Three days later and Jonathan was still chewing over all that Lord Taylor had disclosed. His thoughts in a whirlwind, all he could bring himself to do was to pour himself a glass of brandy and sit by the fire in the drawing room, feeling cloaked with a certain degree of melancholy. Lord Michael’s attempts to talk to him failed miserably, as well as his insistence that Jonathan attend the various social functions they had agreed to go to. Jonathan could not bring himself to go, reminding Lord Michael that it would be no great loss to society if Jonathan did not attend. Michael had no comeback to such a remark and was forced to attend without him.

Jonathan did not care. He was still rather puzzled over his growing affections for Miss Richards, as well as why he was so confused and upset over Lord Taylor’s remarks.

The truth was that Lord Taylor evidently knew Miss Richards better than he did, given that he had been in London for a few years more than Jonathan. He did not want to believe that all the gentleman said about Miss Richards could be true, not when he knew her to be so friendly and warm. Then again, he had very little to go on—other than his rather brief acquaintance with the lady.

The other issue that troubled him was simply why he cared so very much. After all, he had danced with Miss Richards on only a few prior occasions, had thought to call on her only the once—without ever actually doing so—and had met her in the bookshop rather unexpectedly. Their acquaintance could not be called long-standing.

On top of which, he had sent her the novel with a short note enclosed, a little concerned that he had somehow upset her, only to receive no reply. There had been no note of thanks, no messenger sent with a short message, or even any evidence of her wanting to seek him out at the ball. Was it because she did not want to encourage any kind of attachment between them? It was rather rude, after all.

But then, he had thought of what he had witnessed at the ball only the night before and had considered that there might be some kind of trouble encircling both Lord Richards and Miss Richards. Mayhap, in the midst of all her difficulties, she had not found the time to reply to him.

Or, perhaps she had thought to thank him in person, supposing she would see him at the ball last evening. After all, they had encountered one another at almost every social event they had attended in the last week, so it would make sense for her to expect to be able to speak to him there.

So, at the end of these three days of sitting at home, simply thinking, Jonathan came to the conclusion that he would simply have to get to know Miss Richards better. If, as Lord Taylor said, she would not even consider him as a potential husband despite their deepening acquaintance, then Jonathan would know not to allow his heart to settle on her any more than it already had.

His heart a little relieved, Jonathan remained where he was, staring into the glowing embers of the small fire in the grate. He supposed that now he had come to such a conclusion, he would need to begin attending balls and soirees and the like again. It was strange that he felt no happiness or expectation over such a prospect. It was as though Lord Taylor’s words had sullied the experience, even though he tried his utmost to believe that Miss Richards was not as Lord Taylor had described.

“So,” Lord Michael interrupted, coming into the drawing room with a rather purposeful look on his face. “I have grown rather weary with you sitting around this house, looking as though you might indeed murder the next person to ask you a question, and I am afraid I have taken things into my own hands.”

Jonathan, who had been sitting quietly in a chair by the fire, looked up at once. “What did you do?”

Lord Michael grinned, his eyes twinkling. “I am to take Miss Carron out for a drive this afternoon, and since I could not very well leave you here all alone, I have written and asked Lord Richards and his rather lovely sister, whether you might call on them later this afternoon.”

Blinking, Jonathan tried to make sense of what he had just heard. “You wrote to ask whether I might call on them?”

“No, I wrote as myself,” Lord Michael replied, with a chuckle. “They are expecting you at three o’clock sharp. Do not be late!” Still laughing to himself, he swung out of the room, leaving Jonathan sitting by the fire in exactly the same position.

“Three o’clock?” he breathed, suddenly tense with worry. “What time is it now?” His gaze drifted to the clock on the mantlepiece, seeing it just about to chime two in the afternoon.

