“He told me Meredith insisted he come to the party, in spite of his objections.”
“I’m certain she did.”
“Rather odd, considering her delicate condition, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.” Catherine grinned. “I received a letter yesterday from Meredith in which she wrote that my normally calm and collected brother has taken to alternating between frantic pacing and croaking, ‘is it time yet?’ After a fortnight of such behavior, she was ready to cosh him. Rather than risk injuring the father of her child, she instead grasped upon the excuse of this party to push him literally out the door.”
Mr. Stanton chuckled. “Ah, now I understand. Yes, I can picture Philip, hovering over Meredith, his hair standing up on end, cravat undone-”
“-cravat missing altogether,” Catherine corrected with a laugh.
“Spectacles askew.”
“Shirt horribly wrinkled-”
“-with his sleeves rolled up.” Andrew shook his head. “I can only sympathize with poor Meredith. Makes me wish I was at the Greybourne country estate to enjoy the show.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Pshaw. You simply wish you were anywhere but here, attempting to entice investors.”
Something flashed in his eyes, then an engaging grin spread over his face-a grin that coaxed twin dimples to crease his cheeks. A grin she found impossible not to respond to in kind. He leaned toward her, and she caught a pleasing whiff of sandalwood. An inexplicable tingle shivered down her spine, surprising her, as it was quite warm in the room.
“I must admit that soliciting funds is not my favorite pastime, Lady Catherine. I owe you a boon for affording me this moment of sanctuary.”
She was tempted to tell him that she owed him a boon for a similar reason, but refrained. “I noticed you speaking to Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly, and also Mrs. Warrenfield,” she said. “Were your efforts successful?”
“I believe so, especially in Mrs. Warrenfield’s case. Her husband left her a sizable fortune, and she possesses a love of antiquities. A good combination as far as Philip and I are concerned.”