I pressed my lips together and reluctantly accepted his escort.
At the bottom of the stairs, Gage drew me across the hall toward a set of double doors fashioned from slats of mahogany. One door stood wide open, allowing the tones of a far warmer conversation than the one being conducted upstairs to drift out into the hall.
Our host was the first to see us, crossing the room to take my hand in greeting. And try as I might to focus solely on Michael’s words, I found my gaze wandering over his shoulder to one of five intricately woven tapestries displayed on the creamy walls. They had obviously been designed and crafted with much skill. My fingers itched to trace the threads.
Fortunately, from Michael’s delighted grin, I could tell he did not feel slighted by my interest. “I’m glad our artwork has met with such satisfaction. Our mother must have done an adequate job of selecting accomplished pieces.”
“Indeed. Who is the designer?” I could not stop myself from asking as my gaze was drawn once again to the tapestries.
“Some fellow named Goya, my sister tells me. Procured from one of the Spanish royal palaces.”
I gasped. “Francisco de Goya?”
“But of course,” Laura Dalmay, now Lady Keswick, replied, joining in her brother’s amusement.
I blushed, realizing how rude I was being to take more interest in the tapestries than in my old friends. “Forgive me. I fear I’ve been away from the city and all of its art exhibits for far too long,” I offered by way of explanation.
Laura brushed my apology aside. “It is no matter. I am only glad to see you looking so well.” She took my hand in hers with a warm smile.
“Likewise,” I replied, taking in the sight of the sprightly young girl I remembered all grown up.
She was now a statuesque woman, though with the same light brown hair and charming sprinkling of freckles across her nose she had sported since the age of three. Being a few years older, I could remember when Laura’s mother had begun to despair at the freckles’ unfashionable appearance, but I found them to be charming. Laura was quite beautiful, but in a warm, approachable way that drew you closer rather than pushing you away to admire from afar. No, indeed, her prettiness was best appreciated up close, while basking in her bright smile. She was very much like her brother Michael in that regard.
She nodded to the man standing beside me. “I see you have already met Mr. Gage.”
I glanced up at Gage, who was observing our conversation attentively. “Lady Darby and I are already acquainted.”
Laura’s gaze turned wary. “Really?”
“Yes,” he replied, still looking down at me. “We met at Lord and Lady Cromarty’s house party several months ago.”
“Oh,” she gasped in relief. “Thank goodness! I thought maybe . . .” Her words trailed away awkwardly, and I suddenly realized why she had appeared so concerned. She worried our acquaintance had been made in London, during the inquiry into the charges my husband’s colleagues had leveled against me after his death. I had been acquitted and released, but that had not put a stop to the scandal surrounding my name or the rumors that still haunted me.
Laura blushed, and I felt an answering heat rush to my cheeks. “I forgot about Lady Cromarty’s party,” she rushed on to say. “I know Michael was sorry to miss it, as were we. Especially knowing as we do now that his lovely fiancée was also in attendance.” She glanced over her shoulder, as if looking for Caroline, but Philip’s cousin had not yet entered the room.
Her gaze alighted on her husband, and she beckoned him forward. “Oh, but allow me to introduce you to my husband.” She laced her arm through his. “This is my Lord Keswick.” She pronounced it in the same way as the name of the town in the Lake District of Cumberland—KEZ-ik.
“Lady Darby, my pleasure,” he murmured, bowing over my hand from his very great height like a sapling bending in the breeze. Keswick was quite possibly the tallest man I had ever met—taller even than Mr. Gage—and whippet-thin. At perhaps five and twenty, his wheat-blond hair had already begun to recede from his head, and I suspected by forty he would be bald.
“Dalmay tells me you grew up on the Northumberland side of the Tweed,” Keswick said. “Have you ever had occasion to visit Cumberland?”
“No,” I replied. “Though I hear the hills and lakes there are beautiful. That is where you are from, am I correct?”
