Chapter 2
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"Lord Waverly, is there anything I could do or speak of, that would amuse you this evening?" she asked a little petulantly.
This direct question finally penetrated the absent mood of the man seated across the table, and he gazed at her as if seeing her for the first time since they had sat to supper. Which she thought might be entirely possible.
"I am sorry my dear," he said, "I am afraid I am rather in a mood tonight, and the only thing you could possibly do that would amuse me would be to lift your skirts."
There was a brief pause while she took in this rather shocking sentiment, wondering if she'd heard aright and reviewing the words in her head. Then she laughed, and replied, "I suppose, under the circumstances, that that would probably make you laugh." Another pause, more silent as the conversations of their dinner companions ground to a halt, and shocked gazes were directed toward the pair. Under his direct stare, she asked, blushing, "But where shall I commit this indecent act?"
The third Marques Waverly lifted an eyebrow. "Well," she explained, "I refuse to show the entire dining hall my underthings."
He laughed and replied, "I expect a private corner might be found after supper?"
She nodded.
"I say," said Lady Stephen uncomfortably.
Elizabeth then glanced at their neighbors and said lightly, "I beg your pardon Lady Stephan, I didn't mean to derail your conversation, you were saying you are soon attending the delivery of your fourth, or was it fifth, great grandchild?"
Possibly deciding that she must have misheard, or simply having given up on the morals of the younger generation, Lady Stephan resumed her tale. The gist of it being that her daughter was a hopeless ninny prone to the vapors, and while her granddaughter was a sensible girl who would probably survive such useless assistance, she thought it better if calmer heads were attending the girl's first delivery.
After that old Lord Oakley told the company about his latest acquisition, a fine hunter, and the hilarity that ensued before his grooms figured out that the clever thing was able to unlock his own gate any time he pleased.
Through all the rest of these tales, the Marques attended to the stories, asking the occasional question, and appearing to enjoy the rest of the dinner courses, occasionally casting an amused glance across the table. When the dessert was brought out, Elizabeth ventured an inquiry. "How shall we meet up after supper? In response to Lord Waverly's puzzled gaze, she added "Well, we are both too old to crawl beneath the table to join up?"
The Marques laughed openly. "If you say so, I'm sorely tempted to crawl beneath the table to prove you wrong." He grinned wryly across the table. "However then I should have to endure a terrible scolding from my dearest Aunt. Which perhaps proves you correct after all, as were I younger, I should not have considered the consequences before making my way to your side."
He nodded to her left. "Perhaps if we both simply venture toward the end of the table and meet up there?" His eyes twinkled merrily.
She considered the plan and then proposed an alteration, "That should work, however, may we meet at the other end," a tilt of the head to her right, "as my family are dining at the far end, and I'm sure to be waylaid and quizzed about the change in my supper seating?"
The eyebrow arched again, but he answered in good humor, "In that case, perhaps if you just wait near your chair, and I'll come around and collect you, as the hallway I'm considering for our exit is just to the side there," again the nod to the left.
"Alright" she replied. Another blush rising to heat her cheeks.
Dessert was finished with a slightly puzzled air, and then the plan was enacted. When he reached her he asked her quietly, "Well my dear, are you sure about this?" He reached out and drew her hand to rest on his arm. "What of your family? If you are that cautious of even passing them are you willing to face their censure?"
She flushed and gazed at the floor. "I'm already in disgrace with them over a much more serious matter. I'm not claiming I shan't be scolded, perhaps excessively, but I doubt it will do anything to further reduce my status with them at the moment."
He regarded her quizzically, but asked no more immediately, and guided her into the previously indicated hall. "My lovely girl, I suspect we may find an empty place along here." He said as he drew her down the corridor, away from the large hall where tables were being cleared away to make room for dancing.
She halted, disturbed by his casual words, and he paused beside her. "It feels rather like you're mocking me when you call me your lovely girl, for I know I'm rather plain." She found she was staring at the floor tiles again, but risked a glance at him. Lord Waverly wore an offended expression. "Sorry," she added, and returned her gaze to the tiles.
He turned toward her, pulling her to face him, and reached out a hand, the thin lace at the edge of his sleeve brushing her cheek as he slid his fingers under her jaw and lifted her face until she met his pale grey blue eyes. His lashes and brows were very dark in comparison, she thought inconsequentially. "I don't know who's been telling you such drivel," he said firmly, "and I will grant that you are not a classic beauty. But you are more than pretty enough, and I am not mocking you when I call you so. I find you quite lovely."
