How was it, she wondered to herself as each jostle brought a fresh ache to her forehead, that sleeping could make one feel less rested? It seemed terribly counterintuitive.
Harry handed Persephone down once they stopped in front of the Fitzpatrick house, before turning to offer his hand to Athena, still waiting in the carriage. She attempted a smile, knowing appearances were crucial in the ton. No matter how miserable she felt, she must appear content.
Harry’s fingers closed around hers. Athena took a fortifying breath. Her headache, though not shattering, was simply unpleasant. And if Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s reputation was anything to go by, the evening’s entertainment would never dip into the truly atrocious. That would help. Screeching voices and ill-formed chords would quickly catapult her into a debilitating megrim.
“Athena?” Harry infused the single word with an entire inquiry. Her social mask had not, apparently, fooled him.
“I am a little tired this evening,” she admitted in hushed tones. “My day was wearying.”
He gave her a sympathetic look before stepping to where Persephone waited and offering his arm. Duchesses took precedence over duchess’s sisters. Harry would walk Persephone inside and Athena would follow behind. The formality had never bothered her before. But the instant Harry had released her fingers, she missed the contact.
There was something so reassuring about Harry. Even when she was worn down or tired or unhappy, he had a talent for lightening her mind and heart. Her own father had not been one for reassurances and support. He had all too often been lost in his studies, rather oblivious to his children’s needs. He’d never been unkind, simply neglectful.
Athena supposed she ought to add that to her list. She would very much prefer a husband who did not forget her existence for weeks on end.
Being in company with a duchess had certain benefits. The other guests parted as they stepped inside the Fitzpatricks’ home, allowing Harry to lead Persephone, and Athena in their wake, directly to their seats without the necessity of waiting in a jostling crowd. That would certainly not have done her headache any good.
Harry sat between Persephone and Athena. Around them the remaining guests were beginning to find seats, conversing as they did. Athena took several long, slow breaths, silently pleading with her head to not punish her too harshly as the evening wore on.
“I understand Adam’s mother will be in Town for your come-out ball,” Harry said quietly, leaning closer to Athena so as to be heard. He smelled musky. Why had she never noticed that before? It was a pleasant, clean sort of smell—not cloying, the way some gentlemen smelled. Mr. Peterbrook came to mind—his scent generally lingered long after he did and was every bit as unwelcome. “She will most likely make a great fuss over you. I thought I would drop a friendly warning in your ear, so you are not caught off guard.”
Athena smiled up at Harry, the first genuine smile she had produced all evening. The smile he gave her in return was different from his usual. It was softer somehow. Not that his smiles were ever harsh or unpleasant.
“Windover,” a voice said from Athena’s other side, pulling her eyes away from Harry’s intriguing smile to a gentleman impeccably dressed in a deep green, well-tailored coat, black breeches, and a perfectly executed mathematical about his neck.
Harry rose to make introductions, and Athena automatically followed suit. She endured the usual moment of stomach knotting. She had discovered this strange phenomenon very early on during her first evenings amongst the ton. Every time she was introduced to, or about to be introduced to, a gentleman, her insides seemed to momentarily rearrange themselves while her mind echoed the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, the gentleman in question was the illusive gentleman she had been waiting all her life to meet. Despite Harry’s expressions of doubt, Athena was still convinced that she would know when she had found the man she ought to marry. Perhaps not love at first sight, but love at second or third sight did not seem unreasonable. As she came to know said gentleman better, she would feel it—whatever it happened to be. Every time she came face-to-face with the possibility of discovering it, she felt a little nervous.
