t could have been momentous, had the lady but perceived the sign that the gentleman had the very inclination of kissing her. But Caroline, seemingly detached from the romantic sensation, only returned Stefan’s strange gaze with some bewilderment, and thought that he had never regarded her in such unfaltering and almost intimate sort of way before. An unlikely—but totally innocent—thought occurred on her mind, that such odd look bestowing upon her by Lord Stokeford was due to something about her face, and so, forthrightly and not without a little embarrassment, she asked, “ Is…is something wrong in my face?”

The question seemed to snap Stefan out of his reverie, and the thought of kissing her abruptly dispersed as it had sprang. And the moment his good sense finally descended upon him again, he was contemplating that perhaps a bucket of ice-cold water poured over him should do to restore his disarrayed thoughts. By God, kissing Caroline—Caroline of all women!—would be a lapse from sanity. What in the deuce had made him think of something so outrageous was quite beyond reckoning.

With unsteady voice, he replied, “I beg your pardon,” and cleared his throat and added, “There is nothing wrong in your face.”

Caroline looked ridiculously relieved and replied cheerfully, “Oh, I’m glad to hear that! I nearly thought I looked terrible, you know.” She smiled mischievously and added with humor and considerable boldness, “Or, if I may be so presumptuous, you find, for the first time in our acquaintance, that I have a pretty face after all!”

Stefan, not in the current state of appreciating humor and had turned a trifle surly, returned rather bluntly, “Indeed, you presume too much.” It was, of course, a big bald lie, for hadn’t he thought not so many seconds ago that Caroline was indeed pretty?

But this rude replication did not in the least dishearten the lady, and instead made her giggle involuntarily. “You know, I think you are the most unaccomplished charmer in all London. In fact it is my belief that you aren’t even on the way to become one! But never fear,” she looked at him directly, her emerald eyes sparkling, “Sophie would never think less of you. Of that I am quite certain.”

Such statement might have boosted his esteem, but as it happened, the effect was otherwise. He pronounced with a certain degree of asperity that made his voice grow louder, “Unlike the many dandies who are unashamedly hovering at her elbow at every opportunity and likewise the ones you probably have taken fancy with, I can think of better occupations than to become an accomplished flirt.”

“Well, I’m sure those occupations you’ve taken into contemplation are of tedious nature, sir!” she retorted against the sudden attack.

Stefan eyed her ominously. “If that is what you think, then it leaves me little wonder that you find my company sorely dull.”

“Oh, no, not dull! Merely dismal, my lord!” No sooner had she blurted the statement out than she regretted doing so as Lord Stokefored stiffened a little and his face grew thunderous upon hearing such rebuke.

Realizing that she had finally nicked his feelings, she said contritely, “I… I am sorry—”

“Very well then,” he interloped, and despite his hardened countenance, his voice was as cold as icicles. “As I understand that my presence would further dampen your spirits, I should take my leave now,” he stood and added coolly, “good evening, Miss Davis.”

Without even so much as a nod, he turned on his heels and walked away briskly, leaving Caroline in guilt-stricken state.

The rest of the evening had turned dismal for her, and it was only once did she encountered Lord Stokeford once more, the occasion in which he had only cast a cold stare on her direction, and entirely ignored her. After that, she pleaded headache and asked dear cousin Sophie if they could go home already and in return had obliged her without any ado, merely a fussing over the current state of Caroline’s constitution.

The next morning her spirits enlivened a little, having received an invitation from Miss Sutherton to go shopping and occupying her thoughts with many things but of Stefan, to whom she had credited her lack of sleep last night. Such matter did not escape her friend’s notice and had remarked with more curiosity than worry, “Why, your eyes look terrible! Have you had a disturbing night?”

“Yes, I hadn’t slept a wink,” she admitted with a sigh.

“Is something bothering you?”

“Well, the truth is,” Caroline started, hesitating a little at the wisdom of confiding to her friend what had transpired last night. “That I… I am guilty of something, Julie!”

Julie’s eyes widened, and said, “Guilty! Why? Have you done some mischief last night?”

“Oh, no! Not mischief. Only that I’ve unwittingly hurt someone else!”

Her friend, who was thinking of some bodily injury that might have been involved, looked at her dubiously. “Well, you could hardly strike someone!”

“No, of course not, silly!” Caroline replied impatiently. “I did not strike someone! And besides, I’ve no reason to! What made you think of such addlebrained notion, pray? I do not prefer violence.”

“Well, I am relieved to hear that. But don’t say you do not prefer violence! Why, you had been all ears once before, when a set of gentlemen was prattling about… about boxing at Jackson’s!” Julie finished with a little shudder.

“Oh, had I?” she asked, momentarily forgetting her dilemma. “Well, for one thing, it was impossible for them not to be heard for they were too loud, and for another, it is merely a sport.”

“Still, such conversation is not suitable for a woman’s ears!”

Caroline, who was used to being chastised about impropriety now and then, and had long since accorded herself with her friend’s missish behavior and condescension, only replied, “I daresay it isn’t, but I confess I found it—what are you looking at?” she demanded, seeing that her friend had lost interest in whatever she was saying, and was in the task of craning her neck.

“Oh, only look who is coming!”