His smile deepened. “It is. I believe it the loveliest place in all of England.”
“And deathly dull.”
Lord Keswick stepped back to reveal the deliverer of this pronouncement. A young lady in rose-colored satin sat flipping the pages of a periodical so rapidly it was doubtful she was reading. Her gaze lifted once from the paper to glance at me through the sweep of her lashes before dropping back to the pages before her, but not before I saw the twinkle in her eye.
“Perhaps compared to London or Edinburgh,” Keswick replied in obvious irritation. “But the Lake District is hardly dull.”
Her laughing gaze met mine again and she rolled her eyes as if I were in on some private joke. “Only to you,” she protested. She set aside her periodical and rose to her feet.
“Lady Darby,” Laura rushed to say before her husband could voice the displeasure tightening his lips. “Allow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Miss Elise Remmington.”
I could see the resemblance now—the pale blonde hair, the slim physique, the caramel-brown eyes.
She offered me her hand. “My pleasure.”
“Likewise.”
“Miss Remmington recently had her first season in London,” Michael supplied, possibly explaining her earlier expressed opinions.
“I take it you enjoyed it,” I said.
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Although . . .” Her expression was all innocence, but I did not miss the spark of devilry in her eyes. “From what I’ve been told, it seems it would have been much more exciting had you joined us in town.”
I stiffened. “Indeed.”
Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably and stepped forward to slip his arm through mine. “Kiera, allow me to show you the tapestries you were so admiring.”
I allowed him to escort me away from Miss Remmington, whose face creased momentarily into a cheeky grin, flashing a pair of dimples, telling me she’d meant no real malice. Her brother did not witness this exchange, however, and I doubted it would have done much to ameliorate his temper in any case, for his face was red with fury at her impertinence. I suspected theirs was a very interesting sibling dynamic, and wondered whether I should pity Laura for getting caught in the middle of it.
Gage, for his part, seemed quite amused by the girl’s cheek, if the laugh lines crinkling at the sides of his eyes were any indication. I arched my brow at his merriment before turning back to Michael.
“I must apologize for Miss Remmington,” he was saying. “I’m sure she meant no insult.”
“No worries,” I assured him, laying my hand over his where it pressed against my arm. “I have met Miss Remmington’s like before.”
He sighed. “She is such a lively, pretty girl, but she can be a bit . . .” He struggled to find the right word.
“She is a hoyden.”
Michael smiled tightly in acknowledgment. “I fear Keswick despairs of reining her in. And this gathering is proving a bit trying for him. The stiffer the personage, the more shocking Miss Remmington seems determined to be.”
“And Lady Hollingsworth is certainly not . . . flexible.”
“Nor her son.”
“Lord Damien?” I asked in some surprise. I had never thought of Lady Hollingsworth’s younger son as being particularly stuffy, but perhaps Miss Remmington’s extreme impishness had proved too much for him.
“She particularly delights in tweaking his nose.”
We paused before one of the tapestries. The rich palette of browns, gold,
forest green, and burgundy wove together to form a depiction of children at play. I allowed my eyes to slide over the pleasing lines and hues, but kept my mind firmly fixed on our conversation.
Speaking of Damien and his mother had made me all too aware of their continued absence, as well as that of Michael’s fiancée and Philip and Alana. Michael would have to be a fool not to notice the significance. That I was the only one here in Philip’s family’s stead made me more than a little uncomfortable, and uncertain whether I should tread lightly.
“You are well?” I asked, pretending to study the tapestry.
He turned to face the tapestry as well, with his back to the room. “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances,” he surprised me by admitting.
We fell silent, listening to the rumble of the others’ voices across the room as I contemplated my next question and whether to pry at all.
His gaze flicked toward me. “How much do you know?”
“Almost nothing,” I admitted, allowing him to take the reins of the conversation.
