was . Spinning, that is.
She felt distinctly tipsy.
“But we must share a private toast to our betrothal,”Cedric said, turning around with a decanter in his hand. With his wavy locks falling over his eyes, he was heart-stoppingly handsome.
She nodded, wondering if she ought to simply confess how gauche she felt. They were going to be married, and he would be her most cherished friend in the world. And he was so sweet that he would instantly understand. She opened her mouth—
Cedric said, “You must be feeling terribly out of place.”
He knew .
He understood her!
“Americans often feel out of place when they first come here to London,” he continued, seating himself again.
Merry frowned. She didn’t think it was a question of nationality.
“The prince said it best,” Cedric went on thoughtfully. “Prinny noted just the other day that the spirit of Englishmen is entirely different from that of Americans. You can perhaps see it most readily in the servant class; ours are not only more obliging and industrious, but better pleased and happier.”
“Well,” Merry began, hardly knowing where to start.
“ You are a natural inhabitant of my country,” Cedric said. “Prinny was most reassuring about that. You may be American now, but in short order, your mother’s blood will prevail, and you will find yourself refined by the very air of England.”
Merry felt as if she’d lost track of the conversation sometime ago. “By the air?” she echoed.
“You will quickly learn all the little things that characterize an English gentlewoman. The habits of mind that bespeak gentility without words. For example, I have heard that in America, a man might eschew tongs entirely and pick up a lump of sugar with his fingers.”
“A pair of tongs is certainly more proper,” Merry ventured, beginning to wonder how much she should defend her countrymen.
“Yet Americans are innocent of a charge of nastiness,” Cedric said earnestly. “Where there are no rules, one cannot be wrathful about such an abomination, but in England, things are quite, quite different.”
Merry knew very well—because Miss Fairfax had informed her again and again—that she didn’t possess a proper delicacy of mind. Obviously, this was a sign of it, because she often snatched up a lump of sugar and dropped it into her tea without a second thought. In fact, she had occasionally done the same when serving her uncle.
Panic fluttered in her stomach. Hopefully, the air of England would start working on her before Cedric realized what she was truly like. What if London’s civilizing effect didn’t work its magic?
She couldn’t—she simply could not— break off another engagement.
“Merely by living in this great city, a person acquires elegance of manners,” Cedric concluded, setting his empty glass to the side. “Shall we return and announce the happy news that you have accepted my proposal?”
As they reentered the ballroom, Merry saw at once that there was no need to make a formal announcement of their betrothal; twenty or more heads swiveled expectantly in their direction. She glanced up to find her fiancé smiling tenderly at her, for all the world as if she were Juliet and he her Romeo.
Her heart thumped again.
The third time truly was the charm. Cedric was ideal.
All she had to do was make herself as perfect as he was.
Chapter Four
Returning to the present . . .
N igel Hampster, Merry decided, bore a tragic resemblance to his furry little namesake. His nose twitched when he was excited, and since Lady Caroline was encouraging his dull stories by giggling, he was practically wiggling with excitement.
She kept trying to listen and then finding herself succumbing to yet another wave of anxiety about her forthcoming marriage.
Her doubts surely stemmed from the fact that Cedric had proposed and then abandoned her for the card room. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the pleasure she’d felt after coaxing a stranger on the