As everyone turned to leave, Elizabeth tugged her sleeve.
She stepped to the side, lowered her voice. “What is it?”
Elizabeth glanced past her to Michael. “Have we done enough, do you think?”
“For tonight, we’ve done all we reasonably can. Indeed, we’ve done brilliantly.” She glanced at the group filing through the doorway. “As for the cruise, I couldn’t have planned that better myself. It’ll be the perfect venue to develop our theme.”
“But…” Still looking at Michael, who was talking to General Kleber, Elizabeth bit her lip. “Do you think it’s working?”
“He hasn’t offered for you yet, and that’s the most important thing.” Caro paused, reassessing, then patted Elizabeth’s arm. “Nevertheless, tomorrow’s another day—we should make sure he’s occupied.”
With a swish of her skirts, she returned to the group. A quick word in the countess’s ear, a quiet moment with the duchess and the ambassador’s wife, and all was arranged. Or almost all.
As he followed the bulk of the guests out of the front door, Michael found Caro beside him.
She slipped her hand in his arm. Leaning closer, she murmured, “I wondered if you’d like to join us—me, Elizabeth, Edward, a
nd a few others—on a trip to Southampton tomorrow. I thought we might meet in town late morning, have a look around, then lunch at the Dolphin before a quick visit to the walls, and a gentle journey home.”
Looking up, she arched a brow at him. “Can we count on your escort?”
Another—and quieter—opportunity through which to evaluate Elizabeth. Michael smiled into Caro’s silvery eyes. “I’ll be delighted to join you.”
He hadn’t realized Caro had intended a shopping expedition. Nor that Ferdinand Leponte would be one of the party. Arriving at Bramshaw House at eleven, he’d been bidden to join Caro, Elizabeth, and Campbell in the barouche; the day was fine, the breeze light, the sunshine warm—all had seemed in place for a pleasant outing.
The others joined them at Totton on the road to Southampton. The duchess, the countess, the ambassador’s wife, and Ferdinand Leponte. Ferdinand predictably tried to engineer a reallocation of seats, suggesting Michael join the older ladies in the duchess’s landau, but Caro waved the suggestion aside.
“It’s barely a few miles, Ferdinand—too close to bother rearranging things.” With the tip of her furled parasol, she tapped her coachman’s shoulder; he started the barouche rolling. “Just have your man follow and we’ll be there in no time, then we can all walk together.”
She sat back, then glanced at Michael, sitting beside her. He smiled, let his gratitude show. Her lips twitched; she looked ahead.
They spent the half-hour journey discussing local events. Caro, he, and Edward were less well informed about local affairs than Elizabeth; encouraged, she filled them in with the latest news.
He was pleased to discover she kept abreast of local matters.
“The church fete is the next big event.” Elizabeth grimaced. “I suppose we’ll have to attend, or Muriel will be after us.”
“It’s always an entertaining day,” Caro pointed out.
“True, but I do so hate the feeling of being obliged to be there.”
Caro shrugged and looked away. Inwardly frowning yet again, Michael followed her gaze out over the expanse of Southampton Water.
They left the carriages at the Dolphin and wandered along High Street, then the ladies determinedly turned to the shops along French Street and Castle Way.
The gentlemen—all three of them—started to drag their heels. Started to realize they’d been inveigled into being packhorses under false pretenses, to wit, by having elusive carrots dangled before their noses.
Edward, doubtless more accustomed to such trials, merely sighed and accepted the parcels Caro and the ambassador’s wife dropped in his arms. Michael found himself landed with a bandbox tied with wide pink ribbon, bestowed on him by Elizabeth with a sweet smile.
Chattering together, the ladies entered the next shop. Michael glanced at Ferdinand. Holding two gaudily wrapped packages, the Portuguese looked as discomposed and disgusted as he himself felt. Looking at Edward, at the relatively innocuous brown packages Caro had handed him, Michael raised his brows. He met Edward’s eyes. “Want to swap?”
Edward shook his head. “The etiquette pertaining here is that you have to hold on to whatever they hand you, or else they’ll get confused.”
Michael held his gaze. “You’re making that up.”
Edward grinned.
By the time the ladies finally consented to return to the Dolphin, where luncheon awaited them in a private parlor, Michael was burdened with the bandbox and three other parcels, two tied with ribbon. The only aspect of the situation that lightened his mood was that Ferdinand was all but invisible behind the ten parcels his aunt and the duchess had stacked in his arms.