“Miss Hanley,” Mr. Pakenham said, startling Bess out of her reverie. “I hope I did not disturb an important communication.”
“No, Mr. Pakenham, I was not Speaking to anyone, merely air-dreaming. How are you this evening?”
“Very well, now that I have seen you,” he said with a smile and a bow. “You are a devotee of opera?”
“I am. I find it much more entertaining than theatre, given the limitations of my eyesight.” What would he do if she simply addressed him as Mr. Quinn? Well, if he were not Mr. Quinn, he would no doubt look at her as if she had gone mad.
“That is very sensible.” He glanced away toward the front of the room. “My party demands my attention, but I hope to speak with you again later.”
“I would enjoy that, Mr. Pakenham.” She watched him walk away until he blended with the crowd, then continued rubbing the silk. Someone walked past, trailing a memory of this room and a different performance. Bess closed her eyes and examined the memory. It should be possible to block out such Speech, if—
“Ah, Miss Hanley. Such an enjoyable evening, don’t you agree?”
Bess opened her eyes. “Lord Ravenscroft,” she said, her heart beating faster. “The evening has not yet begun.”
“The music has not, true, but I find the company of friends invigorating.” Lord Ravenscroft sat in the chair beside her with the air of a man settling in for the duration. His copper-red hair, so striking, gleamed in the light of all the candles. “But you are quite unattended…you are not unwell, I hope?”
“No, it is just rather close in here.” Bess fanned herself with her hand. “I did not know you had many friends here—that is,” she corrected herself, blushing hotly, “Edmund did say this is not your usual interest. I apologize if I was rude.”
“I understood you,” Lord Ravenscroft said with a smile that made his cheek dimple on one side. “It’s true, I’m fonder of cards than of social events, but Mrs. Ramkin has such a reputation, I could not resist.”
Bess nodded. She could not think of anything to say to this.
“You’re the talk of London, you know,” Lord Ravenscroft continued. He held a gold quizzing glass in one hand and twiddled it between his fingers. “Peru, and the Incas, that is.”
“I know,” Bess said. He had his gaze directed toward the front of the room, though she felt certain his attention was on her. “It was unexpected—I thought to come to London to be anonymous.” She was a little surprised at his choice of topics, but then it was unlikely he would want to discuss gambling or horse racing with her.
Now his eyes focused on the back of the chair in front of him. “I suppose that was impossible, after the story spread.”
“That is why it was unexpected. I told my story only to a few, but those few were not entirely circumspect.”
Lord Ravenscroft’s eyes settled on her face briefly before he once more turned his head away. “Then you meant your adventure to be a secret.”
“Not a secret. Private, certainly.” His nervous fidgeting was beginning to make her nervous. She knew little of him, but her impression from Edmund was that he was not the nervous type. Either he was uncomfortable in this social setting, or she made him uncomfortable…possibly because she knew his secret.
“But it is too late to bemoan what I cannot repair,” she went on. “So I must simply wait for the talk to die down, and for some other excitement to take its place. This is London, after all, and excitement is its stock in trade.”
“Very sensible.” Lord Ravenscroft’s quizzing glass was a golden blur in his fingers. “Are you often at Almack’s, Miss Hanley?”
“Not as often as some. We attend every other week, other invitations permitting.”
“Perhaps you would do me the honor of standing up with me some evening? Your brother says you are an excellent dancer.”
He still would not look at her. Bess’s heart felt as if it might leap out of her chest. Lord Ravenscroft, addressing his attentions to her? That must mean—but no, he might simply intend to show kindness to his friend’s sister—but why now, when he and Edmund had been friends for more than three years? “I…if we are both in attendance, I believe that would be most enjoyable,” she said.
A hush fell over the crowd. “Excuse me, my lord…Bess, I beg your pardon, I did not intend to step on your foot…there we are,” Mama said, passing in front of Bess to take the seat on her right without more than a nod for Bess’s companion. Lord Ravenscroft rose belatedly and stepped away.
