Prelude for a Lord

by Elliot, Camille

  “I would not be so hopeful,” Aunt Ebena said.

  Margaret sighed and swiped her finger through a drop of jam on her dress. “I still would have liked to stab the thief with Mrs. Dodd’s knife.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Alethea walked through the doors to Lady Fairmont’s home and immediately felt as if everyone were staring at her.

  She surreptitiously studied her dress to make sure mud wasn’t splattered across it. The deep lace at the hem was unblemished cream. The rosy-orange colour was perhaps a trifle unusual for an unmarried woman, but Alethea felt her advanced age entitled her to shed insipid whites in favour of colours that suited her better. But surely that wouldn’t cause the stares. Was she imagining it?

  “Why are people staring at you?” Aunt Ebena demanded in a whisper.

  No, not imagining it.

  They waited through the receiving line until they reached Lady Fairmont, resplendent in violet satin with an amethyst pendant the size of a walnut at her throat. “Ebena, so good of you to come.” Lady Fairmont kissed the air above Aunt Ebena’s cheek.

  “Tania, you remember my niece, Lady Alethea Sutherton?”

  “Of course.” Lady Fairmont beamed at Alethea, who curtseyed.

  “Lady Fairmont, later in the evening, might I have a word—” Alethea began, but stopped at a look from Aunt Ebena. They continued on and Lady Fairmont greeted the next person in line.

  “Tania would forget any meeting you arranged with her in the receiving line,” Aunt Ebena said. “Try to find a moment with her later in the evening, when fewer people are attempting to speak to her.”

  Lady Fairmont’s ball was small, limited to the size of her two drawing rooms with the connecting double doors thrown open to expand the dancing area, and a card room and supper room, yet it was one of the largest residences in Bath. The elegant furniture had been removed to make way for the dancers and the musicians in a side alcove, although many chairs in both classical and Egyptian styles graced the walls, several already occupied by guests. The rooms were packed with far more people than could comfortably fit. The musicians had not yet begun, and Alethea wondered how people would clear a space for the dancing.

  “I see Mrs. Nanstone,” Aunt Ebena said. “She detests me and would be only too happy to tell me why everyone is staring at you as if you’ve grown tentacles. Go somewhere and be unobtrusive.” Her aunt bustled off through the crowd.

  The only people not glancing her way were Lord Dommick and his party. His mother and sister sat at chairs speaking to Lord Ian and Lord Ravenhurst while Lord Dommick stood nearby, his posture upright. He did not look tense, but something about him made Alethea think he was not comfortable in the close room with people chatting and occasionally bumping into him. He was all politeness, but there was a stiffness at the edges of his mouth. Alethea realized with a start of surprise that he may not like small rooms and crowds of people. Just like herself.

  He happened to glance her way. Alethea did not expect him to notice her in the midst of so many people, but he found her gaze, perhaps because her height set her above most of the women in the room. He froze for a moment as if something had surprised him, then with a tiny shake of his head, he blinked. He nodded his head to her, and she returned his gesture. At least he was not staring and pointing as others were doing.

  In her London season, she had been a stone lighter, awkward and insecure. She would have obeyed her aunt’s instructions to be unobtrusive by hiding in a dark corner, preferably behind a fern.

  But she was not that girl anymore. So, instead, she held her head high, relaxing her shoulders to belie the pounding of her heart, and adopted a polite mask. She decided to emulate Aunt Ebena’s excellent strategy and walked toward the cluster of women who appeared to be deriving the most enjoyment from her discomfiture.

  Alethea had not been overly impressed with the calibre of Bath misses she’d met this past year while going out in society with her Aunt Ebena. Most of them were daughters, nieces, granddaughters, and grandnieces to Aunt Ebena’s friends and acquaintances, and a rather large percentage of them resented being stuck in mouldy Bath with their elders rather than somewhere that possessed more young, single men.

  They made Alethea feel rather long in the tooth, because at the advanced age of twenty-eight, she was firmly on the shelf, whereas most of them were still in the fresh, nubile state of mind where dreams of dukes falling madly in love with them still formed the chief of their journal entries. As an earl’s daughter who had been introduced to several dukes and marquesses, Alethea had found that many arrogant noblemen lost that gilding painted onto their personalities on account of their rank, so she had even less in common with these young girls.

  And the icing on the cake was Alethea’s intensity when it came to music. Most of the young women played adequately for social situations, or they found enjoyment in playing, but none of them had Alethea’s focus during concerts and her appalling tendency to listen to the music rather than gossiping about the attendees. They did not understand her, and they did not care to.

  And so now, Alethea walked straight toward the one girl who embodied all those characteristics—Miss Herrington-Smythe. The bored young woman made no secret of her yearning for the excitement of London rather than being stuck in Bath with her great-aunt, one of Aunt Ebena’s friends. She was also confident in her ability to dazzle a duke despite her disparity of funds, and she possessed a rather unfortunate sense of pitch but was convinced she sang as well as the famous soprano Catalani.

  Alethea could have chosen any other miss, who would likely flare her nose at Alethea, then give her the cut direct, which wasn’t very entertaining.

