Miss Lindel's Love by Cynthia Bailey Pratt Page A

down twice and says it’s useless to ask again until some weeks have passed.”
    “Yes, I imagine it must be. I would intercede on your behalf but that is something no single gentleman could do for a young lady to whom he was not related.”
    “That would cause terrible gossip, wouldn’t it?”
    “Terrible. It would be tantamount to a public proposal.”
    They were talking of other things, of spring returning to the great public parks of London, of horses, of art, when a shrill voice called out Maris’s name. Startled out of her dream, Maris stopped short. They’d walked right past Mrs. Paladin, seated on one of the dainty gilded chairs against the wall.
    Her teeth were much in evidence as she thanked Lord Danesby for returning her wandering charge to her. “You are always finding her when she has strayed away, Lord Danesby.”
    “You make me sound like a sheep,” Maris said, still in alt from her long conversation with Lord Danesby.
    He choked a little, turning a laugh into a cough. “So pleasant a lady will be welcome wherever she strays,” he said, quite like a prince from a fairy tale.
    Lord Danesby turned away from Mrs. Paladin, who stammered an unheard reply. He bowed to Maris. When she arose from her curtsy, he held out his hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Lindel.”
    “I also,” she said, shaking hands with him.
    “Don’ t forget about my offer.”
    “You’re too kind, my lord.”
    He bowed again to Mrs. Paladin and walked away. Maris, hardly knowing what she did, sank into the vacant seat beside her. She felt as if she’d lived for an hour on a golden cloud. He didn’t seem to find her impertinent or scatterbrained when she said something out of the common way. If he hadn’t understood her, he asked for her meaning without insulting her. But for the most part, he entered into her feelings with great sensitivity. She didn’t flatter herself that he’d found her fascinating but she had amused him, a sweeter service than all her dreams of rescuing him from a dire fate.
    She woke to a sharp pinch of Mrs. Paladin’s fingers on her arm. “For heaven’s sake, Maris, tell me what he said,” she hissed. “What offer did he make to you?”
    “Offer, ma’am?” Maris returned to the present, the last wisps of her cloud dissipating under the cold light of Mrs. Paladin’s eyes.
    ‘Yes, his offer, you foolish chit. A ride in his carriage, an escort to the theater, carte blanche, what did he offer you?”
    “Carte blanche, ma’am? What is that? A ... a white card?”
    “Never mind that.” Spacing her words out as though to a deaf child, she asked again. “What...offer ... did ...?”
    “Merely to frank any letters I might wish to send. He’s a peer, you know. They’re permitted to do that.”
    * * * *
    Kenton strolled away from Miss Lindel’s group, nodding to acquaintances and friends but speaking to no one until he reached the card room. There he found several cronies, no more fond of dancing than he himself, playing whist. Waiting for an open seat at the table, he seated himself in an armchair and took up a glass of wine. He wondered why he’d decided to dance with Miss Lindel. She’d not hinted that she’d wanted to; it had been all his own notion. Strange that. He could not recall when he’d last done more than a duty dance with a hostess or her daughter.
    What was it about Miss Lindel? She had a smile of unexpected charm, but many other girls were no less winsome. Her blond beauty was nothing extraordinary; there were many others whose beauty took a man’s breath away at first sight. Yet he’d felt that here was someone who saw things in a different light from other people. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps all debutantes possessed Miss Lindel’s mixture of youthful enthusiasm and burgeoning wisdom. He rarely spoke to young ladies, as their mothers were wary of him.
    He’d been on the town now for ten years and no woman could say he’d ever offered marriage. The thought