“Excuse us, Ravenscroft,” Edmund said, clapping his friend amiably on the shoulder. “The performance is about to begin.”
“I should take my seat,” Lord Ravenscroft said. “Miss Hanley, a pleasure.” He bowed and disappeared into the crowd of people all pushing forward to find the ideal seat.
“What were you and Ravenscroft talking of?” Edmund said as he settled himself on Bess’s left.
“Oh, nothing really…opera, and dancing.” Bess had never felt so confused. Three men, any of whom might be her friend, and no way to determine which it was. “He expressed an interest in dancing with me at Almack’s.”
“I see,” Edmund said. “Bess, I do not believe—”
Someone at the front of the room played a few chords on the pianoforte, bringing a full silence to the room. Edmund leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Bess, you cannot—”
Bess shushed him, knowing from experience that Edmund was incapable of whispering quietly. With a sigh, Edmund settled into his seat beside her, but Bess felt certain his attention was still on her.
Bess listened with pleasure to Mrs. Ramkin’s lovely soprano, but half her mind was preoccupied with her mystery. Lord Ravenscroft had given every appearance of a man very nervous about speaking to a woman, which, since Lord Ravenscroft had a reputation for being a committed flirt, suggested there was something about Bess herself that made him nervous. That, and his other reputation for being a rather light-hearted, frivolous gamester that might well be something to be ashamed of, moved him to the top of Bess’s short list of candidates. And yet she still had nothing but supposition.
As the evening wore on, Bess’s preoccupation hardened into resolve. She would never find out the truth if she did not take action. True, she had told Mr. Quinn she would not attempt to discover his identity, but now that all three of the men who might possibly be him were behaving as if they wanted to court her, she believed she was within her rights to make him reveal himself. And it would be a fairly simple ruse to do so.
Applause told her Mrs. Ramkin’s performance was at an intermission, and she clapped with the rest of the crowd. Oh, curse her stupid eyes, that she could not see where Lord Ravenscroft had got to! She had determined that he, as most likely candidate, should be the one she approached first.
“Edmund,” she said, “do you suppose you could ask Lord Ravenscroft to join us? I had something I wished to discuss with him.”
“Ravenscroft?” Edmund said, sounding astonished. “Very well.” He stood and disappeared into the crowd.
“Why do you want to speak with Lord Ravenscroft?” Mama asked, sounding as astonished as Edmund had.
“Oh, we were talking of music, and I wished to know his opinion of the performance,” Bess lied.
“I see,” Mama said, in a tone of voice that said she did not believe Bess. “My dear, I hope you will take care in the attentions you show others. Asking for conversation with Lord Ravenscroft is an unnecessary encouragement.”
“I believe I can converse with Lord Ravenscroft without encouraging him, if he were interested in me romantically, which he is not.”
“He is a flirt and a gamester, and you know how I feel about his friendship with Edmund. He is no one you should spend time with. Politeness, of course, when you meet socially, but going out of your way to speak with him…it cannot be appropriate.”
“I found his conversation congenial, Mama.” Bess felt irrationally defensive of this man she barely knew…unless she did know him, in
which case… “He is not so bad as all that. And he did not flirt with me. Is it possible his reputation is exaggerated?”
“And his father, Lord Waymark,” Mama went on as if Bess had not spoken. Her face was pinched as if she had smelled something nasty. “I find it difficult to believe Lord Ravenscroft is untouched by the Earl’s excesses and lack of civility.”
“It is unfair to blame a child for the sins of its parent. And Edmund says he is nothing like the Earl.”
“Even so, Bess—” She looked past Bess’s ear, and her countenance smoothed into affability.
“Mrs. Hanley, good evening,” Lord Ravenscroft said. “I hope you are well. Miss Hanley, thank you for your interest in continuing our conversation. Would you care to walk? I’m always glad for a bit of a stretch after a long performance.”
“Thank you, my lord, that would be most welcome,” Bess said. She rose and took Lord Ravenscroft’s arm, uncomfortably conscious of her mother’s eyes on them both.
