It took half an hour for her temper to settle enough to remember her plot, and another half an hour for her to decide her next move. Her latest partner was a meek, slender sprig of fashion, easily led around the floor, and she contrived to finish the dance close to where Mr Moretyne stood.
After sending her escort in search of refreshment, she assumed a pretty air of hesitancy and watched her quarry as though uncertain. Obedient to the invitation contained in that gaze, he moved toward her.
"I must apologise, sir, for my manner earlier. Indeed I do not know what came over me!"
His lips twitched up in a smile that looked friendly, but something disquieting lurked behind it. "It is all forgotten, Miss Thorne. You surely did not seek me out for such a small matter?"
"Oh, but I could not bear to end our delightful dance with any kind of unpleasantness. I fear that the unaccustomed air of town is to blame for my megrims—you must know that I have lived all my life in the country."
There could be only one gallant reply to this obvious hint, and Mr Moretyne obligingly made it. "In that case, I beg you will permit me the privilege of driving out in the fresh air with you. Shall we say, tomorrow?"
If she had indeed wished to engage his attention, she could have truthfully told him that she intended to join her brother to try the paces of his new pair, but since it was not her plan to attach him she had no hesitation in accepting his offer.
When she finally sought her bed in the early hours of the morning she was well satisfied with her night's work. Mr Moretyne was frivolous but no fool; he must realize how shamelessly she had angled for the invitation to go driving, and unless she was very much mistaken he was certain to be far more reserved on the morrow.
She was doomed to be very much mistaken. Mr Moretyne presented himself as early as was proper, seemingly all eagerness for the pleasure of her company, and so found her as friendly as she had ever been toward him.
He drove a sporting curricle behind a team of match-bays that brought a smile of approval to her lips. In spite of his reputation as a dandy, she could find no fault—in her cooler moods!—with his judgement of horseflesh.
"I fancy that is your brother ahead of us." Mr Moretyne nodded toward a phaeton and two entering the Park.
Eleanor unfurled her sunshade and balanced it coquettishly. "Yes, he is trying the paces of his new pair. I warned him that he gave more than they were worth, but he is very generous."
"Has he bought Fleetwood's chestnuts?"
"Yes, and they are not so bad, although they are not as light-mouthed as I would like. Not, I daresay, to compare with your own team." She directed a wide-eyed smile toward her companion and was pleased with the effect, as he held her eyes for several moments before looking away.
"Your brother seems to be enjoying his time on the town," he remarked.
"Oh yes! He has sense enough to keep out of bad company, and he doesn't find it necessary to become the rage, so I think that he will be content to settle at Thornedon after he has tasted what Society has to offer."
"And does Miss Thorne feel the same way?"
He passed a barouche with a skill that sparked her admiration, so it was not as difficult as she expected to gaze devotedly at him. "Why sir, I have met so many delightful persons, and been made so welcome, that I would be an ungrateful creature if I did not confess to a suspicion that I am a town-creature at heart."
"I am glad to hear it," he returned smilingly.
Miss Thorne was rather taken aback. He should have been murmuring polite but discouraging remarks, and withdrawing from the unmistakable evidence of a female with a tendre' for him, but instead of complying with her expectations he seemed to take encouragement from her manner.
A wild suspicion that he might see through her masquerade flitted through her head and was rejected. She had spoken of it to no one but Harriet, and Miss Webster was hardly the type to spread the tale around town.
Eleanor consoled herself with the reflection that even though her scheme was not yet bearing fruit, she was enjoying the drive. She knew that his pursuit had its roots in pique, for no gentleman would overlook the insults she had flung at him on their first meeting, so it was a fortunate circumstance that she was not taken in by his air and address and was not likely to suffer the pangs of a broken heart when her plot succeeded in discouraging him.
She was jolted from her reverie by the realization that the curricle had come to a stop.
"My aunt is waving to me," he explained. "You will not mind if I stop just for a moment?"
"Pray do! I was presented to Lady Lansworth last week and found her delightful." Eleanor acknowledged bows from Mr Elliot and Mr Horace Epworth as she spoke.
"Ah Granville!" Lady Lansworth had a piercing voice that reminded Eleanor irresistibly of a blast from a yard of tin. "Who's the girl you've taken up this time? Miss Thorne, is it? Good choice, my boy, good choice!" The three purple-dyed ostrich feathers on her turban bobbed with each word.
"Good morning, Aunt Priscilla," Mr Moretyne replied lightly. "You are acquainted with Miss Thorne, I believe!"
"Of course! Think I don't keep track of your flirts?" her ladyship demanded. "Miss Thorne, is this scapegrace making himself agreeable to you?"
"I cannot suppose him capable of doing otherwise!" Eleanor rhapsodized.
"Doing so, you mean," Mr Moretyne prodded in an undervoice.
Miss Thorne found it necessary to clamp her lower lip firmly between her teeth, but the laughter that lit her eyes did not go unnoticed by Lady Lansworth.
"Well, Granville, see that you don't lose this one! She sets you off well, you know, and will do your precious stables credit if her seat is as good as her hands." Her ladyship prodded her coachman in the back with the handle of her cane, leaving both occupants of the curricle slack-jawed as she drove away.
"I thought you said you found her delightful?" Mr Moretyne set his horses in motion. "My poor girl, you must have been exposed to some extremely odd company to have formed such an opinion of my addlepated aunt!"
Eleanor abandoned her outrage to laugh. "She has no compunction about speaking her mind, I see. I must beg your pardon for having chosen a gown which clashes so dreadfully with the colour of your pair."
He skilfully looped a rein and passed another curricle. "The next time we drive out, I shall be certain to drive my greys, and then you may safely wear any colour without clashing."
She allowed his assumption to pass unchallenged. If he was not yet discouraged, she clearly needed to pursue him more obviously, and refusing to drive out with him would not accomplish her purpose.