Even the next day, Michael Cavenleigh was still laughing over Phillip's careless actions that led to the dunking of the intriguing young lady in the Thames.
Phillip slouched in his seat at Michael's bachelor rooms and glared at his friend. He couldn't keep a straight face for long. To be honest, the sight of Michael laughing again after such a long spell of sorrow, even though said laughter came at Phillip's expense, was just too refreshing-and relieving-a sight to behold.
"Enough," Phillip grumbled in mock grumpiness. "I admit, I didn't think that one through, but I had to get closer, and the ferryman wouldn't listen to me."
"You got closer." Michael chuckled again.
"Obviously, I didn't mean to tip her boat or make her fall in. I need to be more clever next time."
"That was clever. I'd wager she'll never forget you." Michael wiped his eyes.
"A step in the right direction. If I could only do something to improve her opinion of me. But first I must find her. I have little to go on beyond her being Annabel Stafford's cousin." Phillip stood and started pacing. Surely someone else would have noticed the lovely lady with hair the color of a rich brandy and in possession of an inherent kindness to all she met. "I need to gain an introduction."
"It hardly signifies." Michael sipped his lemonade, since he'd given up stronger drink years ago.
"How do you figure?"
"She likely won't ever speak to you."
"Of course she will. She didn't seem that upset. She even laughed." Her lovely, musical laugh, colored with a certain ruefulness, sang to him even in his dreams.
Michael's mirth mingled with disgust. "You dumped her into the filthiest river in England. You're both lucky she wasn't struck by a submerged log or something of the like."
"Yes, we were both fortunate, indeed, that it didn't go worse for her. I must find a way to make it up to her. This goes way behind flowers, obviously. Do you have any ideas?"
"Personal gestures are best," Michael said. "But you don't know her."
"No. I must do some sleuthing. Until then, perhaps I could send both flowers and candy. Even if they aren't her favorites, they will let her know I'm thinking of her and am wholly repentant about it."
Michael nodded thoughtfully. "Her cousin might be an obstacle."
Phillip sank back down in the armchair he'd vacated a moment ago. Her cousin, Miss Stafford, had indeed glared all manner of daggers at Phillip. He clearly fell terribly short of being a paragon like his brother.
Was his inability to be a smooth-talking charmer the reason no one saw Phillip for anything other than a way to marry into the ducal family?
He leaped to his feet again. "I must win them both over-probably her parents, as well, who must not think too kindly of a person who throws their daughter in the river." A formidable task to be sure, but Phillip had never shrunk from a worthwhile challenge.
"Won't matter. She won't give you the time of day."
Phillip straightened his spine. "She will."
Michael choked. "Never. You had your chance. Missed it."
"That will not be my only opportunity." With a reckless bravado, Phillip added, "I will win her love."
"Would you care to bet?" Michael's eyes glittered.
"No. I won't bet on a lady."
Michael shrugged. "She won't have you."
"I will be persuasive."
"You?" Michael laughed.
Phillip gritted his teeth. He'd attracted female company in the past-for reasons other than his status. He could do it again if he really tried. "Yes. She is worth it."
"Worth it? Perhaps. But it's a lost cause."
His dismissive attitude raised the hackles on Phillip's neck. "I will marry her."
Michael choked, coughed, and laughed. "You don't know her."
Phillip struggled against feelings he didn't entirely understand. "I know enough about her to know that I want her. I've never wanted anyone like this."
"I wager anything you name that she won't have you."
With growing ire and a sudden need to prove himself, Phillip stated, "Very well. If I win, you must . . ." He considered. What would be costly to Michael? His horses gave him no small measure of pride. He didn't want to take any of Michael's prize stock, but perhaps something a bit more fun. "You must ride a mule in Hyde Park during the promenade."
Michael frowned. "I'd rather die than ride a mule."
"Are you willing to recant, then?"
"No." Michael jutted out his chin. "I accept your wager." He considered. "If she refuses your proposal, you muck out my stables."
Phillip blanched. He had never done such a thing. It would be backbreaking and smelly and humiliating. And if his family found out he'd done something so far below his standing, they'd take him to task. But he wouldn't have to do it; he would win. He straightened his shoulders. "Done."
"Wedding must be before the end of the Season."
"Agreed." If he couldn't win her by Season's end, he had little chance anyway. Angry for a reason he couldn't quite identify, Phillip stared into the fire, which had died down to a jutting tongue behind the charred log. Silence stretched until finally Phillip glanced at Michael. His friend eyed him silently, that same assessing look he gave to purebreds to determine their worth.
Finally, Phillip barked, "What?"
"Why?"
Phillip blinked. Sometimes determining Michael's meaning required tremendous insightfulness, and he seemed short on supply just then. "Why what?"
"Why her? Why so certain? You have never conversed with her. She's pretty, but not beautiful."
Phillip disagreed with Michael's assessment of her beauty but focused on his attempt to answer the question truthfully. "She is different. I've seen her before-at the St. Cyrs' ball last week. She caught my eye right away-like a light shining on her face. She never once made a move toward my brother or me. She didn't even ask for an introduction to my mother, which slyer young ladies sometimes do."
That alone had captured his attention.
Michael toyed with his glass. "Not after your connections, then."
"No. And when I saw her yesterday, I had this sense of recognition, as if she were a long-lost love."
When she chased after Miss Harris's bonnet, so determined to help, and was creatively kind, both to an urchin and to Miss Harris, he'd experienced a pull toward her.
He glanced at Michael, but he wasn't laughing or scoffing, only looking sober and thoughtful. Whether he relived his own attraction to his late fiancée or simply tried to understand, Phillip did not know.
Finally, he added, "She intrigues me like no one else."
Michael nodded. "Then I wish you luck. Or, I would, but I have no desire to ride a mule." His lips twitched.
"I look forward to witnessing the spectacle of you riding a mule in Hyde Park . . . on the day she accepts my marriage proposal." Phillip grinned.
"No." His face a mask of calm, Michael said, "The day after she marries you. Accepting a proposal doesn't allow for a change of mind."
"She isn't a jilt."
"And you know her so well?"
"Yes, I do."
With any luck, he would utter similar words while kneeling at an altar by the end of London's social season.
Standing in the drawing room of her aunt and uncle's London townhouse, Meredith gaped at the flowers and box of candy in Aunt Paulette's hands. "They are from whom?"
"Phillip Partridge." Her aunt narrowed her gaze as if trying to see Meredith better. "His card says rather benignly, ‘Kindest regards,' and it is addressed to the family."
If there was a hidden meaning, Meredith missed it. "They are for all of you-not me."
"He's being polite," Aunt Paulette said. "Since you haven't been officially introduced, it would be inappropriate for him to send them to you."
"It's inappropriate anyway," Annabel said. "Brother of a duke or no, he has a lot of nerve sending you flowers and candy as if that atones for knocking you into the water. Why, you might have been injured or drowned or caught your death of cold."
Annabel's protectiveness brought a sting of tears to Meredith's eyes. She'd been her one true friend throughout her entire life, even in her darkest hours.
Aunt Paulette handed the flowers to a maid. "Put these in a vase of water, please." As the maid took the flowers out of the room, Aunt Paulette set the candy on a round Chippendale table. "He's clearly trying to pave the way to a civil reception when he comes to apologize in person. The question is, do we receive him or cut him?"
"We ought not cut him," Meredith said. "He didn't mean any harm, and he apologized the moment it happened-more than once."