What a Spinster Wants - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,27

Lady Edith gave Vale for his comment, and it was clear that Mrs. Vale’s gentle warning wouldn’t help the situation.

“I ken you’re no idiot, Cam, so dinna patronize me,” she snapped.

“Not patronizing,” he shot back, somehow avoiding injecting any irritation into his tone. “Just trying to make light.”

Graham made quick work of gathering bits of food, not particularly paying attention to what he was grabbing, and caring even less. The interaction among this group was fascinating, and if he took nothing else away from this night, increased exposure would be worth it.

Unless he would be expected to participate.

He nearly choked on a bite of warm bread at the thought. Social interaction made him break out into a rash of sorts, and that was with preparation. Impulsive and unforeseen conversation would be worse than pulling teeth or being bled. He’d never had a tooth pulled, but he had been bled a time or two, and he took great pains to avoid it.

“Radcliffe,” Ingram began, leaning back on the couch where he sat and draping an arm casually around his wife’s shoulder, “are you acquainted with all present?”

Graham swallowed his bread quickly. “Indirectly,” he grunted, “and not well.”

“Thought not.” Ingram made quick reintroductions before loosening his cravat, making Graham instantly envious, his own linen noose still troubling him.

“Now that we’ve dallied around with names,” Lady Edith huffed, her fingers clenching together in her lap, “will ye kindly explain yerself, Aubrey?”

Ingram raised a brow. “About what, lass?”

Lady Edith rolled her eyes and gave Lady Ingram a look of pure exasperation. “How the devil do ye bear him, Grace?”

Lady Ingram smiled, patting her husband on the knee. “He has his moments.” She followed this up with a scolding look to the man beside her. “For pity’s sake, Aubrey, she’s all wrung out.”

Ingram instantly softened and looked at Lady Edith with something akin to tenderness. “I have no intention of embarrassing you, Edith, nor of making this more uncomfortable than it needs to be. Lord Radcliffe has had run-ins with you twice in a short period of time under unusual circumstances. Knowing him to be a man of good character and sound judgment, I saw no reason to exclude him from a conversation that he is becoming increasingly involved in.”

Well, well. That was a flattering take on a strange situation if he ever heard one. Graham wasn’t entirely certain he could have said the same of Ingram purely due to his own reserve and wary nature where others were concerned. It was oddly humbling, and he dipped his chin in acknowledgment of the praise.

“He deserves to know,” Lieutenant Henshaw murmured, standing against a wall nearby, looking nearly as fatigued as Lady Edith. “As much as the rest of us.”

“If you are comfortable with that, Edith,” Vale insisted from his place behind his wife. “It is your decision.”

Impossibly, Lady Edith turned her attention to Graham, the conflict within her evident in her luminous eyes. She wasn’t an indecisive creature, he knew that much, but she seemed to be looking for instruction here, and he had none to give. Vale was right; Lady Edith ought to have the final word, though she might not have wished for this in the first place.

Graham met her eyes steadily, not daring to blink. He couldn’t think of words to say that might comfort her or encourage her. He could barely think at all under the circumstances. He hardly knew her. Knew nothing beyond what he could see. Had no authority or connection to call upon.

What could he say?

Something exchanged between them in their silent observance of each other, standing as they were on the precipice of the unknown, and Graham felt himself exhale slowly. He would swear he saw her do the same, and a thin thread of trust extended from him to her. Or from her to him. From one to the other. Thin, trembling with newness, but firmly in place.

Whatever this was, he was in. And she accepted that.

Why did he suddenly want to smile?

“I’m here! I’m here!” a new voice shouted from the corridor, accompanied by the pattering of slippered feet against the floor. “I hope you haven’t said anything important yet; I’m here!”

“You canna be serious,” Lady Edith said in alarm, breaking the connection between her and Graham as she looked to the doorway, wide-eyed.

A young woman in a plain but clean sprigged muslin gown dashed into the room, her long, dark hair loosely plaited and dancing around with the motion. Her cheeks were flushed, and