by Meghan Sloan
Nicholas looked relieved. “Blood brothers, still?”
“Blood brothers, always,” said Silas, smiling slightly. “I am glad that you invited Miss Sinclair this evening. I have been remiss in getting to know her, and it is a good opportunity.”
Nicholas stood up. “That’s settled, then. We should move to the parlour to await the guests. It is getting on to the witching hour.”
Silas stood up. For a moment they gazed at each other, a weight of emotion between them. Then they awkwardly embraced, clapping each other on the back.
“There is another matter this evening,” said Nicholas, pulling back. “Miss Lucy Oakley will be in attendance. I hope it does not make things awkward for you…”
Silas balked, just a little. Miss Lucy Oakley was Marina’s best friend. They had been close, since they were children. He had only spoken to her very briefly, since everything had happened. It was as if Lucy reminded him too much of his lost love. And there was that shared pain of losing her as well.
He took a deep breath. “It is fine, my friend. I cannot avoid her forever. I will make it my mission to speak with her as freely as I can.” He gazed at his friend curiously. “I did not realise you are so well acquainted with the lady to invite her to an intimate dinner party.”
Nicholas reddened slightly, his skin tone almost matching the colour of his hair. “Yes, well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I must admit that Miss Oakley intrigues me, just a little. I do not know her so well, but I am hoping that this evening will remedy that, if you know what I mean.”
Silas laughed. Good old Nicholas. Always chasing after a different lady. So, he had set his eyes on Lucy Oakley this time. He could see why his friend would be attracted to her now that he thought about it. The lady was his friend’s usual type, with her buxom figure and brown eyes. Nicholas had always had a thing for brown-eyed well-endowed ladies.
“Good luck, my friend,” he said, clapping him on the back again. “I hope that the fair Lucy succumbs to your charms.”
They walked slowly out of the study towards the parlour. Silas felt anticipation swirling to life in his stomach again at the thought that he was about to see Alice once more.
Perhaps – just perhaps – he might be able to put the past behind him. He would even settle for it not haunting him quite so much.
Chapter 8
Alice gazed at herself in the full-length mirror, twisting this way and that. She just wasn’t sure anymore. Charlotte had suggested that she wear the pale blue gown, but was it just a little plain?
She bit her lip in an agony of indecision. She so wanted to look her best this evening. All afternoon butterflies had been fluttering madly in her stomach at the thought of seeing her fiancé again. Although she could admit to herself that she was also a little scared, of surprising him, and that he might not be as eager to see her, as she was to see him.
The door opened. Her mother and Charlotte walked in, chatting easily. When they saw her, they both stopped, their mouths agape.
“My dear,” said Mama, walking towards her. “You look simply stunning in that gown. Why have you not worn it more frequently? I cannot think.”
Alice gazed at her mother steadily. “You know why, Mama. You always told me that it was too severe and made me look like a nun dressed in blue.”
Mrs. Sinclair laughed. “Oh, I surely would not have said any such thing, Alice! You have always been so creative, letting that imagination of yours run away with you!”
Alice smiled. Her mother had a taste for frilly dresses and had always insisted that she wear them. Ever since she was a little girl she had been swamped in frills and lace. The fact that her mother was not acknowledging her preference did not change the fact in the least.
She had never been confident with her own sense of style, simply going along with her mother’s recommendations. But now, with Charlotte advising her, she could see that perhaps her friend’s sense of style was better developed than dear Mama’s. Charlotte had advised her to wear the silk cream gown the other night and it had turned out a charm.
Now she was slowly staring to see through her friend’s eyes. The gowns Charlotte had chosen for her were not plain. Rather, they were elegant. And perhaps they did suit her small stature better than the blowsy gowns her mother usually insisted upon. She often felt like an overdressed doll.
She had spent half of the afternoon getting ready. Betty had swept her hair up into a low-lying chignon at the nape of her neck, securing it with a gold and turquoise decorative comb. She wore a matching turquoise necklace that sat low on her chest, almost to the top of the bodice of her gown.
“You look so lovely, dearest heart,” said Charlotte now, gazing at her warmly. “That gown is so well cut. It suits your figure, perfectly. And it is a beautiful colour.”
“Mr. Wilmington will be swept away by the sight of you,” declared Mama, nodding her head. “What luck that you secured this invitation and shall see him again this evening!”
Alice smiled. “Isn’t it?” She felt slightly sick now with nerves. Would his face drop, when he saw her walk through that door? Would Nicholas Turner tell him that she was coming, or would he be shocked at her arrival?
