Last night she had promised to make a better effort to get along with her new relatives. She had sworn to herself to hold her tongue. Then, before the evening was out, she had flown into a temper and rashly declared that she would leave their benefactor’s house. She had not thought about her sisters or what would happen to them or, indeed, about anything but herself.
Besides, deep down she knew that it was not really the earl who had angered her. Sir Royce’s words had cut her to the quick because she had foolishly let herself imagine that he was interested in her, that he liked her, even desired her. Her sisters should not have to suffer simply because she was behaving like an adolescent girl.
Mary sighed. “You are right. I cannot argue. We have no choice but to stay.”
He smiled. “You will not regret it.”
“I hope not.” Mary could not bring herself to return his smile. She had done the right thing for her sisters, but all she could think about was that now she would have to face Royce.
She was not sure whether that idea filled her with dread … or anticipation.
Chapter 9
As it happened, Mary did not have to wait long to find out what her reaction would be when she saw Sir Royce again. She and her sisters were sitting down to tea with the earl and Fitz that afternoon in one of the drawing rooms when the butler announced the arrival of Sir Royce Winslow and Lady Charlotte Ludley.
Mary, who had been adding sugar to her tea, felt her heart flip in her chest, and her fingers involuntarily tightened on the little spoon, sending sugar crystals tumbling into the saucer. She occupied herself with replacing the spoon in the sugar bowl and setting down her cup, gathering herself inside, before she looked up at the two visitors standing in the doorway.#p#分页标题#e#
Her eyes flickered over the attractive woman dressed in what Mary assumed was the height of fashion and went straight to the man standing beside her. She had hoped that now that she knew what Royce was truly like, he would not look the same to her. Unfortunately, she could not deny that a sizzle still ran through her at the sight of his tall, muscular figure. Royce’s green eyes met hers, and Mary braced herself. She would not lower her gaze before his; after all, he was the one who should feel ashamed. If she was going to stay here, she would doubtless encounter the man on a regular basis. She had to establish that she did not give a whit for his opinion of her.
She held his gaze for one long beat without expression, then turned her head to look at his companion. She saw a woman slightly older than herself, with dark brown hair pinned up under a ruched silk bonnet of palest gray decorated across the crown with a cluster of bright red artificial cherries. The woman wore a carriage dress that matched the hat in color, and Mary noted that although its waist was still higher than one’s natural waist, it was definitely a good bit lower than those on the gowns Mary and her sisters wore—clearly the new style, like the aunts’ dresses last night. Beneath the bonnet the woman’s face was pleasant and rosy-cheeked, with bright hazel eyes and a rosebud mouth.
“Cousin Charlotte.” Both Fitz and Stewkesbury rose to their feet, smiling.
“I was most sorry you could not come for dinner last night,” the earl said, stepping forward to kiss the woman on the cheek.
“Not as sorry as I after Mama visited me this morning and told me whom she had met.” Charlotte’s eyes went past her cousin to the Bascombe sisters, grouped on two short sofas.
“Allow me to introduce you to your new cousins,” Oliver told her, turning toward the Bascombes and running through the list of their names. He added, “Charlotte is your aunt Cynthia’s daughter.”
“Oh, my! How pretty you all are!” Cousin Charlotte exclaimed, coming forward to shake the girls’ hands. “Royce told me you were, but I thought he must be exaggerating. I can see now that he was not.” She cast a mischievous glance at the earl. “Oliver, I fear you will have your work cut out for you, fending off these girls’ suitors.”
“I think that will be sometime down the road,” Oliver replied noncommittally.
“Not this Season, of course. Why, ’tis almost over. But next Season they will be sure to make a splash.” Charlotte sat down in the chair closest to the girls. “You must tell me all about yourselves. Mama said you gave Aunt Euphronia quite a turn. Do you actually carry guns? Royce swore to me that you had a rifle with you when he met you, but I was certain he must be lying.”
It was clear that the girls had found an appreciative audience, and they proceeded to launch into more realistic versions of the tales they had told the evening before. Mary allowed her sisters to take the lead in the conversation, concentrating on ignoring Sir Royce’s presence. It was, she found, excessively hard not even to glance at him—especially since she could feel his gaze upon her throughout most of the conversation.