Although it was tempting, she couldn’t afford to abandon all sense. Everything she’d dreamed of was happening far too quickly and easily. She’d wait until tomorrow before telling anyone anything, including Papa and her stepmother.
If he didn’t show up, she would know it was a nasty trick—doubtless courtesy of Lord Wells. Even if Percy came and spoke with Papa, she would still proceed with caution. He’d said their reaction to each other was uncommon. She could accept that explanation for herself, but not him.
Men were always sniffing about, looking for ways to corrupt a female—as both her mother and stepmother had said on many occasions. How could she be certain he wasn’t lying to her just to gain her cooperation? There had to be a way to know for sure.
As for his tale concerning Lady Montgomery, Eden wanted to believe him, but wanted even more to hear a full explanation of what had happened. Even if she asked, could she trust his version of it?
Tea. Tomorrow. With Lady Montgomery.
“You cannot come tomorrow!” she gasped, stopping them just before they stepped onto the lakeside path. “Lady Montgomery invited me to tea tomorrow.”
“Why should that—”
“My stepmother will wish to accompany me, and I doubt very much she’ll be in any mood to receive you immediately following our return.”
“Saturday, then.”
She shook her head. “We are to attend a party Saturday. Papa will likely not accompany us, but he will doubtless wish to consult with both my stepmother and me when you speak with him.”
“Very well.” Though he agreed, his frustration was clear. “As the following day is Sunday, I shall call midday on Monday.”
“Thank you.” She breathed a sigh of relief. Though she’d spoken true, she suspected he thought her stalling for time. In a way, she was both relieved and distraught by the delay. It would give her time to think—but it would also give him time to think.
…
True to his word, Percy made himself her attentive shadow for the remainder of the afternoon. Together they lounged in the shade overlooked by their stern chaperone. He read to Eden from Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels between visits from friends who idled by to chat and pick at the feast he’d brought.
His display of hospitality was deliberately lavish, a pointed reminder to Lady Catherine of his wealth and stature. There was cold roast beef, lamb, duck, and ham. There were veal, pigeon, and even mince pies, as well as several casks of ale in addition to an assortment of sweets to delight the palate of any person.
He made certain never to venture forth without Eden by his side. By the end of the event, he was pleased to see chins had begun to noticeably wag.
Sitting across from Eden and Lady Catherine on the way back to their London residence, he could feel the animosity emanating from the older woman. Her look was a baleful glare, her mouth a hard, thin slash above her pugnacious chin. He didn’t understand it. He’d been the soul of courtesy the entire afternoon.
“Thank you for inviting us, Lord Tavistoke,” Eden said, shattering the fragile silence. “I did so enjoy the event.”
“The pleasure was and is all mine.” He conjured up a smile for her. “In fact, I should very much like leave to call on you again, Miss Lowther.”
“I would be honored,” she responded quickly. “I am, as you know, already obligated elsewhere tomorrow afternoon and we are attending Lady Torrington’s dinner party in the evening. But I shall be at home Monday of next week. Perhaps you could join us then?”
“I shall be delighted. Additionally, I shall be attending the Sheffield ball next Thursday—the Sheffields are personal friends,” he added quickly, before Lady Catherine could do more than open her mouth. “I should be honored to escort you, provided another gentleman has not already been granted the privilege.”
“I am unobligated and would very much enjoy your company again,” answered Eden. “Now that I’m privy to the happy news Lord and Lady Montgomery shared with us this afternoon, I shall be especially pleased to attend.”
At once he saw where she was leading. What a clever puss! “Happy news, indeed,” he said, grinning. “Perhaps this one will be the boy Monty has been wishing for. Not that my goddaughter isn’t the apple of his and everyone else’s eye, but a man likes to see his continuity in this world assured in his heir. Should the babe indeed be male, we’ll no doubt hear his father crow all the way to Charing Cross.”
“Lady Montgomery is expecting a child?” Lady Catherine cut in, her eyes sharp with interest.
Percy blinked as though he’d forgotten her presence altogether and had only just now noticed her sitting there. “She is indeed. But forgive me, I should not have said anything.”
“The fault is mine,” Eden jumped in, looking adequately contrite. “Without thought, I mentioned it out of turn. You must promise not to say a word to anyone,” she implored her stepmother. “I told Lady Montgomery I would keep her secret, as she wishes to wait until the ball to make it publicly known.”
Clever indeed. Percy watched as Lady Catherine wrestled with her dislike of him, weighing it against this clear opportunity to advance Eden. First a marquess—his rank counted for something even if his name was thoroughly tarnished—and now a countess. Her stepdaughter was rising in eminence, her circle broadening to include more influential people, and it was because of his interest. Would she dare risking his displeasure with a refusal?
Just then, Eden clapped a hand to her mouth and let out a muffled moan. “Oh, dear! In my excitement, I forgot to tell you that Lady Montgomery has also asked me to tea with her tomorrow. You are, of course, invited,” she told her stepmother.
A gusty sigh erupted from Lady Catherine’s frowning mouth. It carried a distinct note of surrender. “Nothing would delight me more.” Her sour tone belied the statement. “As for the Sheffield ball…” She fixed him with a gimlet stare. “We would again be glad of your company.”
Beside her, Eden turned to look out of the window—but not before Percy caught a triumphant smile on her lips.