Her mind focused on the introductions Harry was conducting barely in time to register the fact that the gentleman offering his bows was Sir Hubert Collington. Athena did not know anything of him, specifically, but had heard his name in passing. He was a baronet, as was obvious by his title, and Sir Hubert owned a tidy estate somewhere, though she could not recall its location. She also could not recall seeing him amongst any of the clusters of gentlemen who seemed to hover about the fringes of the room at each and every society gathering. Ladies attended balls and soirees and musicales with the obvious intent of enjoying the festivities. The gentlemen always seemed to be present under duress. Adam simply did not come. Athena could not picture him hovering. He would most certainly be scowling and, most likely, vocally denouncing the entire event. It was probably best that he didn’t attend, which was presumably the reason Persephone did not press him to join her.
Sir Hubert took the seat on Athena’s right side, Harry sitting on her left, just as Mrs. Fitzpatrick ushered the evening’s first performer to the pianoforte placed in front of the gathering. Athena rested her hands on her lap, acutely aware of Sir Hubert’s presence. He did not smell as nice as Harry, she noted, feeling unaccountably annoyed. And he was not smiling. Sir Hubert wore an expression of undisguised cynical boredom. Such looks were normal amongst the ton, but Athena had always preferred individuals who looked at least passingly pleased with life.
The young lady at the pianoforte was executing a fairly skilled rendition of a sonata Athena recognized but could not name. There were no noticeably wrong notes, and the music was not overly loud. Perhaps she would survive the evening after all. No doubt Mrs. Fitzpatrick was saving her best performers for last, which meant if this quite acceptable performance was to be the worst of the evening, there would be nothing truly horrible about the night.
By the time Mrs. Fitzpatrick invited her guests to partake of a very light selection of edibles, Athena had regained a degree of her optimism. Her head still ached somewhat vaguely but did not threaten to undo her.
Sir Hubert sat at the table where Harry had led Athena and Persephone. While she had not exchanged a single word with the gentleman beyond the compulsory comments during their initial introduction, Athena did not find herself anxious to deepen the acquaintance. Perhaps she had simply grown wary of Harry’s selection of friends. There was not, thus far, a decent sort of gentleman among them.
“Might I join you as well?” a familiar voice asked.
Athena smiled up at Mr. Dalforth, though it was for Persephone to answer his request. Permission was granted, and Athena found herself in the happy circumstance of having Mr. Dalforth seated beside her. He was perhaps the only gentleman she had met since her arrival in London whose company did not quickly become unwelcome.
So why, she silently asked herself, did Harry seem suddenly very unwelcoming of Mr. Dalforth?
Chapter 10
“How have you enjoyed this evening’s spectacle?” Sir Hubert asked Athena, a sardonic twist to both his words and his mouth.
“Spectacle?” Athena repeated, confused at his word choice.
“Certainly a spectacle,” he answered with a brief, humorless laugh. “Few, if any, of the performers had any skill to speak of, and even that in remarkably sparse quantities.”
“I thought the performances were reasonably good,” Athena answered, eyeing Sir Hubert warily. His tone was dismissive, bored, even. But his words were remarkably critical. “These are amateurs, after all.”
“If they had been professional performers, Miss Lancaster,” he replied with the same mixture of haughtiness and indifference he’d managed with every word he’d spoken to her thus far, “I would be forced to question the future of music in this nation of ours. Indeed, such displays as we have endured tonight would signal the end of refined tastes, were they representative of the very best Engla
nd has to offer.”
Athena was entirely taken aback by his sharp criticisms. A musical evening was meant to be a time of indulgent attentiveness; no one came expecting to be amazed. And, as such things went, that evening’s entertainment had been better than most. “I do not believe anyone felt themselves to be displaying that level of talent.”
“I do not believe anyone displayed any talent at all,” Sir Hubert replied, a harsh twinkle in his eye that indicated he was impressed by his own wit.
“Are you a talented musician, then, Sir Hubert?” Athena asked, searching out the reason for the baronet’s disdain.
“One need not possess a given talent in order to recognize its lack in others,” was his reply.
“Did you find nothing about this evening enjoyable?” Athena pressed.
“One of the young ladies displaying this evening—”
Displaying was such an odd choice of word. Performing would have been more common. Playing, even.
