20. Chapter 20- Bradford
It had been nearly half an hour since Bradford had glimpsed Lily in the crowded ball. He made another pass through the series of rooms, scanning for her. All he saw was the same thing he had last time—too many people crowded together, and none of them Lily.
All the while he was vaguely aware of young ladies ruffling their fans in his wake. He paid as much attention to them as a boar might to the underbrush he was plowing through. Contrary to the recent rumors, he hadn’t come to London looking for a wife.
Bradford was grateful to see that Claire and Beatrice were both dancing, which meant that the family hadn’t retired for the evening.
Claire was dancing with that Rutheridge fellow who was always grinning at her, and Beatrice was currently clasped—quite unhappily, by the set of her mouth—in the limp arms of Lord Rigsby.
Which meant that Margaret and Lily must have found a private corner to hide in.
Bradford wasn’t the only gentleman searching—across the room, the Duke of Ettrick looked this way and that, undoubtedly looking for Margaret’s blonde head.
The man had the advantage of being half a head taller than anyone else in the room, and for a moment Bradford considered teaming up with him.
He dismissed the idea as soon as he had it. Every expedition had one main explorer, and he would not play mountain guide to Ettrick’s endeavor. Besides, he had the advantage of knowing Lily better than Ettrick knew Margaret.
His best guess was that the pair of ladies had snuck off into the gardens to get some fresh air.
Bradford resisted the urge to tug at his cravat—fresh air sounded delightful.
He was striding down the exterior hallway, heading for a glass mullioned door at the end that led to the gardens, when he heard furious whispering.
Bradford jerked to a stop and backed up, peering into the open doorway. At first glance, the room was empty, save for a few wooden crates now filled only with shavings, and several tables covered in plain white cloth.
Just as he was about to walk away, a jeweled slipper peeped from beneath one of the tablecloths.
“Ladies?” he called hopefully, and a bit hesitantly—he desperately hoped that he wasn’t interrupting some tawdry rendezvous.
“I told you to keep your elbows in,” someone hissed.
And then came the voice that Bradford would recognize anywhere: “My elbows are in. It was Margaret’s foot that drew his attention.”
Bradford stepped forward, smiling. “Typically, if I spied a group of ladies on the floor, I would offer my immediate assistance.”
“Not if they were having a picnic,” Rachel argued.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Of sorts.”
“Besides, you haven’t technically spied us,” Margaret said. “You’ve only heard us.”
Bradford faced the door so he might see if someone was in earshot. “Fair enough, yet I still feel obligated to offer any assistance needed.”
“Any assistance?” Rachel said, rather hopefully.
He chuckled. “Why do I fear you might make me regret my offer?”
“It’s only that our picnic suffers from a distinct lack of refreshments,” Margaret said.
Bradford laughed lowly. “Very well. Though I must ask—is everything all right? I admit I’d feel better leaving you, even momentarily, if I knew why you lot had taken refuge beneath the table in the first place.”
“It’s nothing truly dreadful,” Margaret said.
“Just the general malaise of socializing,” Rachel added.
Margaret said, “Lily is hiding from her hordes of gentlemen callers. Ow! It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“And Sylvia accidentally dyed her hair purple,” Rachel finished.
“I thought the color suited her very well,” Bradford said.
“Are you mocking her?” Rachel Warrington asked, a sharp edge of warning in her voice.
“Not at all,” he said truthfully. “I think the lavender brings out her remarkable eyes.”
“Very well,” Rachel said, sounding somewhat deflated. “Though you’ve deprived me of my righteous indignation on her behalf.”
“I’m certain your defense would have left me properly chastized,” he said. “I’ll go procure some refreshments. And for the record, it was the slipper that attracted my attention, not Lily’s elbow.”
Ten minutes later, Bradford returned, a chilled bottle of champagne beneath one arm and several plates stacked in the other. He glanced both directions down the hallway, then entered the silent room.
“The sandwiches on the bottom plate might be slightly smushed,” he said by way of greeting, “but I daresay they’ll taste all right.”
“I thought those were his footsteps,” Margaret hissed triumphantly.
“It’s a carpeted hallway,” Lily said. “You were just as surprised as the rest of us, admit it.”
“It hardly matters. He’s here now, with refreshments.” Margaret whisper-sang the last word, and Bradford couldn’t help but smiling.