It took him so long to respond I began to worry he would not tell me. I could press him with questions, but it would be so much easier if he willingly confided in me. The tension I had witnessed earlier was still in him; I could feel the muscles in his forearm tighten beneath my hand.
“Do you remember Will?” he finally asked, his voice heavy with repressed emotions.
I glanced up at him. “Of course.”
His gaze met mine, seeming to scour my face for information, as if my expression could tell him something he wanted to know. “There was such a large age gap between you, and then he was off fighting on the continent. I wasn’t sure.”
“Fifteen years,” I confirmed. “But he stayed at Swinton Lodge even after the rest of your family decamped for Dalmay House and London.” I looked away, suddenly unwilling to let him read my face as I relived my memories. “I daresay I saw more of him during that last year than anyone. He acted as my drawing master while Father struggled to find a replacement when Signor Riotta resigned.”
Michael appeared genuinely surprised. “Really?”
I nodded. “For almost six months.” I stared unseeing at the Goya tapestry, my mind conjuring the soft gray eyes of William Dalmay shadowed with the pain that had seemed ever present in his gaze. Even when he laughed it had been there in the tight lines at the corners of his eyes. “Your brother might have been the best drawing master I ever had,” I added in a soft voice.
“I never knew that,” he murmured. “Father said he’d been painting again that last summer. But I never thought . . . I guess I just always assumed he was alone.”
I felt his curious gaze on me, and I knew why. In my mind’s eye, I could see one of Will’s last paintings, the grotesque images, the distorted bodies. Even within context, they were bizarre and disturbing. As a fifteen-year-old girl they had given me nightmares, though I never mentioned them to Will. I couldn’t add to his already heavy burdens.
“Did you . . .” Michael struggled to voice the worry tightening his features. “Did he ever show you his artwork?”
I turned to him, able to answer honestly. “No.” He had never shown me. I had seen them by accident.
He exhaled in relief and turned back toward the tapestry. I studied his profile, wondering why, if at all, Will’s paintings mattered to Michael’s current troubles. Had he kept them? Was that what troubled Lady Hollingsworth? Had she or Caroline seen them, and worried what they meant—what ghastly secrets the Dalmay family hid?
“Michael, what is going on?” I asked, tired of dancing around the issues at hand. “Why did Lady Hollingsworth send for Philip? And why did that servant’s presence at the top of the stairs earlier trouble you so?”
“Ah, you saw that, did you?” He spoke lightly, but I could tell he felt anything but amused.
“Yes. And if Philip had not been so concerned for my sister’s health, I suspect they would have seen the oddity in it as well. What is going on?”
He sighed and closed his eyes, as if gathering the strength to speak, when the soft tread of feet pulled our attention toward the door.
I believe he would have answered—that the truth would have come out right then and there—had my brother-in-law and sister and Lady Hollingsworth and her two children not chosen that moment to enter the drawing room. I had been flustered by their continued absence, and now I was irritated by their sudden appearance. Had I been a four-year-old I would have stamped my feet. Only the looks on Philip’s and Alana’s faces kept my frustration in check. Something was definitely wrong. My sister’s gaze sought me out, and the grooves between her eyes seemed only to deepen.
Crossing the room toward her, I glanced around at the others to see what their reactions were to the newcomers’ presence. The strained smiles and cordial greetings were all to be expected, as was Lady Hollingsworth’s pinched expression. However, the manner in which Gage’s eyes remained steadily trained on me, as if he was interested in my response to Michael’s troubles, stretched my already taut nerves.
I wrapped my fingers around Alana’s arm. “How are you feeling?”
Her bright blue gaze flickered, searching mine. “Better,” she replied before offering me a weak smile that did not reach all the way to her eyes. “I think it helps that the room is not swaying.”
“Yes.” I wanted to pull her aside, to demand she tell me what she knew, what had upset her so. But I knew I could not. Not with an entire roomful of people watching, waiting on us to go into dinner.