“—was passably pretty, I thought, if one was willing to overlook the ridiculous size of her nose.”
Athena simply stared. She had watched the performers all night and had thought each lovely in her own way. Not all would be considered beauties, but she had not thought any to be truly unhandsome.
“You must have a very strange definition of ‘passably pretty,’” Athena said. The food on her plate was all but forgotten, her shock having pasted her attention to Sir Hubert. The thudding of her headache was sliding around, covering more of her scalp and pulsating into her shoulders.
“You think me too lenient, no doubt,” Sir Hubert said, smiling as if they shared some secret agreement. Athena did not at all like the feeling of being in agreement with Sir Hubert on anything. “To me, ‘passably pretty’ simply means she is unlikely to scare small children or send animals into frightened scurries.”
There really was no response to that.
“And you, Miss Lancaster, would be well advised not to stare in quite that manner with your mouth agape as it is. You put one forcibly in mind of an overly ripe fish. If not for that unfortunate resemblance, you could be considered quite one of the more handsome ladies present this evening. At least somewhere in the top dozen or so.”
“I beg your pardon?” Athena heard her strangled whisper, her tone the result of her surprise.
“Too lenient, again, I know. It is a failing in myself I work quite hard at overcoming.” Sir Hubert sighed as if his attempts at being a complete and utter cad had thoroughly exhausted him.
Athena was speechless, stunned.
“Her Grace could be a rather pretty lady if only her very plain coloring did not render her so entirely unremarkable.”
As if to prove that her previous state of surprise was only minimal, Athena felt something akin to shock settle over her. Sir Hubert spoke in absolutely serious tones. It wasn’t the arrogant superiority of Mr. Peterbrook. Sir Hubert didn’t profess to be, himself, the epitome of good looks. He occupied himself with offering scathing evaluations of any and all around him, regardless of their proximity.
“But, then, Kielder couldn’t exactly be picky, could he?” Sir Hubert flicked his gaze momentarily over Persephone, obvious disapproval in his eyes. “Compared to him, any lady would seem a beauty.”
Persephone didn’t so much as flinch, but Athena saw that she had turned alarmingly pale and that she had not completely hidden the pain that lurked in the depths of her eyes. Doubts over her attractiveness was one of Persephone’s most tender vulnerabilities. Athena knew as much. Persephone seldom let her poise slip, but Athena was painfully aware that Persephone far too often thought of herself in just the way Sir Hubert had described: “entirely unremarkable.” Seeing her sister’s hard-won composure had Athena instantly on the verge of tears.
What a horrid, acidic man!
“You are making your fish face again,” Sir Hubert said to Athena, nose crinkled as if she smelled like a fish rather than simply looked like one. “There is not likely to be another gentleman whose desperation allows him to overlook such things. Not all unfortunate females have the luck your sister did.”
“You do realize, Sir Hubert,” Mr. Dalforth said, reminding Athena of his presence at her side, “these two ladies are the Duke of Kielder’s wife and sister-in-law. He is unlikely to take kindly to your slanderous comments.”
“They can hardly be slanderous when they are true.” Sir Hubert smiled almost pityingly. “No gentleman of discernment could deny that Her Grace is plain by any standards. His Grace, I am certain, has noticed as much. He is, after all, missing an ear, not an eye. It makes sense, does it not, that any lady desperate enough to marry a man like the duke would have to be in possession of a face so lacking in beauty as to have exhausted all hope of making a more agreeable match.”
Athena had always thought that ladies who gasped in shock did so purely for the dramatic effect. But the quick, audible breath she took was unintentional and very much the result of her all-consuming surprise.
“And, once again,” Sir Hubert motioned in Athena’s direction, “Miss Lancaster demonstrates so ably my point about her fishlike tendencies. I swear to you, she looks very much like a carp I caught not long ago at Hoppleforth.”