With a start, Jonathan got to his feet, silently cursing Lord Michael’s interference. He was not properly dressed to go out visiting, and given that it would take him a good half hour to do so, he would most likely be late. For a moment, he wondered about sending a note round with an excuse, but then he found himself climbing the stairs to his chamber, refusing to give in to such a pathetic attempt to lie. He should be welcoming the idea of seeing Miss Richards again, of proving to himself that she was not as Lord Taylor had suggested. Then he might be able to further their acquaintance with as much enjoyment as he had done before.

“Lord Michael, to see Lord Richards and Miss Richards,” Jonathan puffed, handing the butler his card. “I believe I am expected.”

Such had been his rush to prepare that Jonathan now found himself rather out of breath. He had, of course, expected to take the carriage, only to realize that Lord Michael was currently using it. In his haste, he had quite forgotten that since Lord Michael was playing the part of Lord Rivenhall, it would be he who used the carriage whenever he wished it. Jonathan had therefore had to hail a hackney, which had not proved to be an easy feat, given that it was the middle of the day. As such, a great many of the ton were already out and about.

Being shown into the drawing room, Jonathan took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked inside, expecting to find Lord Richards and Miss Richards within. However, whilst they were present, there was also another gentleman seated by Miss Richards side, one he did not recognize.

“Ah, Lord Michael,” Lord Richards boomed, a broad smile on his face as he got to his feet. “How good to see you. Thank you for calling on us today.”

Jonathan bowed, trying to keep a smile on his face even though his mind was filled with questions over who this other gentleman might be.

“Lord Michael, this is Mr. Greenville. Mr. Greenville, our friend Lord Michael Astor,” Lord Richards continued, as Jonathan inclined his head.

“How do you do?” Mr. Greenville murmured, bowing.

“Very well, I thank you,” Jonathan replied, his eyes on Miss Richards. “And how are you, Miss Richards?” he murmured, as she bobbed a quick curtsy. “I was sorry I had not had the opportunity to speak to you since our meeting in the bookshop.”

“The bookshop?” exclaimed Mr. Greenville. “Whatever were you doing there unaccompanied, Miss Richards?”

“Oh, do be quiet, Mr. Greenville,” Miss Richards retorted, rolling her eyes at him. “You are much too stuffy.”

Lord Richards shook his head. “I would say she was looking for a book, I would expect,” he quipped, making his sister laugh. “Now, do sit down, Lord Michael. I am having a tray sent up as we speak.”

Jonathan, who had rather been looking forward to having Miss Richards mostly to himself, attempted to hide his disappointment with a rather lackluster smile as he sat down.

“Lord Michael is the second son of the Marquess of Barrington,” Miss Richards explained, throwing Jonathan a quick smile. “He has been in the army and fought very bravely.”

A stab of guilt sliced through Jonathan. He had not fought bravely, although the true Lord Michael had done so. “And do you have a profession of your own, Mr. Greenville?” he asked, trying to divert the conversation.

“Nothing of note,” came the reply. “The church, I am afraid.”

“Rather staid and boring, is it not?” Miss Richards replied, her eyes twinkling as she looked from Jonathan to Mr. Greenville and back again. “Telling everyone their sins from the pulpit!”

A slightly frustrated expression came over Mr. Greenville’s face. “And yet, some would say it is a rather honorable choice.”

Miss Richards expression softened immediately. “And of course, it is, Mr. Greenville. Do forgive my jesting. It is simply that I could never bear that kind of life, as you know.”

Jonathan was surprised to see the flash of irritation on the man’s face as he rose to his feet.

“Indeed,” came Mr. Greenville’s reply. “Now, I had best take my leave. Good day to you both.”

“I will walk you out, Mr. Greenville,” Lord Richards said, walking to the door and casting a firm glance back at his sister. “I will send a maid in whilst I am gone.”

For a moment, Miss Richards looked as though she were about to argue, but much to Jonathan’s relief, she simply shrugged and looked away, waiting for the said maid to arrive before continuing her conversation with Jonathan.