To distract herself she turned to Charlotte. Her friend was wearing a silk lavender-coloured gown with a high empire line and puffed sleeves. A pearl necklace was woven in her dark hair, which had been curled into fashionable ringlets at the front. “You look exquisite, my dear. I have always admired that lavender gown…”
Charlotte laughed. “This old thing? I am about to put it out to pasture!” She gazed at her friend. “The carriage is waiting for us, dearest heart. Are you ready?”
Alice took a deep breath, picking up her long white gloves from the dressing table and putting them on. “As ready as I will ever be.”
“Best hurry, girls,” trilled her mother. “Do not stay out too late, now! But most of all…have fun!”
***
Alice gazed out of the carriage window as it made its way through the streets of Bath. Nicholas Turner’s townhouse was on the south side of town, apparently.
She turned to Charlotte, gazing at her anxiously. “Are you sure I shall fit in with this crowd? What kind of people does he usually invite to his dinner parties?”
“Do not vex yourself, Alice,” said Charlotte. “All of Nicholas’s friends and acquaintances are charming. He does tend to like painters and poets – a slightly bohemian crowd – but they are all respectable. No chorus singers or magicians, I do assure you.”
Alice felt herself relax. The thought of a bohemian crowd was fine with her. She had been brought up by a painter and a professor. She was used to spirited discussions at the table, ranging from art and science to everything in between. She was confident that she could hold her own, in such a crowd. She had been raised to have an independent, enquiring mind after all.
Perhaps that was why she always felt so alien at society events. They emphasised to her how different she was from most respectable people. Whenever she had tried to talk in those situations, people had stared at her oddly, as if she were some rare animal that they had just spied in the woods. They did not feel comfortable around her at all.
And so she had not felt comfortable around them, thinking that there must be something wrong with her. That she had to change to fit in with them, but not knowing how. That was the reason she had stopped going out as much. It had just seemed to be a useless, soul-destroying endeavour.
The carriage turned a corner, the wheels slowing down, before pulling to a complete stop outside a tall, grey stone townhouse. The front lamps were lit and other carriages were lined up along the street, obviously having disgorged their passengers already.
A footman rushed forward, opening the carriage door. Charlotte turned to Alice. “Ready?”
Alice took a deep breath. “Ready.”
They had arrived.
***
Inside the house Alice heard the low sound of laughing and chatter from a
distant room. Her stomach twisted into knots again. It seemed that everyone else who had been invited was already here. Was Silas among them?
She gazed around as they waited to distract herself. The foyer was beautiful. It had a marble floor with an Arabic pattern on it in geometric triangles of red and green. A tall pot plant with wide, verdant green leaves sat in a corner in a huge green ceramic pot. A large landscape oil painting took pride of place on the wall.
She stared at it, trying to place the location, when the door to the parlour swung open and Nicholas Turner walked out, smiling broadly.
“You’ve made it!” he cried, his arms outstretched. “I was just starting to get a little worried that you weren’t coming.” He gazed at them. “You both look radiant, ladies! Shall I bring you into the parlour to meet the others? We are having a few drinks before dinner commences.”
They were led into a large room, decorated in the same esoteric manner as the foyer. A large Persian rug in a geometric pattern, unlike any she had seen before, was the focal point of the room. Inside there were at least ten people, an almost equal mixture of ladies and gentlemen, draped over settees or standing with tall flutes of champagne in their hands. They all turned and stared as they walked in.
Alice’s eyes swept over them nervously. Silas was next to the fireplace. He smiled slowly when he saw her. Relief swept through her, so intense that she felt weak at the knees.
“Everyone,” said Nicholas, in a loud voice. “This is my good friend, Miss Charlotte Hayward, and her very good friend, Miss Alice Sinclair.” He paused, turning to them. “Go and mingle, my lovelies! I do not stand on formal introductions in my own home.”
But the next minute Silas was there, gazing down at her expectantly. Alice felt her heart start to thud uncomfortably in her chest.
Nicholas smiled knowingly. “Charlotte, how about I take you over to meet the Langleys? They have just returned from a journey to the Far East and have some very interesting stories. They are true adventurers, in the spirit of Marco Polo himself!”
Charlotte laughed. “Sounds intriguing! Lead the way, dear Nicholas.”
They walked off towards a large group. Silas turned to her. “Hello,” he said in a quiet voice. “I was very surprised to learn that you were going to be here this evening. It was quite a shock.”
