Part 22 (2/2)

”It'll take a subtle campaign to bring Harry to his knees.”

Lucinda couldn't help but smile.

”His knees?” Em gave her a haughty look.

”Of course.”

Head on one side, Lucinda eyed her unpredictable hostess.

”What do you mean by ” subtle”?”

”Well.” Em settled in her chair.

”For instance...”

”Good evening, Fergus.”

”Good evening, sir.”

Harry allowed his aunt's butler to relieve him of his greatcoat, then handed him his driving gloves.

”Is my brother here?” Harry turned to the mirror hanging above the ormolu table.

”Master Gerald arrived half an hour ago. In his new phaeton.”

Harry's lips twitched.

”Ah, yes--his latest achievement.” He made an almost imperceptible adjustment to the folds of his crisply white cravat. ”Your aunt will be delighted to see you~ sir.”

Harry met Fergus's eyes in the mirror.

”No doubt.” He let his lids fall, veiling his eyes.

”Who else is here?”

”Sir Henry and Lady Dalrymple, Squire Moffat and Mrs Moffat, Mr b.u.t.terworth, Mr Hurst and the Misses Pinkerton.” When Harry stood stock still, green eyes hooded, his expression utterly blank, Fergus added, ”And Mrs Bubbacombe and Miss Babbacombe, of course.”

”Of course.” Regaining his equilibrium, momentarily shaken, Harry reset tied the gold pin in his cravat. Then, turning, he strolled towards the drawing-room door. Fergus hurried to open it.

Announced, Harry entered.

Her eyes met his immediately--she wasn't experienced enough to cloak her spontaneous reaction. She'd been speaking with Mr Hurst, a gentleman farmer whom Em, Harry suspected, had long had in her matchmaking sights. Harry paused just inside the door. Lucinda smiled across the room--an easy, politely welcoming smile--and turned back to Mr Hurst. Harry hesitated, then, languidly urbane, strolled to where his aunt sat ensconced in regal purple on the end of the chaise.

”Dear Aunt,” he said, bowing elegantly over her hand.

”Wondered if you'd come.” Em grinned her triumph. Harry ignored it.

He nodded to the lady sharing the chaise.

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