Baldwin scowled playfully. “I just don’t understand how I came to be sucked into the circle of old married dukes. I’m still free.”
The others chuckled, but Baldwin saw Simon and James exchange a brief look. His chest tightened at the sight of it.
“There is a rumor, you know, that you are intent on finding a match this Season,” Simon said.
Baldwin arched a brow. “And who started this dastardly rumor?”
The group turned toward Ewan en masse, and he shrugged and raised his hand without so much as a sheepish expression.
Baldwin folded his arms. “Let me guess. My mother told my sister, who told you, and you told Simon, who told everyone because he has a big mouth?”
Simon glared, and Graham laughed, “That is essentially the line of progression, yes.”
Baldwin rolled his eyes and fought desperately not to have the truth of his situation revealed by his reaction. “Well, there is no use trying to hide it. It’s true. I do intend on finding a wife this Season. It’s time.”
Graham pressed his lips together. “Time really has nothing to do with it. Marry when it’s right, not when it’s time.”
Ewan nodded enthusiastically as James said, “Truly, Graham is right. Marry for love, Baldwin. You deserve all the happiness your friends have found and even more.”
Baldwin shoved his suddenly sweaty hands behind his back and forced a smile. They meant well, after all. They didn’t know the truth.
“Well, I’ll certainly take your advice into consideration,” he said. “You know everyone is in town at present. Well, everyone but Lucas. We should get together if you can separate yourselves from your wives.”
The men exchange a look and then James nodded. “Capital idea. I’ll make the arrangements and send an invitation when we have the particulars managed.”
Baldwin exhaled in relief, for his suggestion had taken some of the focus off his very foggy future. “And now I’m going to take some air before I throw myself into this endeavor. Good evening. I’m sure I’ll speak to you all later in the night.”
They said their goodbyes and Baldwin left then, feeling four sets of concerned eyes on him with every step he took away from them. He exited as swiftly as he could, heading out onto the terrace where a cool late spring breeze hit him in the face and cooled his now-heated cheeks.
Lord and Lady Rockford were possessed of a large veranda, one that stretched the length of their massive home. There were couples and small groups scattered just outside the ballroom, enjoying the air. Baldwin flinched. The last thing he wanted in this moment was to get caught up in meaningless conversation. There would be plenty of that in the weeks to come.
He smiled at those around him and moved away, down the veranda, past the doors to other parlors and into a slightly dimmer corner. He was about to settle in to a perfectly dark and cozy brood when a young lady stepped out of the shadows and placed herself at the wall with her back to him.
She was slender, with a mob of auburn hair piled high on her head in a mock-Grecian style. Tendrils curled from the mass, making little trails across her shoulders that disappeared from view when she adjusted her shawl a bit higher.
She had not noticed him as of yet, it seemed, for her attention was lifted. She was raptly focused on the sky above, and he followed her gaze and caught his breath. There was no moon and the sky was lit up with stars. He took a silent step closer and thought he heard her whispering beneath her breath, though he couldn’t make out what she was saying.
He wrinkled his brow. He had no idea what this young lady was doing, but it was evident she did not wish to be interrupted. He was about to turn and step away from her when she stopped murmuring, stiffened and then pivoted to face him.
His heart stopped beating. She was…stunning. It was the only way to describe her. With fine, delicate features and pale green eyes the color of spring leaves. Her red hair framed porcelain skin, disrupted only by a fetching blush that now colored the apples of her cheeks.
“Hello,” she said.
His eyes widened further at her accent. American. This was the American.
“H-hello,” he repeated, taking a step toward her. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
She smiled, and her pretty face transformed into something exquisitely beautiful. It was a rather crooked smile, with something wicked to it. She looked like she liked to laugh, and it made him want to do the same.
“You didn’t,” she reassured him. “I just felt silly being caught at…well, being caught.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Yes, you were looking at the stars. But I thought I heard you talking.”
The blush on those cheeks darkened a shade, and she darted her gaze away as she worried her hands against the stone veranda wall. “Oh, gracious, I must seem like such a ninny to you.”
He tilted his head. “Far from it. But I am curious. Were you casting a spell or wishing on a star?”
She laughed and the sound echoed in the air like music. He found himself smiling immediately, and it wasn’t one of the forced or pretended smiles that he’d been displaying as of late. It was a simple reaction to her complicated lightness. Like she was a beacon in his darkness that he could follow.
He blinked. Was he waxing poetic? In his head? About a stranger? An American stranger, at that. The world was truly coming to an end.
“Neither of those things,” she said. “I was counting the stars.”
He blinked and slowly looked up at the thousands of blinking lights above, then back to her face. “Counting the stars?”
She nodded, as if this were a normal thing to do. All the rage, even. “I was.”
“That sounds like an endless endeavor,” he said.
She shrugged one slender shoulder and her wrap dipped a bit, revealing a bit of flesh exposed by her pretty gown. He caught his breath at the sight. That sweet spot between her neck and shoulder looked utterly…kissable.
“Endless does not equate purposeless or pointless,” she said, dragging him away from his inappropriate thoughts. “After all, how often are you forced to do something you do not like over and over? When I count stars, it is always a joy. It reminds me there are many things bigger than myself or my silly problems.”
He pondered those words. “You are correct, of course. Much of our lives is spent in repetitive nonsense. Counting stars is as good a hobby as endless stitching, I suppose. Or playing or walking round and round in circles in a parlor.”
She smiled again. “Well, I happen to like all those silly things, as well.”
“An accomplished lady is never silly,” he said.
“What about an accomplished gentleman?” she retorted.
“I know hardly any of those,” he said, and found himself laughing when she began to do the same. His laughter felt rusty, ill-used lately except when it was pretended.
“I doubt that,” she said. “You look like a young man who knows a thing or two. But may I ask why you are skulking about on a veranda while there is a party going on inside?”
“Was I skulking?” he asked.