He plucked at the edge of the long tablecloth until someone lifted it.
One by one, the plates were whisked away by invisible hands as soon as he lowered them beneath the table.
Bradford eased the cork from the champagne with a pop that garnered muffled applause and some murmured squeals of delight from the ladies below.
“You are a paragon of a gentleman,” Rachel proclaimed.
“Careful, Lily might take offense,” Margaret whispered so lowly that Bradford thought he hadn’t been meant to hear. “Ow! Stop pinching me.”
Bradford couldn’t help the surge of hope that welled within him at the exchange. The insinuation that Lily might have proprietary feelings toward him, spoken by her sister, no less…it was a heady thing.
“Is there anything else you ladies require?” he asked, careful to keep his tone unaffected.
“If it’s not too much bother, would you speak with Beatrice and let her know where we are?” Lily asked. “I don’t want her feeling left out.”
“Of course.” Bradford had just slipped the champagne under the table and dropped the tablecloth when he heard a rustle behind him.
“Lord Hayes,” a nasal voice said from the hallway. “Whatever are you doing in here?”
Lord Rigsby appeared in the doorway. He and Bradford had been introduced at a ball several weeks ago. Though they’d never spoken, Bradford had been required to resist the urge to punt the man from every ballroom in which he’d stared at Lily.
Which had been all of them. Theirs was an oddly unbalanced relationship, with much acrimony on Bradford’s side.
“My shoe came loose,” Bradford said smoothly, even as he heard a small gasp from beneath the tablecloth. “I was looking for a quiet place to fix it.”
“You don’t need to get me started on the unreliability of the average valet,” the man simpered. “That’s why I simply cannot do without my own Francois. I poached him, you see, from a hotel in Paris.”
Bradford gave a non-committal hum. “Undoubtedly he’s very grateful.”
Or regretting the day he laid eyes on you and saving for his return to France, Bradford thought.
Rigsby stepped into the room and looked around. “I swore I heard voices.”
“That was me,” Bradford said easily, latching on to the first excuse he could think of. “I often practice what I plan to say to a lady while I’m alone.”
Rigsby was still scanning the room as if searching for something. “I thought I heard a lady’s reply, is all.”
In for a penny, in for a pound, Bradford thought.
He did his best to look sheepish, rounding his shoulders and wincing. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but sometimes I practice entire conversations back and forth.” He adopted a falsetto and said, “Thank you kindly, Lord Hayes. Do you prefer lemon biscuits or shortbread biscuits?”
Bradford thought he heard a single, muffled snort from beneath the table and scuffed his foot against the hardwood to hopefully cover for it.
“Ah, yes.” Rigsby nodded as if with deep understanding. “I do much the same, only when I’m in the bath.”
With great effort, Bradford kept from grimacing. “Well, my shoe is fixed, and we’d better be getting back—” He took a step toward the door.
Rigsby held up a hand. “I’m glad I chanced upon you here. I’ve actually been hoping to speak with you, gentleman to gentleman, about a delicate subject.”
“Of course. Let’s walk together.” Bradford gestured toward the doorway. “After you.”
“I’d much prefer to speak here. It’s a matter best discussed privately.”
That’s precisely what Bradford was afraid of. What, he wondered wildly, did the man know?
“It’s about Miss Preston.”
“Ah, Margaret,” Bradford said with a knowing smile. “She’s lovely.”
“No—”
“Forgive me, you meant Beatrice.” He lifted a finger. “A wonderful young lady. Very charming and smart.”
“I’m speaking of Miss Lily Preston, of course.”
“That’s quite understandable. She is a remarkable piano player. Why, I hear she can play two songs almost all the way through.” Knowing that Lily was listening, Bradford couldn’t help his grin.
Unfortunately, Rigsby seemed to think Bradford was mocking him, somehow. He frowned. “Pardon me for saying so, but some of the other gentlemen mentioned that you’re on a first-name basis with the lady.”
“She and I are friends.”
“Yet there are some of us who desire to actually court her.”
Bradford nodded in a commiserating sort of way. “The population of her parlor on any given afternoon does suggest as much.”
“And are you courting Miss Preston? For it’s rumored that you’re in attendance nearly every day.”
“Funnily enough, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in attendance, Lord Rigsby, so what business is it of yours?” Bradford’s smile had slipped from his eyes.
