In light of the difficulties, more to herself than to anyone else, Addie mused, “Perhaps we can just leave them. Eventually, the flour will run out, and the balloons will deflate and come down low enough to be caught.”
“Or to blow away,” Angie said.
Addie nodded. “Indeed.”
Merriweather, who had halted on the porch’s top step and, until then, had remained a silent observer, cleared his throat.
Addie glanced his way; character-wise, the man was a rock, and he was built like one as well, a stout, solid presence in butler’s black. “Yes, Merriweather?”
“If I might comment, my lady, leaving the bombs to drip until empty will hardly do. It will risk the embarrassment of inconveniencing anyone who comes to call.”
Addie smiled reassuringly. “But no one is likely to call, at least not over the next days.”
“Ahem.” Merriweather looked pointedly left, along the drive.
Swiveling, Addie followed his gaze…to the gentleman who was riding up on a magnificent gray hunter.
The gentleman, Addie noted, was rather magnificent, too.
She blinked at the thought, then promptly banished it. She glanced at her siblings, only to see that, judging by their expressions, they shared her assessment. She returned her gaze to the rider and was forced to admit that, with his nut-brown hair touched by the sun, clean-cut, strong, and austere features, broad-shouldered horseman’s build, and the relaxed, loose-limbed posture of one born to the saddle, he was the epitome of a gentleman-god approaching on a magnificent steed.
“Such lines,” Mortie breathed.
“He’s very handsome,” Angie whispered. “And such a lovely pearly color.”
“Has to be a Thoroughbred,” Benjamin announced.
Another glance at her siblings confirmed that their eyes were all for the horse. Hers, on the other hand…
Addie looked back at the rider as he drew the horse to a halt. A nice enough horse, no doubt, but her attention was all for his master.
He dismounted with the fluid grace of an expert horseman, and she discovered her mouth had gone dry.
She felt faintly stunned. Since when had any man affected her like that? And he was still yards away!
Disconcerted by such unexpected—unprecedented—susceptibility, she stiffened her spine and strengthened her defensive shield. No matter what had brought such a gentleman to Aisby Grange, such vulnerability was not a good sign.
As he strolled toward them, closing the distance with distractingly graceful strides, the threat that any such gentleman inherently posed to her family and their ongoing battle to keep her father’s condition hidden, concealed from all the ton, bloomed in her mind.
Nicholas saw hostility flare in the lady’s eyes and wondered at its cause.
Had she recognized him? Should he have recognized her?
Was she one of those tiresome females he’d slipped away from at some ball or other?
Over recent years, he’d avoided ton events, yet she looked to be in her early twenties, some years past her come-out, so it was possible she was one of those to whom, in the past, he’d given social short shrift.
Then again… As he took in her appearance, something within him stirred, and he was suddenly acutely aware that if they had met before, he would have remembered her.
She was of average height and slight build, her curves definite yet sleek and understated. Her blue cambric day dress was of fashionable cut, yet surprisingly unadorned. Most notably, however, the lady possessed a face that was a cross between a female cupid and an angel, with a truly flawless, almost pearlescent complexion combined with large, wide,hugeperiwinkle-blue eyes fringed by impossibly long, lush, golden-brown lashes. Her nose was short and straight, and her finely drawn brown eyebrows were perfectly arched, while her lips—ripe, full, and the color of a blush rose—were the sort to distract any red-blooded male and lead his mind into illicit arenas. Overall, her face was heart-shaped, and her chin was almost pointy but, somewhat unsettlingly, presently set in stony firmness.
Regardless, the wealth of pale-blond curls that clustered like a frame about her face gave her the superficial appearance most—including him—associated with feminine vacuousness.
If he hadn’t detected the clear-eyed determination in her blue gaze and the underlying stubbornness in the set of her chin, he might have been fooled into taking her at face value.
Indeed, in many ways, her features and coloring reminded him of his mother, but even at her most youthful innocent, he doubted his mother had ever looked so like the stereotypical artist’s rendition of a flighty, witless, yet well-born lady.
He halted before her and politely inclined his head, but before he could speak, one of the boys asked, “I say, do you ride him to hounds?”
