And then she regaled Lord Prudhomme with a tale of three sisters, who had, one dark, sultry night when their parents lay sleeping, determined to swim in the lake. Except that they could not find the lake in the dead of night, and could scarcely find the mansion from whence they had begun their journey, and returned exhausted and dirty and wishing earnestly for bed, but went straightaway to classes lest their parents learn what they had done.
At that point she heard a gentleman clear his throat behind her, and she turned round to see Drake smiling down at her once more. He had already spent a considerable amount of time in her presence, laughing at her stories, whispering little things in her ear that made her blush, and then stepped away, saying there was someone he wanted to introduce to her.
“Mr. Lockhart!” she exclaimed happily, and glanced at the man who was standing beside him— but that man startled her out of her gaiety. It was his brother, Nigel Lockhart, obviously returned from Bath, and looking renewed and invigorated.
“Mr. Lockhart!” she cried happily, offering her hand. “I had not heard you had returned!”
“Just this morning,” he said, bowing gracefully over her hand.
He was decidedly thinner. And his cheeks looked slightly pink, not the dark, ruddy color she had associated with him all these years. Most remarkably, his eyes were clear. “You are looking quite well, sir! I dare say Bath agrees with you.”
“It is I who agrees with Bath,” he said. “But I’ve been quite a long time from London, and I am rather relieved to be home again. How marvelous to find that the beautiful ladies I left behind are even more beautiful than before.”
Dear God, was this really Nigel Lockhart? The man who could scarcely tie two coherent sentences together was making such a compliment? What an astonishing change! So remarkable, in fact, that she did not even notice that two more gentlemen had come into her circle until she heard Mr. Fynster-Allen speak to Drake.
She turned slightly to see Grif, who was looking at her with an expression that was at once amused and wistful, such an odd mix of emotion that it made her laugh, and she extended her hand. “Lord Ardencaple, how do you do?” she asked, curtseying deeply.
“Quite well,” he said, instantly lifting her up and pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “Quite well,” he said again, his gaze meeting hers.
Beside him, Mr. Fynster-Allen cleared his throat. She laughingly withdrew her hand from Grif’s and turned to greet him.
“What a delight you should join us now!” she said to Grif and Mr. Fynster-Allen, as those two men nodded curtly to Drake. “Lord Ardencaple, may I present to you Mr. Lockhart’s brother, Mr. Nigel Lockhart?” she asked, and saw something flick across Grif’s green eyes.
Nigel instantly offered his hand, but looked perplexed. “A pleasure, my lord…” he said, peering closely, “Lord Ardencaple.”
“And of course you know Mr. Fynster-Allen,” Anna added.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Nigel said, greeting Mr. Fynster-Allen, but instantly turning his attention to Grif again. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but have we previously met?”
“I am certain we have no’, sir, for I am just come to London.”
“Just come? You’ve been in London weeks now by my count,” Drake drawled.
Grif turned a cold gaze to Drake. “I didna realize ye were counting, sir.”
The atmosphere had gone from bright and warm to very chilly, and Anna was suddenly desperate to put the men apart. “There, now, we’ve all met!” she said, trying to garner the attention to herself, and tried to think of what Lucy would do in this situation. “I’m quite parched—”
But Nigel was still staring at Grif and said again, rather insistently, “I beg your pardon, I do not mean to stare… but I am certain we’ve met before.”
Now Drake was scowling at Grif. “Mr. Lockhart, you have surely confused his lordship with someone else!” Anna said brightly, tapping her fan against his arm. “How could you have possibly been introduced to him? Unless, of course, you might have had occasion to meet in Scotland?”
“Oh no,” Nigel said, instantly shaking his head, and then paused, laid a finger against the side of his nose. “But still… there is something rather familiar…”
If she’d had a cane, she would have bounced it off the top of Nigel’s very thick skull, and she blurted, unthinkingly, “You are undoubtedly reminded of another Scotsman who attended the Lockhart ball—”
“Ah! Of course!” Nigel cried happily, the memory lighting his face, and he clasped his hands together and levitated to the tips of his toes. “Cousin Lockhart, of course!” he cried happily as he floated down to his feet again. “I do beg your pardon, sir, for I am thinking of someone else.”
Grif nodded tautly. “Aye. Someone else entirely.”