Athena bit on her lip to stop its quivering so she would not give Sir Hubert the satisfaction of seeing that his words injured her. Nor would she disgrace herself in public and give him further reason to berate her. She slipped her gaze to Harry across the table, silently pleading for an escape. She knew that he, somehow, would know precisely what she needed. He always did.
“Your Grace,” Harry spoke with all the deference a duchess ought to be afforded but with an air of confidence and authority as well, “I fear this evening’s guest list has proven far too common,” he speared Sir Hubert with a look of such superiority that Athena hardly recognized the usually affable Harry Windover, “for your company. I would suggest we make our way to our next engagement, where those present are more likely to be counted among those on a more even plane with yourself.”
As a set-down it was remarkably good. But Sir Hubert seemed unscathed.
“Allow me to offer my escort as well,” Mr. Dalforth interjected, the two gentlemen rising to assist Athena and Persephone from their seats.
Harry led the silent group directly to their hostess, and, after thanking Mrs. Fitzpatrick for the music, though he pointedly did not refer to the evening as “enjoyable,” he brought them all to the entry hall. The Kielder carriage was summoned whilst the ladies’ wraps and the gentlemen’s overcoats were returned to them.
“Miss Lancaster,” Mr. Dalforth said after handing her into the waiting carriage, “might I request the honor of taking you for a drive tomorrow at the fashionable hour?”
Athena’s battered pride was too bruised to prevent a disbelieving reply. “You wish to be seen with a lady who looks like a fish?” she said quietly. The remark she intended to be light came out heavy as lead.
“No,” Mr. Dalforth replied, “I wish to be seen about with you.”
Athena offered a shaky smile, looking to Persephone for permission. “Of course,” was her very quiet response.
“I shall call for you, then, approximately one-quarter ’til the hour.”
“Thank you, sir,” Athena replied, feeling the sting of tears in her throat once more.
“And, Windover, I hope I might run into you tomorrow as well. Perhaps at our club.” There was something in Mr. Dalforth’s tone that indicated it was not, in fact, a request.
The tension between the men was palpable enough to penetrate the fog of pain quickly descending over Athena’s mind, her headache having built in intensity. She glanced quickly in Harry’s direction and saw him nod minutely, his expression tight. But Athena hadn’t the stamina to devote any effort to discerning the exchange between the two gentlemen. She simply wanted to go back to Falstone House and try to forget she had ever met Sir Hubert Collington.
A moment later they were making their way swiftly t
hrough the streets of London. The headache Athena had endured on the drive to the Fitzpatricks’ was a mere nuisance compared to the monumental pain she was enduring on the drive back. The terms fish face and desperation echoed in her throbbing skull.
“I certainly hope, Harry, that you do not actually intend to take us to another event this evening,” Persephone said, her voice steady but uncharacteristically quiet.
“Not at all,” he replied, his usual joviality missing. “We are returning to Falstone House.”
Athena released a breath thick with relief and leaned back against the comfortable squabs of the luxurious carriage. She closed her eyes, listening to the pounding of her heart reverberating in her head. Athena was certain that if she could only manage to sleep, her head would feel better. In the light of the morning she might even manage to shake off the sting of Sir Hubert’s remarks.
“Come warm yourself by the fire in the book room,” Persephone said to Harry once they had arrived, her voice still too subdued for Athena’s peace of mind. Sir Hubert’s barbs had gone deep.
Harry agreed, managing a smile that didn’t look entirely natural. Athena pondered slipping upstairs to the quiet of her bedchamber but immediately thought better of it. Persephone had spent the evening in the company of one acerbic, ill-tempered gentleman. Adam wasn’t usually any better. Athena had been unable to defend her sister to Sir Hubert. She would not fail her again.
Setting her shoulders and willing the pulsating agony in her head to not thwart her, Athena followed Persephone and Harry to the book room. Adam was in a chair near the fireplace, an open book in one hand. He looked up as they entered, and Athena pushed down her characteristic trepidation. Adam intimidated her, worried her. But she stood near the door, determined to be there if she was needed.
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