“And,” she skipped ahead, “when Lady Eltenham told Eliza you had never requested her to serve as a chaperone before, Eliza said her concerns were fully satisfied.”
Lord Willard slanted a glance across the carriage and made atsking noise. “Mother, have you been tale-bearing?”
Lady Eltenham tore her gaze from the window, briefly glanced between them, flashed a non-committal smile, and then, just as quickly, turned away.
What could the lady find so fascinating?
They’d hardly moved. She supposed his mother was trying to give them the illusion of privacy. Lord Willard felt comfortable enough to tease, in any case. But surely, Lady Eltenham would intercede if Lord Willard did anythingtrulybeyond the pale. After all, she’d told Eliza how happy she was to be escorting so darling and demure a young lady.
Eliza had nearly spit up her tea.
“After my mother’s reassurance, your sister made no further protestation?”
“Actually, she’d granted provisional permission even earlier, after I told her you and Asquith have been known to one another since childhood. She’d sent word, but he never answered her summons.”
“Indeed? And what of Lord Redver?”
What about her words had made Lord Willard smirk? “Adrian, while conceding he had not had the pleasure of a long acquaintance with you, gave his blessing as well, saying he had served on the continent with your uncle and thought him the best of men.”
“Geoffrey?” Lady Eltenham interjected, a strange expression on her face.
“Yes, mother.” Lord Willard leaned forward and placed a soothing hand on her arm. “Uncle Geoffrey was the best of men.”
“The best,” the lady repeated, mirroring Lord Willard’s nod. “You will take me to his lodge as you promised, won’t you?” She glanced out the window. “He was happy there, so close to Brighton.”
“One day, mother.” Willard’s features tensed. “One day.”
Millie bit her lip, instantly regretting the mention of Lady Eltenham’s deceased brother.
Lord Willard leaned back in the seat, yawned, and stretched, placing his arm across the back of the bench, just behind, but not touching, Millie’s head. Uncomfortable, yes. A touch overfamiliar. But not beyond the pale.
He leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry. She is fine. Still grieving, you understand.”
For three years?Millie glanced doubtfully at the older woman.
While perfectly pleasant, Lord Willard’s mother did not seemfine.
Still, Millie was relieved he did not appear to assign blame to herself for herfaux pasin mentioning his mother’s loss. Neville would have scolded her with his most contemptuous gaze.
She cleared her throat. She needn’t worry about Neville tonight.
She angled her head so she might better see Lord Willard. In the dim light—he had not lit the inside lamps—she could not read those stunning eyes, but, beneath her scrutiny, the corner of one of his lips turned up.
Why did he always smile so when she studied him? Almost as if her attempt to fix his character by observation amused him.
With his free hand he reached around and touched her cheek. Though he left plenty of room between them, his gesture felt like a brief embrace.
Reassuring, in a way.
Lord Willard’s care felt like a force, his esteem potent. Even when she blundered, she still felt as if he approved. Having not experienced much approval in her life, she hadn’t realized a man’s approbation, his favor, hisliking, could engender physical warmth.
Then again, perhaps the warmth she was feeling was simply from proximity.
When, finally, the carriage came to a stop, Willard withdrew. The footman opened the door, and Millie closed her eyes, smiling into the rush of cold air.
Thank heavens. She took a decent breath.
Lord Willard, of course, helped his mother down first. Then, he held out his hand for Millie. He tucked her close against one side, leaving his mother to his other side.