‘Feeble? My God,’ Luc said with a sort of suppressed fury. ‘I could shake you, you idiot girl.’ He spun on his heel and stalked off. Averil followed the dark head until it vanished through the double doors that opened on to the hall. He had gone and he was obviously angry with her, which was so unreasonable of him. She was doing her best to be brave and dutiful, although that appeared to anger him, and he must realise that she could not flirt, let alone permit anything more intimate.
She had thought that he cared for her, wanted what was right for her, but it seemed that all he wanted was her in his bed until he tired of her and frustration was making him irritable.
Well, she was frustrated too. She almost wished Andrew Bradon would take some liberties, just so she could be held and kissed. But she wanted Luc and it was so unfair of him to teach her to feel passion and then … Then what? He had done what she asked of him and let her go to Bradon instead of abducting her in a thoroughly shocking and romantic manner. Which is what, she very much feared, she had wanted him to do.
Thoroughly exasperated with herself and Luc, and Bradon, Averil swept out of the alcove and rejoined the party. Frederica Arthur came over and linked her arm though hers. ‘Oh, has that handsome naval captain gone already?’
‘You think him handsome?’
‘Well, not conventionally, perhaps.’ Miss Arthur lowered her voice. ‘But he is very manly, do you not agree?’
‘It is the uniform,’ Averil said repressively.
‘Perhaps.’ Her companion’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘And I do so enjoy flirting and making my poor Hugh jealous.’
‘You are betrothed?’
‘To Sir Hugh Malcolm—see, over there, the tall man with blond hair by the potted palm. We will be married next month. I cannot wait.’ The mischief left her face to be replaced with a tender look. ‘I want to start a family as soon as possible. I love children, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I do.’ Averil realised she had never thought much about the matter. Children were part of family life, part of her obligation to Bradon. But, listening to Frederica’s happy plans as the other young woman chattered on, she realised that just because she had taken the idea for granted did not mean it was not important. The abstract concept of children became an image of a real child, a baby. How wonderful. Andrew Bradon seemed steady and responsible, even if he was not demonstrative and his approach to their marriage was coldly practical. He would be a proud father, she thought. A good father.
‘There you are, my dear. I was looking for you to take you in to supper.’ Andrew Bradon was looking positively animated.
‘You have had luck at the card tables?’ Averil enquired as he steered her towards the supper room. She realised now that his father was a serious gamester and that was where much of the family fortune had gone. She was not pleased at the thought that her dowry, and their children’s inheritance, might be frittered away by her husband.
‘Very gratifying. I only play for low stakes, you understand. My father is the gamester in our family.’ He found a table and pulled out a chair for Averil. ‘You do not play cards, I trust?’
‘No, I do not.’ She smiled up at him and saw a glimmer of answering interest. ‘I am so glad you only play moderately.’
He was still unusually animated when he returned with food for her. ‘You look very well, this evening, my dear. In excellent health and looks. Your appetite is good, I trust?’
‘Oh, yes, I feel very well, thank you.’
For a moment she did not understand, then he patted her hand and said, ‘Excellent’, before attacking his own selection of patties, and she realised he thought her robust health indicated that she was not in a delicate condition.
Perhaps he is just shy and hides it behind a façade of indifference, she thought and watched him from beneath her lashes. He would never be Luc—that was wishing for the moon—but perhaps she had misjudged him. I will be happy. I will forget Luc, she vowed, and smiled at Andrew again.
Chapter Eighteen
‘The reception went very well,’ Lady Kingsbury pronounced as they drove back to Bruton Street. Averil could still not think of it as home. ‘You have already made a number of most suitable acquaintances. We will attend the Farringdons’ ball tomorrow night, I think. Brandon, I trust we may count on your escort?’
‘Of course, Mama.’
‘Unfortunately it is a Wednesday, but we will visit Almack’s next week. There are certain to be several of the Patronesses at the ball. I will secure a voucher for you.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. Is the fact that it is Wednesday relevant?’
‘Of course. A ball and supper every Wednesday during the Season. Do you not know about Almack’s?’
‘Oh, yes, ma’am. My friend Lady Perdita Brooke told me about it on the ship, I just did not understand about Wednesdays.’
‘Perdita Brooke? You know her well?’
‘Very well. She is my particular friend. You may imagine my relief when I discovered that she, too, had survived the wreck. She was saved by Viscount Lyndon.’
‘He is now Marquis of Iwerne. That is not an acquaintance I would wish you to pursue. The man is a gazetted rake and as for Lady Perdita, there was considerable talk before she left for India. Shocking behaviour. She eloped and was some time in the company of a most unsuitable young man.’
‘But, ma’am, she is my friend! And Lord Lyndon, I mean, Iwerne—I have something of his that was washed up after the wreck. I was going to write and send it to him.’