“A good surprise, or a bad one?” asked Alice quickly. She could have kicked herself. Why did she have to say that of all things? It must be the nerves getting the better of her.
He looked surprised but not offended. “A good one,” he said, smiling slowly. “A very good one indeed.”
Alice laughed. “I am so pleased to hear it,” she said. “I was a little worried that you might think I was ambushing you. It happened unexpectedly, you see, and it seemed rude to refuse.”
“There is no need to apologise, Miss Sinclair,” he said, gazing at her with those intense green eyes. “If anything, I should be the one apologising to you.”
“Whatever for?” she asked, feeling confused.
He took a deep breath. “For neglecting you, of course. I have not been in contact since our engagement was announced, and that is unforgiveable. You have every right to be churlish with me.”
She gazed at him steadily, the knot in her stomach slowly loosening. He was behaving normally, chatting to her in a regular way. He wasn’t angry that she was here. Rather, he was sorry that he had not caught up with her before.
Perhaps the evening was going to turn out all right after all.
She studied him. He was just as tall and handsome, as dashing, as she remembered. The impact of him was almost like a fist in her stomach. Her heart thudded harder still. She had never experienced anything like this before around a man. It was most disconcerting…but strangely exciting as well.
“Please, call me Alice,” she said, staring up at him, almost challengingly. “Seeing as we are engaged to be married, I think it a bit odd that you not call me by my Christian name.”
He laughed softly. “Of course. Alice.” He paused. “And I am Silas, of course. You look very lovely this evening, Alice.”
She blushed. “You don’t have to say that, you know. Just because I am your fiancée.”
“I said it because I mean it,” he insisted, in a low voice. “I do not give false compliments, even to new fiancées.”
Their eyes met and locked, simmering with some strange tension that she did not understand at all.
“I believe you and Mr. Turner are old friends?” she asked desperately, just for something to say, to break the tension.
Silas nodded. “My oldest friend,” he said. “I have known Nicholas since we were boys. We went to school together, many years ago now.” He gazed at her curiously. “Have you and your family always lived in Bath, Alice? It seems astonishing to me now, that we have never met socially before.”
Alice sighed. “I am afraid I am not very fond of the social circuit,” she said. “That is probably the reason we have not met before. I find balls and dances tedious, and other events as well.” She laughed uncomfortably. “I know that it is not something that a young lady should admit, but there it is.”
He shook his head, his eyes earnest. “Not at all. I do not particularly like balls and social events, either. I much prefer solitary pursuits, or when in company, outdoor activities, like walking. Small, intimate dinner parties such as this are about as much as I can handle.” He paused. “It seems that we have that in common.”
Alice gazed at him. It was gratifying, to hear this. If it was true, it boded well for their life together. She wouldn’t have to worry that he would be dragging her to balls and frivolous social events all the time. They were alike, in this way, and could pursue their lives together both well satisfied.
She almost breathed a sigh of pure relief.
She had been a bit worried about it. She was very well aware of Marina St. George’s reputation as a social butterfly, and had assumed that Silas must be the same, if he had loved the lady so well. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about her, and their relationship.
She pulled herself up swiftly. Just because they were speaking so easily with one another, and were now calling each other by their first names, did not mean that she was intimate enough with him to bring up such a delicate subject. He had not mentioned Marina or his previous engagement at all. Not at the first dinner party, and it looked like he would probably not mention it this evening either. It was as if an invisible wall was between them, a wall that she must not attempt to scale too soon.
A frisson of uneasiness spread over her. They would have to mention his missing fiancée at some point. They could not spend their whole lives avoiding her name. Somehow, she knew that would be worse. It would be as if the ghost of Marina was always with them, following their lives, nipping at their heels, never letting them go.
She would ask him about her, at some point. She must, if they were ever to live an honest life together. But not yet. It was still too soon.
***
Silas gazed down at the small auburn-haired lady, his eyes shining with admiration. He hadn’t lied when he had told her she looked lovely this evening. The pale blue silk dress contrasted with her pale skin and golden red hair. And somehow, the colour brought out the flecks of blue in her grey, opalescent eyes. He could almost swear they were the exact shade of the sky on a bright summer’s day.
He admired the daintiness of her as well, the delicacy of her bone structure. Her gown was an Empire silhouette, in the current fashion, with a high waistline, just beneath the bust. He could not see the width of her waist, but he knew it would be tiny. He could probably scale it with his two hands. He grew warm thinking about it, almost feeling her waist beneath his hands. And then he imagined her legs, running his hands up and down them, so he could experience her soft, silky skin…