Held so that she couldn't dodge his direct gaze, she blushed fiercely, her skin hot against his cooler fingertips. Dropping her gaze as far as his mouth, which was set in a rather serious line, she managed an almost whispered "My apologies, and thank you..."
Possibly considering this reply sufficient, or perhaps unwilling to linger over long in the corridor, he drew her along the hall to the third door on the left. "Hello," he called out as they entered, and the pair glanced around the room. He stepped forward, to verify that the overstuffed and padded chairs were all empty, and then drew her deeper into the room, and around a standing shelf, stuffed with fat volumes. More books lined the walls of the large library room.
"It seems we have the place to ourselves," he said lightly, with a repressed grin. Uncertain, but feeling she had promised after all, Elizabeth flushed but defiantly lifted her skirts, to reveal the worn pair of men's trousers she wore beneath them this evening. Still blushing she looked at him for his reaction, but instead of laughing, the Marques Waverly simply raised an eyebrow again and asked somewhat meditatively, "Trousers?"
She felt she ought to offer some explanation, as she stood there clutching her skirts before him and tumbled out an almost incoherent sentence, "I was late, you see, but there wasn't time, so I just, over the top, but then, I was going to fix it later, but then we left." She let her skirts drop.
"My dear, if you think a pair of trousers is going to stop me, I'm afraid you've badly misjudged my mood," he said.
Elizabeth stared at him uncomprehendingly and asked uncertainly, "Stop you from what?"
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"Lord Waverly, is there anything I could do or speak of, that would amuse you this evening?" she asked a little petulantly.
This direct question finally penetrated the absent mood of the man seated across the table, and he gazed at her as if seeing her for the first time since they had sat to supper. Which she thought might be entirely possible.
"I am sorry my dear," he said, "I am afraid I am rather in a mood tonight, and the only thing you could possibly do that would amuse me would be to lift your skirts."
There was a brief pause while she took in this rather shocking sentiment, wondering if she'd heard aright and reviewing the words in her head. Then she laughed, and replied, "I suppose, under the circumstances, that that would probably make you laugh." Another pause, more silent as the conversations of their dinner companions ground to a halt, and shocked gazes were directed toward the pair. Under his direct stare, she asked, blushing, "But where shall I commit this indecent act?"
The third Marques Waverly lifted an eyebrow. "Well," she explained, "I refuse to show the entire dining hall my underthings."
He laughed and replied, "I expect a private corner might be found after supper?"
She nodded.
"I say," said Lady Stephen uncomfortably.
Elizabeth then glanced at their neighbors and said lightly, "I beg your pardon Lady Stephan, I didn't mean to derail your conversation, you were saying you are soon attending the delivery of your fourth, or was it fifth, great grandchild?"
Possibly deciding that she must have misheard, or simply having given up on the morals of the younger generation, Lady Stephan resumed her tale. The gist of it being that her daughter was a hopeless ninny prone to the vapors, and while her granddaughter was a sensible girl who would probably survive such useless assistance, she thought it better if calmer heads were attending the girl's first delivery.
After that old Lord Oakley told the company about his latest acquisition, a fine hunter, and the hilarity that ensued before his grooms figured out that the clever thing was able to unlock his own gate any time he pleased.
Through all the rest of these tales, the Marques attended to the stories, asking the occasional question, and appearing to enjoy the rest of the dinner courses, occasionally casting an amused glance across the table. When the dessert was brought out, Elizabeth ventured an inquiry. "How shall we meet up after supper? In response to Lord Waverly's puzzled gaze, she added "Well, we are both too old to crawl beneath the table to join up?"
The Marques laughed openly. "If you say so, I'm sorely tempted to crawl beneath the table to prove you wrong." He grinned wryly across the table. "However then I should have to endure a terrible scolding from my dearest Aunt. Which perhaps proves you correct after all, as were I younger, I should not have considered the consequences before making my way to your side."
He nodded to her left. "Perhaps if we both simply venture toward the end of the table and meet up there?" His eyes twinkled merrily.
She considered the plan and then proposed an alteration, "That should work, however, may we meet at the other end," a tilt of the head to her right, "as my family are dining at the far end, and I'm sure to be waylaid and quizzed about the change in my supper seating?"
The eyebrow arched again, but he answered in good humor, "In that case, perhaps if you just wait near your chair, and I'll come around and collect you, as the hallway I'm considering for our exit is just to the side there," again the nod to the left.
