A Hasty Betrothal. Jessica Nelson

Tell Grandmother I shall return shortly.”

      “And if she asks why you did not come with me?”

      She sighed heavily. “Very well, if you insist on being difficult.” She stood, brushing out her skirts as best she could, knowing the rest of the evening would prove to be a great bore. Nevertheless, duty must be fulfilled. Perhaps she might claim a megrim... It would certainly not be unexpected.

      Miles held out his arm as she neared. “I know that look. Plotting escape, are you?”

      “Not I.” She felt his gaze upon her. “Do stop staring,” she murmured, taking his arm and allowing him to escort her back to the ballroom.

      “You really should not be wandering alone, especially at a crush this size.”

      “Please, Miles, not now.” He was right, of course. She risked her family’s reputation, but staying in that horridly stuffy ballroom had proved unbearable. Besides, she was older than many here. Nothing untoward would happen.

      “Shouldn’t you be entertaining a bridegroom by now?” Miles asked.

      She rolled her eyes. He acted as though he were her guardian rather than an old family friend. Oh, how she despised his pristine, well-kept appearance! The cravat that was always tied just so and the unblemished features he’d been born with. It was not his fault that he knew nothing of her struggles, of her insecurities.

      But to mention her lack of prospects...how utterly uncouth of him. The audacity of his comment rendered her speechless for a moment. This was why she preferred never to see Miles. His blunt ways and teasing smile bothered her to no end. Then there was the unfortunate incident he’d witnessed her fifteenth year... Yes, she avoided him whenever possible.

      But most importantly, he possessed the greatest fault of all: the man never opened a book.

      That thought uppermost, she leveled a lofty look at him, the one she reserved for ill-trained butlers and staring housemaids. “I will marry for love or not at all.”

      “Why, Elizabeth? Love can come with time.” They paused in the doorway of the ballroom, his eyes searching her face. “Don’t you wish to have a family, your own home?”

      “Not with someone who does not love me.” She broke their shared gaze, searching the room for her mother. Why wouldn’t Miles just leave? His questions poked tender scars from years ago.

      “Haven’t you had several Seasons now?” He continued speaking as though he had no notion of how his words affected her. And maybe he didn’t, for she was well versed in decorum.

      A lady did not show her emotions in public places.

      “Perhaps I shall start a rumor that you are a heart crusher,” he said.

      “Tittle-tattle, all of it,” she responded quietly. She’d experienced many Seasons—though it was no wonder he strove to remember. She was worse than a wallflower. This time of the year was always terrible, but she managed to muddle through. Oh, why didn’t he leave? She had little patience for Miles and his irreverent ruminations. “Go away.”

      “You are filled with sharp words today, sweeting.” Before she realized what he intended, he drew her to an alcove to their right, which held a small bench situated behind a potted plant. He released her arm and, gratefully, she sat.

      From this vantage point, she could watch the dancing without being noticed. “It is this time of year. I suppose I am irritated with my parents. They are always trying to marry me off.”

      Elizabeth dropped her chin into her hands and surveyed the attendees. They chatted and swirled, preened and giggled. The gentlemen wore starched cravats, crisp breeches and such serious expressions one might think the world would end if they didn’t snag a bride. Or rather, a fortune.

      “What are you brooding about?” Miles settled beside her, his cologne intoxicating.

      “Avariciousness.”

      He made a sound akin to a laugh. She scowled at him. “It’s not funny—it’s ludicrous. What do these people hope to become? To dream about? The latest French fashions?”

      “Very judgmental, my lady.”

      “I’m in a foul mood.” She focused on the people milling about. “My parents refuse to see reason.”

      “This is regarding your marital prospects?”

      “The lack thereof.”

      From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands lift, palms up. “You’re an heiress. Surely you’ve had offers.”

      She sniffed. “When I marry, it shall be for love. If I marry. No one shall force me into the cage and if my brother’s career suffers, if my parents’ reputations hold the tiniest smear of disgrace simply due to my hermitude, I care not a whit.”

      “Harsh words, my lady.” He leaned forward, mimicking her bent posture. “Marriage can be rewarding. It is not all doom and gloom. If you choose wisely, you will spend the rest of your days residing on a country estate. Why, you might even be allowed to move your bed into the library. Then you may cozy up to your books without interruption and never be parted from them again.”

      “You are silly, Mr. Hawthorne.” She scrunched her face at him, realizing that an unacceptable giggle gurgled within. She tamped it down. Firmly. “This is no time for laughter. Do you see those dowagers and my mother watching me? They are assessing my value. Planning, no doubt, for my sale to the highest bidder.”

      “Come now, Bitt, that is hardly fair.”

      She straightened, suddenly annoyed. “You are not a woman. You do not know what it is like to be picked apart and looked over, only to be found wanting.” Her eyes stung, and she blinked. Oh, rats. Why did this happen when she talked to him? Perhaps because he knew about Luke. He knew what had happened so long ago. “What are you doing here, anyway? This is hardly the place for a widower who has vowed to never marry again.”

      As she faced him, she caught the grimace crossing his face. Was that regret in his eyes? Guilt barreled through her. “My brother told me of your commitment to work.”

      “I acquired a new factory near your grandmother’s estate, actually. I don’t have time to cater to a wife.” His eyes were dark, stormy, as though a mood had come upon him.

      If she was honest with herself, she’d always enjoyed looking at Miles. Almost in the way one admired a violent sunset splashing across the horizon. When she was around him, she felt freer somehow.

      As if she too were a myriad of colors spilling into the sea.

      “If you are not here for a wife, then you must be here for some other nefarious purpose.” She squinted at him, allowing a bit of mockery in her smile. “Tell me truthfully: Did John send you here to spy on me?”

      “Your brother is too busy for meddling.”

      “Do not be vague with me, Mr. Hawthorne.”

      “Despite my lack of title, I also received an invitation. Does that surprise you?”

      “As you are a gentleman, it is not surprising at all.” She stood, suddenly tired of their banter, of the constant irritation that had plagued her from the moment she’d arrived in London. Nay, before that. “I’m in need of fresh air. Do not follow me. If you see Grandmother, please tell her I took a turn in the gardens.”

      “Without a companion?”

      “Perhaps I shall conveniently snag one on the way out,” she said crossly. She really should keep a companion near her at all times, but what she wanted most was to be alone. Who would bother a wallflower, anyhow?

      Miles chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. She steeled herself against any feelings of friendliness toward him.

      “You laugh, yet you have never known the restrictions of womanhood.”

      “If you mean spending