“I am certain there is a reason he is late.” Although Eleanor could not conceive of one, she had a feeling he would tell her. Lady Markham took him to a group of matrons and young ladies.

Eleanor’s dance partner arrived, and they repaired to the dance floor for a country dance. Only one more set before the supper waltz. She and Madeline were escorted back to their circle at the same time.

“He is coming this way,” Madeline whispered.

“Good evening.” Montagu bowed to Eleanor, her sisters, and to Matt and Grace. “Ladies, my lord, my lady.”

“Good evening.” Eleanor curtseyed. “I wondered if you were coming. I saw your sister and mother earlier.”

“I, er, was held up by some estate business.” She was not quite sure she believed him and could not think why she would not. “I could not miss my waltz with you.”

“Thank you.” Heat rose into her face. Why was she blushing? She was supposed to remain unaffected by him until she had made up her mind. “I received your flowers. They were lovely.”

“They reminded me of you.” That was unfortunately trite, but she supposed she should be flattered. He cleared his throat. “They are lovely, as you are.” He met her gaze. “That is the truth. But the rest of it is that I found I was unable to say no to the flower girls.” He gave her an almost pleading look. “They were so small and thin.”

Lord Montagu sounded so contrite, Eleanor wanted to hug him. He had gone to Covent Garden to purchase the flowers himself instead of sending a servant. That was unexpected. “How many flowers did you buy?”

“Everything they had left.” He had a sheepish expression that appeared at odds with his strong, aristocratic features. “I haven’t a clue how to arrange flowers, so my housekeeper did it for me. I really do hope you liked them.”

“I did indeed.” She liked even more that he was being honest with her, and that he could not but try to help the children. “I do not have any experience with the flower girls, but I have heard about them.”

Lord Harrington strolled up to them, bowed, and glanced at Lord Montagu. “Lady Eleanor, this is my dance, if I am not mistaken.”

“It is, my lord.” She looked at Lord Montagu. “My lord, allow me to introduce Lord Harrington, Lord and Lady Markham’s son. He and his wife recently returned from several years in Paris.”

Montagu bowed. “My pleasure. I believe you are related to a friend of mine, Gavin Turley.”

“Yes.” Harrington smiled. “He’s my brother-in-law.” He glanced around. “He and his wife are here somewhere.” The beginning notes of the set sounded. “Lady Eleanor, do you wish to dance or would you rather converse with his lordship?”