"Lord Harrowby."
He turned his head slightly.
"Mrs Denham."
She inclined her head, her expression composed but purposeful.
"Forgive my assumptions, but I believe you are not yet engaged."
"I am not, no. I am yet to make my intentions to find a bride known, too."
"How very unfortunate," she said, as though he had made a decision that displeased her personally. "There are several young ladies who would be most disappointed to hear that, though I suspect you will be obliged to remedy it before long."
Julian regarded her without expression. He knew what she meant, but he wanted her to say it herself without him encouraging it. Frankly, he did not want to hear it at all, but that was what he resigned himself to when he refused to marry for convenience’s sake.
"You cannot expect to avoid it indefinitely."
"I have not attempted to do so."
"No?" Her brows lifted slightly. "That is not the impression one receives."
"I was not aware that I was being observed so closely."
"You are," she said. "Whether you approve of it or not."
"That is of no consequence to me."
But her meaning was clear. It had been clear for some time. Julian offered the minimal acknowledgment required, and allowed the conversation to lapse without further encouragement. Mrs Denham did not press him, though her expression suggested she had said precisely what she intended.
She moved on, and Julian’s attention returned to the room, though his thoughts did not follow quite as easily. All that he could think about was Miss Whitcombe, and the way she had stolen Lily away for that short while.
In truth, it was likely no more than half an hour, and then Lily was returned to her governess for her lessons, but it had affected Julian. Miss Whitcombe had undermined him, and he hated that, and yet he had been the one to allow it. Strangely, he found thinking the unmarried young ladies were less threatening.
The ladies in attendance were suitable. That was the word most often applied, and not without reason. They were well-connected, well-mannered, and entirely appropriate for the position they might one day occupy. Any one of them would satisfy expectations placed on him.
But none of them held his attention. He observed them as he observed everything else: entirely detached. Their intentions were not difficult to discern. A glance held a fraction too long, a conversation guided with quiet precision, a presence arranged to ensure it would be noticed, it was all very deliberate. It did not engage him.
Julian shifted his position slightly, his gaze moving across the room without settling on any one point for long. He had no intention of participating in the activities that afternoon, which thus far appeared to be talking and little else.
His thoughts returned, once more, to the morning, to the unexpected ease with which Miss Eleanor Whitcombe had inserted herself into a space that had always been carefully managed.
Lily did not take easily to strangers. She observed, she withdrew, and she required time. It was a process he understood, one he accounted for, but Miss Whitcombe had bypassed it entirely.
Children were inconsistent in their preferences. What held their attention one day might be forgotten the next. It was not a reliable measure of anything, and yet something still remained unanswered in his mind.
Julian’s gaze shifted again, more deliberately this time, until it found her. She stood near the far side of the room, engaged in conversation with another young lady, her manner as easy as it had been in the garden.
He did not believe it. She was not suited to such an event, nor to the expectations that governed it. She spoke too freely where others would have exercised restraint, and that would not bode well for her.
Either she would find it restrictive, or worse she would disregard it entirely, and neither outcome was good.
His attention lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he forced it elsewhere. Unfortunately, he forced himself to think of the dance they had shared the night before, the way she had followed without resistance. Asking her to dance so that he could escape another young lady was not terribly kind of him, and he knew that, but in that moment it felt as though he had no other option.
But he could not quite place why he had chosenherwhen any lady there would have danced with him. He ignored It. It had been a matter of proximity, nothing more. He had required assistance, and she had provided it.
There was no reason to revisit it, because Eleanor Whitcombe was entirely unsuitable. She was too inclined toward feeling, too unpredictable in ways that could not be accounted for or managed. She would disrupt order and resist expectation, and Julian did not allow for uncertainty.
Not that he was considering her, of course. He was not in search of a wife.