The Unlikely Lady(20)

“Is she?” Claringdon’s voice held a note of surprise.

“Apparently she informed Cassandra that she and I are acquainted,” Garrett continued.

“Getting some unwanted attention from the widow?” Monroe said with another leering grin that Garrett didn’t appreciate.

“Yes, actually,” Garrett replied. “Her attention is unwanted.”

“If I remember her correctly, Mrs. Langford is a great beauty. Just say the word,” Monroe replied, still leering. I’m only too happy to distract her for you if you like.”

Garrett straightened his shoulders. Monroe’s rakishness was usually either an annoyance or an amusement, but today it might actually prove useful. “Thank you, Monroe. I’d like that.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN

Garrett took a deep breath before placing his hand on the handle, opening the door, and strolling into the drawing room that evening before dinner. He’d done an admirable job of remaining with the gentlemen all day in an effort to avoid encountering Isabella Langford. When they’d returned to the manor for tea in the afternoon, Garrett had declined. But dinner was unavoidable. He must face Isabella eventually. He wasn’t usually uncomfortable around women, quite the opposite, actually. But being around Isabella brought back the memories of Harold—his mistake, his death. Guilt gnawed at Garrett especially viciously when Isabella was near.

He strode into the opulent rose silk–wallpapered room to see Cassandra, Lucy, and Miss Lowndes all busily talking to Mrs. Langford. The knot in his gut tightened.

The moment she saw him, Mrs. Langford’s pale green eyes lit with a smile. “Mr. Upton, how good to see you.” Her joy made the guilt all the worse.

“Mrs. Langford,” he replied, with a nod and a bow. He did his best to smile. She wore a dark blue silk gown that hugged her figure. Isabella was gorgeous. There was no denying it, but he noticed it the same way he’d note his own sister was a beauty, if he’d had a sister. Well, Lucy then. Lucy was a beauty by all accounts, but to him she was just his cousin, the little ragamuffin of a girl who had chased him around and got dirty with him in his youth. Isabella may not have known Garrett as a child, but she was Harold’s widow and that made her as undesirable as any sister or cousin would be.

“Wherever have you been this evening, Garrett?” Lucy asked, turning to greet him. “We’ve been waiting for you to go into dinner.”

“I’m sorry to have made you wait.” Garrett gave his cousin a kiss on the cheek.

“Yes, well, now that you’re here, won’t you escort Mrs. Langford into the dining room?” Cassandra requested prettily. No doubt she assumed he would be eager to renew his acquaintance with the widow. “I’ve seated you next to each other,” she added.

Garrett kept the smile pinned to his face. He glanced at Miss Lowndes who, thankfully—and unusually for her—remained silent. She merely raised her dark brows over the rims of her spectacles and gave him a look that told him she was wondering about the nature of his friendship with Isabella. Bloody perfect.

“By all means.” Garrett gestured toward the door where the other couples were lining up to make their way into the dining room. He looked back to see Miss Lowndes on the arm of Owen Monroe. Damn it. Why wasn’t Monroe up here trying to charm Isabella as promised?

Garrett offered his arm to Isabella, who took it eagerly. They fell into step behind the others. The procession made its way into the dining room with its long polished mahogany table and dark green damask-covered chairs. Lord and Lady Moreland took their places at the head and foot of the table. Cassandra and Swifdon sat to their hostess’s immediate right and left. Lucy and Derek, the Duke and Duchess of Claringdon, were next, seated across from each other. A few other guests filled in the space between, then Isabella, then Garrett. He took his seat and looked up to stare into the smugly smiling face of Jane Lowndes.

He wasn’t certain exactly what a bluestocking face was, but surely it would look like Miss Lowndes’s. She was the type of young woman who would argue with a gentleman about things like horses and history and theater and essentially any topic that came up in polite conversation and a few that did not. She would be sitting across from him all evening while he was forced to make awkward conversation with Isabella.

Of course, perhaps it was merely a coincidence that Isabella was here. Perhaps she’d only used his name to gain entrée to a much talked about social fete. It wasn’t her fault that she reminded him of his guilt. He pasted a smile on his face and turned to Isabella.

“I trust your journey here was a pleasant one,” Garrett said to Isabella as the footman shook out her napkin and placed it over her lap.