“Every gentleman’s methods are different. I’m laying a foundation of sorts.”
“A wise tactic. There’s no rush when it comes to connubial bliss. As Howell put it, ‘Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweeteneth it.’”
“Indeed. But there is still the matter of you.”
“I prefer a more direct approach to courting as a rule. Speaking with the lady, for instance…” There was another muffled noise from beneath the table; Bradford jostled and scuffed his foot a few times.
Lord Rigsby finally seemed to suspect that Bradford was having fun at his expense. He straightened his narrow shoulders and demanded, “Do you or do you not have an understanding with her that other gentlemen should know about?”
In that moment, Bradford longed to be able to say yes, but he would never lie about a lady to anyone.
He mustered his forbearance and said, “If other gentlemen should know, then they certainly would.”
“There are some gentlemen who’ve been put off making an offer because of the distinction the lady shows you.”
“Their cowardice and lack of conviction are neither her fault or mine,” Bradford said, no longer smiling at all.
“We hardly think it’s appropriate for one gentleman to monopolize so much of her time and attention when he lacks the courage and conviction to offer for her, either,” he pressed.
Bradford momentarily considered whether he did possess the courage and conviction—to throw Rigsby through the far window. But he was keenly aware of the four ladies probably holding their breath to listen better. He had a duty to protect them from the harm such a scene would cause.
He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Though discretion prevents me from saying a word further about the relationship, between you and I, I do believe your attentions would be best directed elsewhere.” Bradford gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
It took Bradford several more minutes to shake off Rigsby’s offended presence, and another ten for him to locate Beatrice and bring her back to the secret convention of the Tablecloth Ladies.
“Where have you been?” Beatrice hissed, shoving her head beneath the table. “I dance with Lord Rigsby, and this is the thanks I get? You lot just abandoned me.”
“We certainly didn’t intend to,” Margaret said.
“You didn’t intend not to.”
“That’s why we sent Bradford after you,” Lily cajoled.
“Scoot over,” Beatrice said, scrambling under the table. “I’m coming in.”
Bradford did his best not to laugh aloud at the genteel scuffle that suddenly broke out beneath the table. He was struck in the back of the knee with a soft elbow, whose owner said ouch.
After a few moments Margaret said, “There’s simply not enough room for all of us.”
“Well I’m not going to be the one to leave; I just got here,” Beatrice said stubbornly.
“My hair’s purple,” Sofia argued.
Finally, Lily emerged from the other side, looking vaguely disgruntled, one of the flowers in her hair askew.
He hurried over to help her to her feet. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She accepted his hand up and fluffed her silk skirts before prodding at the pins in her hair. “Beatrice is right. There’s not enough room for the lot of us under there.” She increased her volume and announced, “I shall be the bigger person.”
“Pass the champagne,” someone beneath the tablecloth whispered.
Lily sighed and shook her head. “I suppose I should be out there anyway. Socializing.”
Bradford couldn’t help but grin at the disgust she’d infused into the word. “Actually, I was hoping you might honor me with the next dance.”
“Of course.” She pointed herself toward the door and took a step.
He stopped her with a touch to her elbow and felt unreasonably shy when he said, “I thought we’d dance here, if that’s all right.”
She smiled up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with the true pleasure of her expression. Bradford suddenly was reminded of the time he’d fallen off his horse as a young man and had the wind knocked from him. He felt the same dazed shortness of breath now.
He loved her.
Surely part of him had known even back in Northumberland, though he had never admitted it to himself so clearly before. Surely that was the only feasible explanation for why he hadn’t yet returned home.
The realization required close examination, but this single moment couldn’t hold the weight of all Bradford needed to consider.
Besides, Lily was holding out a hand to him.
He took it and swept her into the steps of a waltz.
It wasn’t the dance the faint music from the ballroom prescribed, but it was the only one close enough to satisfy the requirements of his heart.
Bradford told himself it wasn’t scandalous—not when they were chaperoned by no fewer than four other young ladies.
To tell the truth, he wasn’t precisely certain how many young ladies were camped beneath the tablecloth, but he knew all of them would rush to Lily’s defense if someone claimed scandal.
He hadn’t lied all those weeks ago when he’d spoken to Lord Cavendish. Bradford didn’t want Lily forced into a marriage to avoid scandal.
Bradford now knew that was because he wanted Lily to choose him freely.