The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [22]
“I want you for a partner.”
6
NOW THIS WAS A KICKER. A woman’s partner? He couldn’t imagine such a thing. “How very odd. A partner, you said, Miss Mayberry, not a lover? Did you happen to rattle your brains when you crashed yourself into me?”
“Not at all. I have been thinking about this since the first time Alexandra Sherbrooke mentioned your name. I thought, a man with such a demanding sort of life must be quite excellent at devising strategies and organizing details and proper plans so he does not ever find himself at the end when he should be in the middle. You must perform continually at the most rigorously high standards to keep yourself in business, so to speak.”
“You won’t accept that I am simply quite gifted?”
“Oh, yes, there is no doubt in my mind about that. I daresay it’s a talent that most men would barter all their earthly belongings to have in a quite small measure. You have talent aplenty, Lord Beecham. But don’t you see? Your gift, your talent, is only the beginning. You must have all the other attributes as well to keep your reputation at such a high level.”
“Let me see if I have got this correct. You want me to be your partner because I am a fine strategist, I can organize details well, and I always perform at a high level. Does that cover it?”
“Very nearly.”
“I assume you are referring to my performance with the fairer sex?”
“Naturally. But what’s most important, Lord Beecham, is that you set your sights on a goal and you won’t give up until you have attained it. I am right about that, aren’t I?”
“There is no way you could know that,” he said slowly, staring her straight in the eye since he was only two inches taller than she. He suddenly felt as if he were walking down the street, stark naked, holding an umbrella over his head. Everyone was pointing at him. Everyone knew exactly who and what he was—and what he was was decidedly strange. “That is ridiculous. You are merely guessing.”
“Well, you see, I met your Mr. Blunder two days ago. No, don’t go home and thrash him. Mr. Blunder holds you in such high esteem it nearly made my stomach cramp. His worship of you positively spews from his mouth. All he needs is a listener. He admires you vastly.”
“The damned man wants to work me to death.”
“He told me it was amazing what you could grasp with only the most scant of explanations.”
“I am beginning to feel ill myself.”
“He said when you set your sights on something, normally—in his experience at least—it was a lady. But if it wasn’t a lady, then it could be a problem you wished to solve, a situation you wished to resolve, two enemies you wished to bring together to become friends, a political compromise to keep two sides together, whatever. He said you never faltered, never settled for half measures or defeat. Mr. Blunder believes you can do just about anything, my lord.”
“Ah, I see now how you so easily pried him open. You took him to Gunther’s, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes, his favorite ice is raspberry. I saw him standing there, in front of Gunther’s, with the look of a man who would give his last guinea for just one lick. He was very easy, truth be told. He kept eating and talking. And I kept ordering more ices for him and listening. Perhaps I ate an ice or two myself.”
“When I came riding today,” he said slowly, looking around at the half dozen people strolling through the park around them, “I hadn’t expected any of this. Even Reverend Older, a delicious old eccentric, doesn’t compare to you. I am not used to surprises of this sort, Miss Mayberry.”
“Just wait until your birthday, my lord.”
He laughed, a full, rich laugh that wafted through all the splendid old oak and maple trees surrounding them. It was getting easier, sounding positively natural now, this magnificent laugh