Lord Ravenscroft was surprisingly adept at guiding Bess without dragging her. “I wanted to know how you found the performance so far,” Bess asked.
“Oh, excellent, of course,” Lord Ravenscroft said. “Mrs. Ramkin’s range is extraordinary, don’t you agree? Though I confess a preference for a contralto voice. So warm and vibrant.”
“That is an interesting preference,” Bess said.
“Yes, I saw L’italiana in Algeri last year, and Signorina Marcolini’s arias quite enthralled me.”
“Oh…was that in Italy?”
“In Venice, yes.”
Mr. Quinn had admitted to being in Italy. Bess’s heart sped up. “That seems…very exciting.” She collected her thoughts, made a connection, and with her Voice shouted, Mr. Quinn!
Lord Ravenscroft’s step did not falter. He did not so much as twitch with surprise at the abrupt Speaking—just as if he had not heard it. “You have never been to Italy?” he said.
So Mr. Quinn was not Lord Ravenscroft. Bess felt unexpectedly disappointed. She rallied with, “No, just to Portugal and Spain. And India.”
“That is much farther afield than I have ever gone. Perhaps someday you will tell me of your adventures in India,” Lord Ravenscroft said.
Bess nodded, feeling unable to speak. Mr. Quinn had not responded to her cry. His indifference made her heart ache, and she sternly told herself to attend to the problem at hand. If Lord Ravenscroft was not secretly Mr. Quinn, why was he showing her such particular attention? Perhaps he did simply intend a kindness to his friend’s sister. Or perhaps he was genuinely attracted to her. How unfortunate that she could not return his regard, for he seemed to be, as Edmund persisted in saying of him, not a bad sort. But so long as he was not Mr. Quinn, she could not—
Realization struck Bess with such force that she actually stopped walking, prompting Lord Ravenscroft to enquire after her health. She shook her head and said something she knew not what that nevertheless satisfied her partner. She could not love him because he was not Mr. Quinn.
How unutterably stupid had she been not to put all the pieces of this puzzle together? It was essential that she identify Mr. Quinn because she had, without even realizing it, given him her heart. Kind, and funny, and considerate, and interested in what she cared about…he was her ideal, and she loved him, whoever he might turn out to be.
Lord Ravenscroft returned her to her seat well before the second half of the evening’s entertainment began. She sat staring at the back of the head of the man seated in front of her. In love with a man she had never met. Should she tell him? No, if he did not respond when she screamed his name in apparent distress, he likely did not care. At the very least, he would not believe her attachment a good enough reason to reveal himself.
At the end of the performance, she rose quickly and said, “My head aches; may we not leave soon?”
“I believe Mr. Pakenham wishes to speak with you, my dear,” Mama said.
“Really? I…do not feel equal to speaking to anyone now,” Bess said, and pushed her way through the crowd without waiting for Edmund’s steadying arm.
She bumped into someone who took hold of her wrist and made her stop. “Forgive me,” the stranger said, “but you seem not steady on your feet.”
She looked at him closely, recognizing his fleshy features and black-currant eyes. He had been at the lecture. “I beg your pardon, I seem rather bent on bumping into you,” she said with a laugh.
The man did not release her wrist. “It is nothing,” he said. “I do not mind.” She still could not identify his accent. “I wish to speak with you privately on a matter of interest.”
Bess examined him again. The intensity with which those small, black eyes regarded her made gooseflesh rise on her arms. “On what subject?”
“It is not a thing to speak of publicly. Another time. I will find you.” He let go of her wrist and was gone in another moment.
“Bess, do not run from me or you will fall flat on your face,” Edmund said from close beside her.
“Did you know that man?” she demanded.
“What man? Bess, there must be a hundred men here, all of them intent on being the first through the door.”
Bess looked around, but of course the man was gone. “It is nothing, never mind,” she said, accepting Edmund’s arm. “Let us go home.”
In the carriage, Edmund said, “Why were you so friendly with Ravenscroft, Bess?”
