If she’d been the kind of girl who giggled, she’d be giggling right now. Never had she felt so...giddy. Or so in tune with a piece of music. Whenever the violins soared, so did her heart, as she revelled in the feel of his hand clasping hers, his response when she’d told him she wasn’t an heiress.
When the instruments groaned and wept, she found herself biting her lower lip and wondering when it was all going to end. And if people would carry the tale back to Grandfather about the way they were sitting so close together. If such talk would send him into retreat. After all, he surely wouldn’t want his name linked too closely with a girl he’d only known a matter of days.
The musicians did not finish their piece until Lizzie was so wrung out she could understand why some people actually wept during certain performances. And though it was not because of their skill, but because of the man next to whom she was sitting, she knew she ought to join in the applause that was breaking out, politely, all round the room. Only, that would mean she’d have to let go of his hand.
While she was still hesitating, he gave her hand one last squeeze and then released it. Which meant she had to let go. She couldn’t very well keep clinging to his hand, not once he’d started clapping, could she? Even though it felt as though his action had cast her adrift.
She forced her eyes to look in the direction of the musicians and lifted her own hands to clap, which she did with considerably more energy than anyone else. Hopefully, then people would think she’d been moved by the power of the music, if they noticed she was upset. Especially since she had no reason to be sad. She’d never been completely alone in the world. She’d always had some member of family to take her in. It was ridiculous to feel as though she’d never been more alone, in all her life, when she was sitting in a room full of people.
The applause soon died away. Long before she’d pulled herself together. So when Captain Bretherton turned to her and asked if she’d like to go to the tea room and take supper, she had to bite her tongue.
Supper? How could he sit there talking about tea, and supper, in that reasonable, casual tone, as though holding hands with her had meant nothing?
Though perhaps it had meant nothing. Perhaps he was the kind of man who held hands with females, clandestinely, all the time. What did she know of him, really? What kind of man he was?
And he was a man, not a demi-god, even if some people did call him Atlas.
‘I had better go and see if Grandfather wants anything first,’ she said. Even though what she wanted was to spend the rest of the evening with him. Holding hands again. Or even more...
She looked at his mouth. What would it feel like to kiss him? To have him kiss her?
The longing that tore at her insides was so fierce she could see herself flinging herself at him, right there in the concert room, and scandalising the rest of the concert-goers. Panicked, and confused by the strength of her reactions to a man who was virtually a stranger, she leapt to her feet, with the result that the chair upon which she’d been sitting overturned with a crash. Everyone turned to stare, of course. And then a wave of laughter rippled round the room. Closely followed by a chorus of comments. She couldn’t hear the actual words, but she knew the kinds of things they’d all be saying.
That Miss Hutton. Always so clumsy. So awkward. I wonder why that handsome officer is paying her so much attention?
The handsome officer in question bent forward to right her chair at the exact moment she did the same. With the result that they clashed heads. To the increased amusement of everyone else in the room.
‘Please, Miss Hutton, allow me,’ he said, placing one hand on her arm and pushing her firmly, but gently, aside.
‘I... I...’ She raised both hands to her cheeks, which were flaming hot. ‘Th-thank you, but I really do need to return to my grandfather.’ With that, she turned and fled.
* * *
He’d pushed her too far, too fast, holding hands like that. He hadn’t thought she’d minded. He hadn’t been holding on to her all that hard. She could have pulled her hand free at any time. But she hadn’t.
Perhaps it had only hit her, what she’d done, when the music had finished. It had been a rather powerful piece, one that tugged at the emotions. Perhaps she’d been carried away with it and not realised how—what was it girls said of such behaviour?—fast she’d been, until it came to an end?
Damn, but he hoped he hadn’t ruined everything.
He couldn’t pursue her into the card room. The old Colonel would simply send him packing, again.
He’d have to hope he could catch her at the Pump Room again. And reassure her that his intentions were honourable.
Only, it felt a bit too soon to start speaking of marriage. She was bound to become suspicious of him, if he appeared to have come to such a momentous decision after knowing her only a few days.
He had to be more patient with her. Allow her to get used to him. Reassure her that nothing she did was going to put him off her. Make her believe that everything she did fascinated him.
Which wouldn’t require any acting at all, come to think of it. She was such an intriguing bundle of contradictions. So bold one moment, in the way she’d hidden their clasped hands. Then so timid, darting away from him like a startled fawn.
He didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of her. She would be endlessly fascinating. Like the sea. Even her eyes, now he came to think of it, put him in mind of the colour of certain parts of the Mediterranean. A colour you never saw anywhere else. Or at least he hadn’t thought so.
An elderly couple strolled past, amused expressions on their faces. Which brought him up short. Made him realise he’d been standing stock still, in the middle of the room, gazing after Miss Hutton like a...
He plunged his fingers through his hair and made a beeline for the exit. Tomorrow. He’d seek her out at the Pump Room and continue his counterfeit courtship of her tomorrow.
* * *
But the next day, neither Miss Hutton nor her grandfather put in an appearance at the Pump Room.
Nor did they show up at the fancy ball that night.
He paced the floor of his room, later, wondering how to proceed. It was just possible, he supposed, that her grandfather had taken a turn for the worse and couldn’t stir out of doors. He might have some genuine illness for which he was seeking treatment in Bath, rather than merely coming here to gossip with his cronies.
He’d simply have to wait and see if the old fellow recovered. He wasn’t yet on familiar enough terms with Miss Hutton to just call upon her and enquire after her grandfather’s health. Not taking into account the way Colonel Hutton had taken an instant and irrational dislike to him.
* * *
‘Shall I snoop about a bit, sir,’ Dawkins asked on the second morning he returned from the Pump Room without seeing her, ‘and see what I can find out? After all, that’s why Their Lordships sent me down here. To be an extra pair of eyes.’
‘No.’ The very idea of letting someone spy on Miss Hutton revolted him. ‘I will ask some of her acquaintance, openly, what they know of her whereabouts.’
‘Ah, yes, playing the role of smitten suitor. Very clever.’
No, it wasn’t clever. It was just...the obvious course to take.
* * *
The next day, when he attended the Pump Room and joined the queue to purchase a cup of the disgusting water that was supposed to be helping restore him to health, he spotted Lady Mainwaring. She would be the perfect person to approach, since he’d met her first in Miss Hutton’s company. If anyone knew what was going on in the Hutton household, it was likely to be her.
‘Good