Caroline obliged her and a moment later her eyes fell upon the figure that was approaching them. It was Mr. Beaumont, looking quite glorious in his dark-blue coat and pale-colored trousers. A beaver hat stood on his dark locks, and one hand was clutching a Malacca cane.

“Hullo!” he greeted cheerfully with his usual disarming smile. Even Miss Sutherton’s Abigail, who was towing behind them, blushed and muttered something that sounded like God help me from sinfully handsome men.

“Mr. Beaumont! How lovely to see you here!” Caroline exclaimed ecstatically, and curtsied.

“Yes, indeed!” chirped her friend.

Mr. Beaumont grinned and said that he was happy to see them both again. “I hope you’ve already recovered from your headache last night, Miss Davis. I was sorry to see you leave quite so early.”

“Oh, yes I am well now, thank you! It was really unfortunate to suffer headache in the middle of revelry,” she fibbed, and instinctively aware of Julie’s eyes plastering on her.

They pursued an amicable conversation, about the weather and shopping and other fripperies, and when they had exhausted all the topics they could think of, Mr. Beaumont finally asked Caroline, “May I invite you to join me driving out later, Miss Davis?”

To which she replied with obvious delight, “Oh, yes! That would be wonderful, thank you!”

The gentleman smiled warmly at her, announced the time he would call upon her later, and then begged his leave and bid them good day.

With her knowing smile, Julie turned to her friend. “Do you know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think that Mr. Beaumont is quite taken with you!”

At this pronouncement, so confidently delivered, Caroline blushed in spite of herself. “D-don’t be silly! We’ve only just met last night!”

“Does that matter? God knows how many married ladies had only been acquainted with their husbands for nigh a sennight before matrimony,” Julie, with the wisdom of a dowager, pointed out.

The very thought of matrimony seemed rather distant to Miss Davis, whose youthful mind had never thus far delved on the subject. But on the matters of heart, which were quite indispensible to so devoted a reader of romance such as herself, she could hardly deemed herself indifferent. To receive such attention from one so amiable, gallant and utterly charming a gentleman as Mr. Beaumont was quite flattering indeed, and had for more than once made her heart aflutter. Was this an indication of love? But she could not know, and thus had only replied to her friend:

“Indeed, your thought of Mr. Beaumont’s attention towards me is quite unwarranted, Julie!”

“And only fancy! Eight-thousand pounds a year!”

Caroline rolled her eyes heavenwards, and was at the verge of pointing out to her friend the substantial sum her dear Papa had put on her dowry, had it not been for the sake of modesty. The subject continued to prevail, but when Miss Davis had announced her desire to have some Gunther’s ice, it had entirely dropped, and Mr. Beaumont’s name had never once again spoken.

Meanwhile, the aforementioned was sauntering along Upper Brook Street, and was eventually found standing in front of the massive doors of Stokeford House where his cousin Stefan was presently residing. His visits were quite regular, and were always in the expectation of one Mr. Philips, the butler of Lord Stokeford, a man of advanced years who possessed a remarkably straight countenance and equanimity, and had always been with pleasure of opening the doors for the Earl’s relatives.

“Good morning, Mr. Beaumont. His lordship is in his study.”

Mr. Beaumont handed his cane and hat to the butler, murmured his thanks and headed directly to his cousin’s whereabouts.

Such delight it was for him to see their friend, Lord March who was presently conducting a one-sided conversation, as it was quite plain that the other occupant of the room seemed to be entirely ignoring him, being completely immersed in the papers that piled before him on the table.

“Ah, my dear chap!” he exclaimed upon perceiving Mr. Beaumont’s presence. “Would you consider moving in this magnificent house so I would never be left to conjecture as to what time you’d likely to appear?”

“Forgive me, Robert, but I was not entirely aware that you are living here,” countered Lord Stokeford sarcastically without looking up from his work.

Chuckling, his cousin answered, “No, thank you. Albany just suits me well. But I don’t mind having luncheon and dinner here.”

“So am I. But I’m afraid my prolonged presence no longer amuses Stefan.”

“Amusement has no place when one’s working hard, I’m afraid.”

Both gentlemen received a non-committal grunt as a reply, and thus completely dismissed the notion of drawing Stefan for conversation.

“Come,” prompted Robert. “Why don’t we repair to the library and have a glass of brandy? I’m sure Stefan would not mind in the least.”

But the offer had been good-naturedly declined, as Mr. Beaumont briefly explained that he was actually heading for Grosvenor Square, where he was invited for luncheon at number 24, and was only dropping by to say hello.

“At Lord Stratton, yes?” asked Stefan.

“Yes, that’s right. And I will be driving Miss Davis out in the afternoon, so I suppose I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Miss Davis! Driving her!”, cried Lord March. “Well, what’ll the deuce say to that!”

Mr. Beaumont did not delay any moment for his leaving, and so had bid the two gentlemen good day, and quitted the room with a brighter prospect of hearty repast. His departure had left a bout of silence, and was soon broken by Lord March saying, “Tell you what Stefan, I’ll be dashed if there won’t be an engagement announced in this family before the Season’s out.”

The Earl finally looked up. “Indeed? Then may I suggest that you be prepared for a letdown.”

The gentleman chuckled and shook his head at his friend’s dispassion. “Life’s full of surprises, my boy. You’ll never know,” his gaze was suddenly distant as he peered through the window pane, sunk deep in his own thoughts. “Indeed, we’ll just never know.”