"Alright" she replied. Another blush rising to heat her cheeks.
Dessert was finished with a slightly puzzled air, and then the plan was enacted. When he reached her he asked her quietly, "Well my dear, are you sure about this?" He reached out and drew her hand to rest on his arm. "What of your family? If you are that cautious of even passing them are you willing to face their censure?"
She flushed and gazed at the floor. "I'm already in disgrace with them over a much more serious matter. I'm not claiming I shan't be scolded, perhaps excessively, but I doubt it will do anything to further reduce my status with them at the moment."
He regarded her quizzically, but asked no more immediately, and guided her into the previously indicated hall. "My lovely girl, I suspect we may find an empty place along here." He said as he drew her down the corridor, away from the large hall where tables were being cleared away to make room for dancing.
She halted, disturbed by his casual words, and he paused beside her. "It feels rather like you're mocking me when you call me your lovely girl, for I know I'm rather plain." She found she was staring at the floor tiles again, but risked a glance at him. Lord Waverly wore an offended expression. "Sorry," she added, and returned her gaze to the tiles.
He turned toward her, pulling her to face him, and reached out a hand, the thin lace at the edge of his sleeve brushing her cheek as he slid his fingers under her jaw and lifted her face until she met his pale grey blue eyes. His lashes and brows were very dark in comparison, she thought inconsequentially. "I don't know who's been telling you such drivel," he said firmly, "and I will grant that you are not a classic beauty. But you are more than pretty enough, and I am not mocking you when I call you so. I find you quite lovely."
Held so that she couldn't dodge his direct gaze, she blushed fiercely, her skin hot against his cooler fingertips. Dropping her gaze as far as his mouth, which was set in a rather serious line, she managed an almost whispered "My apologies, and thank you..."
Possibly considering this reply sufficient, or perhaps unwilling to linger over long in the corridor, he drew her along the hall to the third door on the left. "Hello," he called out as they entered, and the pair glanced around the room. He stepped forward, to verify that the overstuffed and padded chairs were all empty, and then drew her deeper into the room, and around a standing shelf, stuffed with fat volumes. More books lined the walls of the large library room.
"It seems we have the place to ourselves," he said lightly, with a repressed grin. Uncertain, but feeling she had promised after all, Elizabeth flushed but defiantly lifted her skirts, to reveal the worn pair of men's trousers she wore beneath them this evening. Still blushing she looked at him for his reaction, but instead of laughing, the Marques Waverly simply raised an eyebrow again and asked somewhat meditatively, "Trousers?"
She felt she ought to offer some explanation, as she stood there clutching her skirts before him and tumbled out an almost incoherent sentence, "I was late, you see, but there wasn't time, so I just, over the top, but then, I was going to fix it later, but then we left." She let her skirts drop.
"My dear, if you think a pair of trousers is going to stop me, I'm afraid you've badly misjudged my mood," he said.
Elizabeth stared at him uncomprehendingly and asked uncertainly, "Stop you from what?"
"Lord Waverly, is there anything I could do or speak of, that would amuse you this evening?" she asked a little petulantly. This direct question finally penetrated the absent mood of the man seated across the table, and he gazed at her as if seeing her for the first time since they had sat to supper. Which she thought might be entirely possible. "I am sorry my dear," he said, "I am afraid I am rather in a mood tonight, and the only thing you could possibly do that would amuse me would be to lift your skirts." There was a brief pause while she took in this rather shocking sentiment, wondering if she'd heard aright and reviewing the words in her head. Then she laughed, and replied, "I suppose, under the circumstances, that that would probably make you laugh." Another pause, more silent as the conversations of their dinner companions ground to a halt, and shocked gazes were directed toward the pair. Under his direct stare, she asked, blushing, "But where shall I commit this indecent act?" The third Marques Waverly lifted an eyebrow. "Well," she explained, "I refuse to show the entire dining hall my underthings." He laughed and replied, "I expect a private corner might be found after supper?" She nodded. "I say," said Lady Stephen uncomfortably. Elizabeth then glanced at their neighbors and said lightly, "I beg your pardon Lady Stephan, I didn't mean to derail your conversation, you were saying you are soon attending the delivery of your fourth, or was it fifth, great grandchild?" Possibly deciding that she must have misheard, or simply having given up on the morals of the younger generation, Lady Stephan resumed her tale. The gist of it being that her daughter was a hopeless ninny prone to the vapors, and while her granddaughter was a sensible girl who would probably