner, with the younger people seated together in the center of the table, passed off without incident or, indeed, much social effort on anyone’s part. Everyone there, excepting only Gregory, knew each other of old, and the conversations needed no help to flow freely.