The conversation around us was stilted, the mood uncertain, as if no one knew exactly how to proceed. And so good manners, the fallback of the genteel, took over. If all else fails, proceed with unbending civility.
Laura smiled tightly. “Let’s go into dinner, shall we?”
The others eagerly complied, naturally falling into pairs according to precedence. I could see the strain on Michael’s face as he was forced to offer his arm to Lady Hollingsworth, but I knew his worry over her acceptance was needless. The marchioness would rather suffer the touch of a leper than break protocol.
“Lady Darby.” Laura laid a hand against my arm. Distress tightened her features. “I’m afraid I must apologize. Our numbers are uneven this evening. We had hoped our party would balance out, but . . .” she offered me a sad smile “. . . things do not always go as planned.”
“A blessing, under the circumstances,” Lady Hollingsworth sniped as Michael led her through the door.
I frowned at the marchioness’s back before turning to place a hand over Laura’s where it rested on my arm. “There is no need to apologize,” I assured her. As the lowest-ranked lady in precedence, I had expected to walk in alone. “After all, you were not anticipating three more guests to join you. How could you be expected to make up the numbers on such short notice?”
Her expression was unreadable. “Yes. Well. Thank you for being so understanding.”
My brow furrowed in puzzlement. Once again I felt I did not understand something that should have been clear. But before I could decide whether to press her about it, Gage deftly linked my arm through his left one.
“No worries,” he declared, flashing Laura and me one of his most charming smiles. “I’m quite happy to claim a lady on each arm.”
“An excellent solution,” Laura proclaimed in relief before I could protest. “Thank you, Mr. Gage.”
“No need for thanks,” Gage said. “Not when I’m clearly the one who benefits from such a predicament.” He grinned first at Miss Remmington on his right and then at me.
My face felt tight from the effort it took for me not to frown at his good humor.
“Well, since that’s settled.” Laura touched my arm again before turning away toward her own escort.
Seeing the reassurance Gage’s offer had given my hostess, I bit my tongue against the urge to argue. It would b
e ungracious to reject his escort now, even if his close proximity did less than comfortable things to my insides.
“Shall we?” He leaned closer to ask as the last couple before us exited the drawing room.
“Of course,” I replied, relieved to hear that my voice did not betray the emotions tumbling about inside me.
Gage’s lips curled up at the corners, as if he was imparting a forbidden secret, and then he straightened to escort us from the room.
Instantly I began to wonder why Gage seemed to be exerting his charm upon me. He had rarely done so before, and then only when he wanted something from me. I scolded myself for being taken in, even if only for a second, by his charisma. I, more than anyone, knew I had to keep my wits about me when I was dealing with Gage. My attraction to him aside, he was a very clever and enigmatic man. And I was not about to become another member of his slavering horde of female followers. If Gage was suddenly determined to befuddle me, I was resolved to find out why.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dinner was an awkward affair of stilted attempts at conversation and Lady Hollingsworth’s determined efforts to steer all discussions back to topics concerning her family. Matters were not improved by the fact that I was seated between Lord Keswick and his sister, whose sole purpose seemed to be to further antagonize her sibling, as well as Lord Damien.
I had taken an immediate liking to Lady Hollingsworth’s second son upon meeting him at Gairloch two months prior. Quick to laugh and chivalrous to a fault, Damien had been more than one lady’s champion at different occasions during the house party, including mine. However, listening to him scold and rebuke Miss Remmington, I doubted the cheeky girl would ever be able to count him among her defenders.
I couldn’t fault the meal or the setting, even if the attitude of some of our dinner companions left something to be desired. The room absolutely sparkled with candlelight; the china, crystal, and silverware glistened on a tablecloth of pristine white under the glow of a chandelier and candelabras, which spanned the length of the buffet, the sideboard, and the fireplace mantel. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, holding back the chill of the autumn evening and lending the spice of cedarwood to the heady scent of the wine and the rich aroma of the food.
Mortal Arts (A Lady Darby Mystery) Page 4