survive such useless assistance, she thought it better if calmer heads were attending the girl's first delivery. After that old Lord Oakley told the company about his latest acquisition, a fine hunter, and the hilarity that ensued before his grooms figured out that the clever thing was able to unlock his own gate any time he pleased. Through all the rest of these tales, the Marques attended to the stories, asking the occasional question, and appearing to enjoy the rest of the dinner courses, occasionally casting an amused glance across the table. When the dessert was brought out, Elizabeth ventured an inquiry. "How shall we meet up after supper? In response to Lord Waverly's puzzled gaze, she added "Well, we are both too old to crawl beneath the table to join up?" The Marques laughed openly. "If you say so, I'm sorely tempted to crawl beneath the table to prove you wrong." He grinned wryly across the table. "However then I should have to endure a terrible scolding from my dearest Aunt. Which perhaps proves you correct after all, as were I younger, I should not have considered the consequences before making my way to your side." He nodded to her left. "Perhaps if we both simply venture toward the end of the table and meet up there?" His eyes twinkled merrily. She considered the plan and then proposed an alteration, "That should work, however, may we meet at the other end," a tilt of the head to her right, "as my family are dining at the far end, and I'm sure to be waylaid and quizzed about the change in my supper seating?" The eyebrow arched again, but he answered in good humor, "In that case, perhaps if you just wait near your chair, and I'll come around and collect you, as the hallway I'm considering for our exit is just to the side there," again the nod to the left. "Alright" she replied. Another blush rising to heat her cheeks. Dessert was finished with a slightly puzzled air, and then the plan was enacted. When he reached her he asked her quietly, "Well my dear, are you sure about this?" He reached out and drew her hand to rest on his arm. "What of your family? If you are that cautious of even passing them are you willing to face their censure?" She flushed and gazed at the floor. "I'm already in disgrace with them over a much more serious matter. I'm not claiming I shan't be scolded, perhaps excessively, but I doubt it will do anything to further reduce my status with them at the moment." He regarded her quizzically, but asked no more immediately, and guided her into the previously indicated hall. "My lovely girl, I suspect we may find an empty place along here." He said as he drew her down the corridor, away from the large hall where tables were being cleared away to make room for dancing. She halted, disturbed by his casual words, and he paused beside her. "It feels rather like you're mocking me when you call me your lovely girl, for I know I'm rather plain." She found she was staring at the floor tiles again, but risked a glance at him. Lord Waverly wore an offended expression. "Sorry," she added, and returned her gaze to the tiles. He turned toward her, pulling her to face him, and reached out a hand, the thin lace at the edge of his sleeve brushing her cheek as he slid his fingers under her jaw and lifted her face until she met his pale grey blue eyes. His lashes and brows were very dark in comparison, she thought inconsequentially. "I don't know who's been telling you such drivel," he said firmly, "and I will grant that you are not a classic beauty. But you are more than pretty enough, and I am not mocking you when I call you so. I find you quite lovely." Held so that she couldn't dodge his direct gaze, she blushed fiercely, her skin hot against his cooler fingertips. Dropping her gaze as far as his mouth, which was set in a rather serious line, she managed an almost whispered "My apologies, and thank you..." Possibly considering this reply sufficient, or perhaps unwilling to linger over long in the corridor, he drew her along the hall to the third door on the left. "Hello," he called out as they entered, and the pair glanced around the room. He stepped forward, to verify that the overstuffed and padded chairs were all empty, and then drew her deeper into the room, and around a standing shelf, stuffed with fat volumes. More books lined the walls of the large library room. "It seems we have the place to ourselves," he said lightly, with a repressed grin. Uncertain, but feeling she had promised after all, Elizabeth flushed but defiantly lifted her skirts, to reveal the worn pair of men's trousers she wore beneath them this evening. Still blushing she looked at him for his reaction, but instead of laughing, the Marques Waverly simply raised an eyebrow again and asked somewhat meditatively, "Trousers?" She felt she ought to offer some explanation, as she stood there clutching her skirts before him and tumbled out an almost incoherent sentence, "I was late, you see, but there wasn't time, so I just, over the top, but then, I was going to fix it later, but then we left." She let her skirts drop. "My dear, if you think a pair of trousers is going to stop me, I'm afraid you've badly misjudged my mood," he said. Elizabeth stared at him uncomprehendingly and asked uncertainly, "Stop you from what?"
