I watched him nod his head again at Lord Ashington before he scurried for the door. He mustn’t scurry either. It was not at all an attractive trait. Someone needed to take him under their wing and teach him how to be more assured or at least how to act as if he were. He was a nice man and could make a fine match if he would simply show more backbone.
The butler stepped into the door just before Mr. Fletcher could exit.
“A Mr. Nicholas Compton here to see Miss Bathurst,” he announced.
I could have sworn I heard Mr. Fletcher gasp then cough as if strangled before making his way past the butler with great haste. Apparently, Mr. Fletcher didn’t care for Mr. Compton any more than he did the Earl of Ashington.
“Oh my,” I heard Aunt Harriet whisper entirely too loudly to truly be a whisper and that was when I remembered the gossip she had shared with me at the ball just before I encountered Mr. Compton on the balcony.
Oh my, indeed…
Chapter Seven
Mr. Nicholas Compton
One could argue that I wasn’t expecting my brother to be at 18 Mayfair but that wasn’t entirely true. It had been a gamble of sorts and I was talented in that regard. Ashington should have been at Miss Ramsbury’s home at 7 Grosvenor; however, he was weak when it came to beauty and Miss Bathurst did make Miss Ramsbury appear rather pale in comparison. I asked myself who I would pay a visit to this morning if I were to truly be in search of a wife. The answer was easy enough and although we shared a hatred for one another, we oft thought alike. Perhaps our father shone through in me more than I cared to admit. My mother had believed it to be true as well; she had surely said so throughout my life.
“Ashington,” I greeted as his glare met my own amused gaze. I then turned my attention to Miriam Bathurst because, after all, she was why we were gathered here, was she not? “Good morning, Miss Bathurst. You are as breathtaking in the light of day as you are in the moonlight,” I stated, knowing that couldn’t always be said for a lady in society. I’d brought her six yellow roses that I carried in the crook of my left arm but in my right hand, I held the posies I had brought for her aunt. If one wanted to impress the lady then one must flatter the mother, or in this case, the aunt. Wisdom my own mother had shared with me. Not that I had ever truly planned on impressing a lady any further than getting under her skirts.
“You have a beautiful home,” I informed her aunt then held the posies out to her.
She blushed like a debutant and gushed over the flowers. With a slight bow, I then turned to Miss Bathurst and held out the roses, a most unique shade of yellow. They had reminded me of creamy butter and I’d wanted them for her. She was unique and deserved something just so. This might be nothing more than a game for me, but Miriam Bathurst was indeed special.
“For you,” I said.
She smiled sincerely at me for what might be the first time and I realized it was a dangerous weapon. The way her eyes shone with the innocent gesture was almost knee weakening. Had I ever experienced such reaction from a woman’s smile before? This might possibly be treacherous territory that I should tread carefully upon.
“They are lovely,” she said with a softness to her voice. “Thank you.”
For this simple response, I would go buy her every butter yellow rose in London and that I feared was a weakness I could not afford myself. Miss Bathurst was a pawn for me, if my brother chose her for his future wife. Remembering such was important. Although she threatened to make that difficult.
“I didn’t expect to see you out at this hour, paying visits,” Ashington stated with a clear warning in his tone.
Flashing my best jovial grin, I met his glare. “Well, of course, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”
“It’s an honor that both of you chose to pay us a visit this fine morning,” Lady Wellington gushed, drawing our attention from each other and the obvious silent standoff. “Please won’t you both have a seat and I’ll ring for tea. Martha, that is, our cook makes the most mouthwatering biscuits you have ever tasted. They are Miriam’s favorite, aren’t they, honey?”
There was an amused twinkle in Miss Bathurst eyes as she nodded in agreement. Her aunt was obviously American from her accent and the casual way she had called the cook by her first name was no doubt what Miriam found entertaining. Most ladies would be embarrassed or horrified by such a slip but not this one. It was clear she held a fondness for her aunt and I admired that. She was not what my brother would choose for a wife, however, even if her beauty drew him in. Ashington would make sure his countess was as boring and proper as he was.
“Thank you, that is most gracious of you,” I replied when Ashington said nothing.
The over bright smile that showed too many teeth in a very alarming way flashed on Lady Wellington’s face and one couldn’t help but smile in return. It was most amusing. Yet another thing I doubted my brother could accept. A Baron’s niece was not one that would have been raised to become a countess. Especially one who was being introduced into society with an American aunt such as this one.
I moved my gaze to Miriam to see she was still trying hard not to laugh. Her full pink lips were pressed together in a gentle smile, but it was her eyes that gave way the humor she found in the situation. She wasn’t proper at all, and I enjoyed that too much it seemed.
“I imagine you didn’t expect to be visited by both Ashington and myself this morning. At least not at the same time. How, uh, lucky you are,” I said with a smirk on my lips.
A small giggle escaped her and that had been exactly what I’d intended to do. More so for myself than for Ashington. If I were to use a lady in my plans to humiliate my brother then I didn’t want to be fond of the lady. I might find it hard to use her as a pawn if I began to care for her. Miriam Bathurst was indeed a danger. I could care for her too easily. It was now of utmost importance I made sure Ashington chose Miss Ramsbury for his future wife.
I cut my gaze to see Ashington’s reaction to the less than proper side of Miss Bathurst. He was showing no appreciation in his facial expressions but then he rarely did. The man was as stodgy as our father had been.
“A lady is never sure who might call upon her,” Miriam replied demurely. She did that quite well, I realized. Maybe she could act the proper lady when she tried.
The tea arrived then and Lady Wellington began to chatter on nervously about the difference of biscuits and jam in England as that of the biscuits and jam in New Orleans. I took the moment to study my brother and see if he was preparing his leave. Surely after the short interaction here, he would be making his next stop to see Miss Ramsbury. Although, I hated to think this would be my last visit to 18 Mayfair. This was hands down the best time I’d experienced calling upon a lady, but then those were extremely limited visits. I did not make a habit of such behavior. Paris offered much more appealing options.
“Lord Radcliff to see Miss Bathurst,” the butler announced and all eyes turned as George Radcliff entered the room, carrying a bouquet of lilies. It would seem that Miriam Bathurst had made a good impression during their dance last night. Either that or Radcliff was up to his usual nosey ambitions.
Lady Wellington sprang from her spot on the settee and Miriam stood as well. “Welcome Lord Radcliff, we were just about to have tea. I will ring for an extra setting. Please join us.”