“The church must be a stuffy profession, would you not say?” she asked, pouring herself and Jonathan some tea. “I have told Mr. Greenville on multiple occasions that I could not bear that kind of life, but yet he insists on painting it as a most wonderful profession.”

“Mayhap to him, it is,” Jonathan murmured, a little surprised at her obvious irritation. “Do you know the man well?”

“Well?” she repeated, with a slight snort. “Yes, very well. A cousin of ours, you see.”

“I see,” Jonathan murmured, thinking that this was the reason behind their familiarity.

Miss Richards handed him his cup, their fingers brushing for a just a moment. Jonathan took it from her carefully, trying his best to ignore the way his skin burned and heart quickened.

“He is inclined to marry me, but of course, I will not have him,” Miss Richards finished, softly, sitting back in her chair and studying Jonathan. “Not the right kind of man for me.”

A heavy stone dropped into the pit of Jonathan’s stomach. Was what Lord Taylor said correct? After all, Mr. Greenville might not have been titled, but he was family and with a modest income and secure future. Why was she refusing to consider him?

“And I must thank you for the book you sent me,” Miss Richards continued, her voice soft and expression warm. “That was very good of you, Lord Michael. I am afraid I left in something of a tizzy.”

“Yes, you did,” Jonathan agreed, managing to smile at the memory. “Are you quite at ease now?”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his and filled with such an intensity that Jonathan felt his heart burning within him. “I should have written to you, but it went quite out of my head,” she murmured, leaning forward in her chair and putting one hand on his arm. “Can you forgive me for being so tardy? So ungrateful?”

Jonathan could not move for a moment, only to lift his free hand and place it over hers. His heart quickened, his entire being sparking with such a myriad of delightful sensations that he could not quite find his voice for a moment.

“You are forgiven, Miss Richards,” he replied rather hoarsely. “I was not in the least offended. My sole concern was for your wellbeing.”

She looked up at him steadily, her cheeks dusting with a deep pink. “You are very good, Lord Michael. Very good indeed.”

Jonathan could not move away, could not look anywhere but at her. She was the delight of his eyes, the one his heart had begun to fill with affection for despite their short acquaintance. She was refreshing in her somewhat improper ways, a light in the gloomy pit of society. And yet, Lord Taylor’s words echoed round and round in his mind.

The sound of footsteps coming back along the hallway jolted them both into action. Jonathan removed his hand whilst Miss Richards sat bolt upright, her hands in her lap. Lord Richards appeared in the doorway, grinning broadly at them both.

“I do hope you have saved some tea for me,” he chuckled, as Miss Richards leaned forward to pour him a cup. “And tell me, Lord Michael, do you intend to come to the ball tomorrow evening?”

“Lord Blakeley’s, do you mean?” Jonathan asked, dragging his attention away from Miss Richards. “I believe I was invited, yes.”

“And you have accepted, have you not?” Miss Richards asked, a little breathlessly.

Surprised at the interest in her voice, Jonathan could not help but smile, choosing to push Lord Taylor’s worries from his mind. “Indeed, I have,” he replied, seeing the beautiful smile spreading across her face at his words. “And I do hope I shall have the pleasure of dancing with you there, Miss Richards.”

Color burned in her cheeks. “But of course,” she replied, with a lift of one eyebrow. “You shall dance with me as many times as you wish, Lord Michael.”

Jonathan smiled, caught up by the warmth in her eyes. Something was growing between them, he was quite sure of it. The touch of her hand on his was more than enough to convince him, but along with those words, Jonathan was quite thoroughly convinced that the lady held some kind of affection for him.

An affection he returned.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask to court her, to take their association to a more intimate attachment. However, by the time he found the words to speak to ask her such a thing, Lord Richards was already in full flow about another piece of gossip he had only just recently heard. His question about courting her would have to wait until another time. Perhaps a time when he could be alone with her—if only for a moment.

Soon, Jonathan thought to himself, catching Miss Richards watching him with those bright eyes of hers. Very soon, indeed.