His abruptness startled her into saying, “We were not friendly. No, of course we were, but not in the way you make it sound.”
“And what way is that?”
“As if there were something scandalous about a friendly conversation.”
“Well, I dislike Ravenscroft making overtures to you.”
“He was not making overtures,” Bess retorted, “and you said he was not a bad sort.”
“Not a bad sort so far as his personal habits go. He is still no one I wish to see imposing on my sister. I will have to have words with him.”
“Edmund!” Bess exclaimed. “As if I were some parcel of land, and he a poacher!”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Bess,” Edmund replied. “I will simply remind him that there are dozens of other women he might flirt with. Besides, have you not formed a different attachment?”
Bess blushed, grateful for the dimness of the carriage. “I have not. I admit to liking Mr. Pakenham’s company, but Mr. Addison is equally pleasing, and as neither of them have done more than seek me out in social gatherings, I cannot consider myself attached in any way.”
“Oh, Bess,” Mama said, “we only wish for you to be happy.”
“I am quite happy as I am,” Bess said, and hoped it was not a lie.
Chapter 28
In which Bess is terribly mistaken about at least two men
Moonlight turned the sidewalks blue as the chaise rattled through the streets, still damp from the afternoon’s chilly rain. Bess huddled into her fur-lined pelisse and breathed out deeply, enjoying the puff of fog that emitted from her lips. It was an odd, childish thing to take pleasure in, but she was in an odd frame of mind. Three days had passed since the concert and her realization that she was in love with Mr. Quinn, and during those three days she had become increasingly frustrated with her inability to identify him. She had seen neither Mr. Pakenham nor Mr. Addison in that time and had not wanted to address Mr. Quinn. It was all so unsatisfactory she felt like railing against fate, if that would not have made her look like a madwoman.
“Bess, you look so cross, whatever is the matter?” Mama said.
“I am not cross, just cold.” Bess considered asking if Mr. Pakenham and Mr. Addison were to be in attendance at the Ormerods’ ball, but decided that would do nothing but give her mother and brother grounds for teasing her, and she was in no mood to be teased.
“That is excellent news,” Edmund said. “I have already begged all my friends to stand up with you, and if you look cross, they will only do so out of pity.”
“You have not
. Besides, your friends admire me, you have said so yourself. They will particularly admire me in my new gown.”
“And now you are being prideful. Really, dear sister, you should take care lest you become one of those sad women who are too busy admiring themselves to dance.”
Bess swatted him on the knee, but her cross mood had evaporated somewhat in the face of his levity. “Is it not as terrible to pretend one is not attractive in the hope of receiving compliments?”
“Very well, I admit you are correct.” Edmund checked his pocket watch. “We are running behind the time, I fear.”
“Lady Ormerod’s parties always go very late,” Mama said. “We need not fear missing out on the fun.”
The chaise came to a halt, and Bess accepted Edmund’s hand down from the step. The Ormerods’ tall mansion blazed with warm golden light; to Bess’s eyes, it looked like a glorious beacon of fire, though one that would burn and burn without consuming the house. The path to the great front door was slippery with frozen rain, and Bess clung gratefully to Edmund’s arm as they trod it. It really was a pity there was no graceful way to carry one’s dancing shoes until entering a house, and don them there.
Bess had only ever been to Lord and Lady Ormerod’s home attending one of Lady Ormerod’s famous balls, so she had never seen Lord Ormerod’s equally famous art collection. She passed through stuffy, over-warm rooms, crowded with other guests, and wished she might visit simply as an appreciator of art. Though that might imply a certain mercantilism on the Ormerods’ part, that they might permit visitors as if they were a museum or a traveling show.
She caught a glimpse of a white marble statue no more than a foot and a half high, a nymph poised on one toe as if about to take flight, and slowed to examine it. Edmund’s arm slipped from her grasp, and she stood alone in a strangely empty space, just her and the nymph. Bess touched the statue’s graceful arm. Its cool, smooth surface felt like a river pebble, but dry rather than wet.
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