Eliza made her way back to her bedchamber unseen, scampering up the stairs two at a time. She had not been in her room more than five minutes, when there came a knock at the door, and a maid entered with a cup of steaming tea. Thanking her, Eliza sent the maid away and proceeded to drink it gratefully, the hot liquid warming her chilled bones.

That servant, Phillip, had been most presumptuous in his behavior and she was not sure she liked it. Of course, she would never speak to Lord Bessington or his mother about any servant in their employ, unless their behavior became something worthy of dismissal. That being said, she found Phillip very forward, almost forcing her to agree that she would seek him out should she require another walk in the woods the following morning. However, Eliza could not pretend that the man did not have an effect on her, as much as she found him irritating.

He was a tall, strong man, clearly unafraid of hard work. She found herself drawn to his strength. Phillip, being a gardener, did not have to dress as the gentry might, meaning his half open shirt had allowed her to see more of a man than she ever had done before—not that she had looked, of course. She blushed at the thought, her pulse quickening a little. Pausing for a moment, she wondered why her breath had never caught at the sight of Lord Stockton in all his fine attire. John, whilst not a tall man, still had a presence about him, despite his slim build. The gardener had been tall and broad, with an imposing presence, and merely being in his company had made a warm excitement curl in her belly—something that had never occurred with John.

Taking a deep breath, Eliza gave herself a little shake. Now was not the time to be considering such things. She was practically betrothed to John, and she was sure that, were he to wear a shirt similar to the gardener’s, then she would have exactly the same reaction. Nodding to herself, she swept her thoughts to the side and rose to dress correctly, corset and all.

Anthony was back in his study, poring over the latest numbers from his accountant. Things looked to be on the rise, despite his mother’s insistence over the house party that pulled money from his accounts. Sitting back for a few moments, Anthony stretched, glad that his hard work was producing results. If only his morning walk had not been so disturbed.

Anthony frowned, remembering the girl. Discreet inquiries to the butler had acquired him a name, a Miss Elizabeth Williams, older sister to Sophie, whose mother was an old friend of the Lady Bessington's. Apparently, she was expected to announce her betrothal fairly soon to a Lord Stockton.

Life seemed to be going very well for Miss Williams, and Anthony wondered what had made her so upset. She was certainly a most unusual young lady, for he had never before met one that liked to take early walks in the morning. Most young women of his acquaintance did not rise before midday. Miss Williams certainly was a pretty little thing; her blue eyes and long blonde hair had not escaped his notice. She seemed very sure of herself, instantly assuming he was a servant in the master's household. He was sure she would return for another morning stroll, and he intended to use her to find out what his guests truly thought of him, mostly for his own amusement. Miss Williams would soon discover his true identity, and that brought a smile to his face. He could not fault her for assuming him to be a servant, given his state of dress, but he was sure she was simply another shallow, grasping, simpering miss, and it would be a pleasure to put her in her place. Smiling to himself, Anthony returned to his accounts, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Just as he had found the place where he had left off, the door opened, and his mother sailed in, a smile on her face. Groaning, Anthony got to his feet, certain that his mother was about to ask him something, and equally certain that he would turn down her request.

“Good morning, my dear!”

“Good morning, Mother. I trust you slept well?”

“Indeed. Now, Anthony, you did not return to the guests last evening, as you had said you would –”

“I did not say I would, Mother,” Anthony interrupted, sitting at his desk once more. “I merely said I might, should I complete my business for the day.” Annoyance crossed his mother’s face, but Anthony did not care. “I told you I would not take part in your house party; I would welcome the guests, but otherwise, I would be engaged with estate business.”

His mother huffed, plopping into a chair. “Anthony, why must you be so disagreeable? Many of our guests would greatly enjoy seeing you. There are many beautiful – and eligible – young women, who would relish the opportunity to spend some time with you!”

Anthony sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. So this was his mother’s game. “Mother, I am not interested in matrimony and, even if I were, I would not get my suggestions from you. I am perfectly capable of finding my own bride, should I decide to pursue such a thing.”

Another sigh met his ears. Anthony couldn’t stand the idea of his mother moaning at him for any length of time; it truly was becoming very wearisome.

"Mother, why do you not organize a ball to mark the end of the house party?" He saw his mother sit up a little straighter, her interest piqued. "If you promise not to intrude on my privacy for the remainder of the week, I shall attend your ball and visit each of your guests individually. Is that to your satisfaction?”

Mollified, his mother rose, a small smile spreading across her face. “Thank you, Anthony, I am sure our guests will appreciate your presence.”

“And you do love holding a ball, don’t you, Mother?”

Wagging her finger at him and muttering something about not being disrespectful to your mother, Lady Bessington exited the study, giving Anthony the peace he long desired.

Eliza grew more exhausted as the evening wore on. Lord Penn had been seated next to her at dinner, much to his delight and her distress. At one moment, she had felt his hand on her thigh and had frozen in shock. He had removed it soon after, but the threat was clear. Shaken to her core, Eliza had struggled through the remainder of the meal, grateful to leave the gentlemen to their sherry and cigars.

“Eliza, are you enjoying your time here?” Her sister Sophie sat down beside her, her eyes sparkling. “Isn’t Lady Bessington simply wonderful?”

Eliza nodded, noticing the men entering the drawing room. They had not spent long at the table, she mused. Perhaps they desired the ladies’ company. Turning to Sophie, she was surprised to see her eyes on Lord Stockton, following him around the room as he walked towards the pianoforte to assist Lady Elsie with the turning of the pages. How odd.

“And you, are you enjoying yourself, Sophie, dear?”

Startled, Sophie jumped and blushed, a guilty look on her face. “Very much! I have been told that we are to have a picnic the day after tomorrow. Is that not exciting?”

“Indeed,” Eliza replied, studying her sister carefully.

“Oh, I think Mama is calling me,” Sophie said, patting Eliza’s hand. “Please excuse me.”

Eliza, left alone with her own thoughts, considered her sister's behavior. She was sure that Sophie had been watching John, her own Lord Stockton, which seemed highly unusual.

To her own astonishment, she discovered that she did not feel in the least bit jealous. Perhaps it was because she was so sure of John's attachment to her that she felt no concern over Sophie's interest. Smiling to herself, she gave herself a mental shake. Of course that was the reason. Turning her attention to Lady Elsie's attempt at a sonata, Eliza allowed her gaze to linger on Lord Stockton. He was dressed in his wonderful evening attire, but she felt no excitement over his appearance, instead wondering what he would look like as a gardener.