As always, the dark-skinned man frowned, shook his head, and closed the door. Today, however, it hurried back open.
“Er—you are requested in the sitting room, Mr. Kensley, if it is convenient for you.”
That all depended. If Miss Gresham were inviting him in for another round of inquiries, it would not be convenient at all.
The butler’s frown went tighter—a feat William would not have imagined possible. “Well?”
“Show the way, dear man.” Biting back a grin at the butler’s scowl, William followed him into the Gresham townhouse, through the hall, and back into the green sitting room.
Midmorning daylight cast the room into more cheerfulness, although the face staring at William from the chaise lounge was anything but.
“Miss Gresham.” He bowed. “I trust you are well this morning?”
“Please, let us both spare ourselves the embarrassment of niceties, Mr. Kensley.” She rose, smoothing a plain muslin dress and lifting her gaze to his neckcloth, but no farther. “I fear I was the most unbearable hostess anyone could ever be two evenings ago, and I wonder that you would return here at all.”
“I think I speak in truth when I say you were the best hostess I ever had.” The only one too, but he would spare her that detail.
His words, regardless, seemed to puzzle her. She cocked her head, black ringlets brushing her cheeks. “You are far too kind.”
“Nonsense.”
“Even so, please accept my apology.”
“Accepted.”
“Your business with my father, however mysterious, remains just that.Yourbusiness. I shall not attempt to pry again, rest assured.”
Amusement nudged his lips upward. She seemed a great many things to him—rich, conniving, spoiled perhaps, and certainly no wise judge of suitors.
But she was genuine. Genuine to feelings.Hisfeelings. Her apology sprang from no social obligation and her distress seemed only for the thought she had caused some to him.
“And now”—she plucked a stovepipe bonnet from the seat—“Bridget and I are off to visit the poor. I do not suppose you would care to join us? I promise most ardently not to be inquisitive.”
A chuckle forced its way out, lightening the pressure that had been stacked in his chest for two days. “With a promise such as that, how can I refuse?”
She was not certain why she had invited Mr. Kensley along, except that she needed some diversion from the disappointed melancholy pressing upon her.
If only Father would return.
If only Lord Livingstone would not.
In the two days following the ball, he had written four letters and arrived unannounced twice. Both times she had told the butler to send him away. Why would his lordship not be put off? Surely if he cared anything for her at all, if he had imagined a future with her, he would not have stooped to such uncouth behavior.
Just her luck, that. To finally find a gentleman who did not bore her into slumber, only to discover the man had uncontrollable passions that might have easily sent her into ruin.
From across the carriage and beside Bridget, Mr. Kensley glanced for the third time out the window. Ever since their departure, he seemed uncommonly alert. Looking up and down the street before handing her into the carriage. Peering out the window with every new street. Sitting stiff and unrelaxed in his seat, as if ready at any moment to spring into action.
But his face denied any such cautions. He turned his eyes to her now, and the easiness of his expression calmed her.
What was it about him?
As much as she tried to tell herself she should not trust him, a mere stranger who could be capable of anything, she could not help but discern a goodness in him. He set her at ease. He seemed light and happy, yet at the same time bore traces of sadness. How could that be?
“Now that you have promised no questions, I feel I cannot ask any of my own.”
“You are mistaken, Mr. Kensley. As I have no great mysteries to conceal, I am not averse to inquiries.”
“Very well, then. How old are you?”