  Miss Herrington-Smythe, on the other hand, would relish Alethea’s attention and give her all the information she needed to know, albeit clothed in barbs and insults. An added bonus was that Miss Oakridge, Lady Fairmont’s granddaughter, formed part of Miss Herrington-Smythe’s retinue, and if Alethea could attain a private second alone with her, she might recognize the initials from the violin.

  Alethea approached the two girls. “Good evening, Miss Oakridge, Miss Herrington-Smythe.”

  “Good evening, Lady Alethea.” Miss Herrington-Smythe smiled widely, her crooked teeth emphasizing how pointy her canines were. “What an unusual colour gown you have on. The style for older women is so varied these days, don’t you agree? It really does wonders to perk them up.”

  Miss Oakridge, closest to Alethea’s age at twenty-three and embarrassingly desperate to marry, tittered behind a gloved hand while smoothing her white lace gown.

  If she wanted any information out of Miss Herrington-Smythe, Alethea needed to prod her with an insult that was pointed enough to make her vindictive. “I think it a great pity young girls wear white. When they dance, they look like jiggling blancmange puddings.”

  A strangled noise came from Miss Herrington-Smythe, although Alethea was scanning the room in a casual manner and avoiding her eye. After a moment, Miss Herrington-Smythe said in a voice like candied plums, “Lady Alethea, you must put to rest a most distressing rumour. Have you indeed asked Lord Dommick to discover the original owner of your violin?”

  Was this why people were staring? “Yes. Whyever would that distress you, Miss Herrington-Smythe?”

  Miss Herrington-Smythe pretended to look shocked. “Lady Alethea, say it isn’t so.”

  Alethea resisted reaching out to shake her. Miss Herrington-Smythe was being vague when Alethea needed information. “I am concerned that you are losing your hearing. I daresay it happens to some of us as we age. I shall repeat my question. Why should the news distress you?”

  Miss Herrington-Smythe shrugged off the barb. “I was hoping to have misunderstood you, for I should hate to suspect that you are becoming desperate.”

  Alethea walked into that verbal trap. “Desperate about what?”

  “About your future, of course.”

  “Miss Herrington-Smythe, I fear the heat has addled your brain. You poor dea
r.”

  Miss Oakridge covered a snort with a hand clapped over her mouth.

  Alethea continued, “How should anyone think my violin has anything to do with my concerns about my future?”

  Miss Herrington-Smythe delivered the crushing blow with relish. “I only have your welfare at heart when I tell you that everyone believes you may have . . . exaggerated the mysterious history of your violin in order to monopolize the time of a certain gentleman.”

  Alethea almost burst into laughter, but that would ruin Miss Herrington-Smythe’s glee in telling Alethea the rumour. “Indeed?” she said in what she hoped were tones of horror.

  “I am most sorry to tell you that this is how it appears to everyone in Bath. It’s really rather pitiable. Young ladies have no need to resort to ruses to force men to spend time in their company.”

  “Of course, only a violin would do for your plans,” Miss Oakridge added. “How long you must have looked for one old enough to provide a challenge for him.”

  The comment was like a long, deep scratch on Lady Arkright’s violin. “The violin was a bequest,” Alethea said through numb lips. These pampered, selfish women would never understand the depth of love that made the violin so precious to her. Their idea of a mother’s love was a shopping trip for a new gown.

  Alethea didn’t like Miss Herrington-Smythe and her friends, so she should not be hurt by the fact that they delighted in society’s current disdain of her, but it reminded her once again that the polite world was not a pond she easily swam in.

  She had always only depended upon herself, and it was still true. However, she wished her independence was not so isolating at times.

  “How fortuitous for you,” Miss Herrington-Smythe cooed.

  “I am ashamed at the effort some women will undertake to capture the interest of gentlemen,” Miss Oakridge added.

  “Alethea, there you are.” The deep voice behind her seemed to rise up from the murmurings of the crowd and blanket them all with a strange stillness.

  Alethea turned and tried not to look astounded. Lord Dommick stood a few steps away, partially screened by the large back of a dowager in masses of black silk and apparently unnoticed by the three of them during their verbal melee. He had a warm smile that he had never directed at her, which made her insides jiggle like the blancmange she had compared the girls to earlier. There was also a sparking in his dark eyes that seemed to hint at some kind of irritation. Was he upset with her?

  Then she realized that he had called her familiarly by her first name, which she had not given him permission to do. They were certainly not cordial enough for him to even have asked her for the privilege.

  He nodded in a cool fashion toward Miss Herrington-Smythe, who had paled, and Miss Oakridge, who had gone scarlet. “Ladies, I beg you to excuse me and allow me to steal Alethea from you. I hope I was not interrupting anything of import?”

  And at that moment, Alethea knew he had overheard a good portion of their altercation. Her stomach clenched. She had walked into this skirmish with the girls of her own accord, expecting the barbs and ready to deliver a few of her own. But once she realized what the rumours were about, she hadn’t thought about how it might negatively impact Lord Dommick and his family. Alethea was ready to sink through the floor.

  “Alethea, Ravenhurst and Ian told me they had already secured your hand for dances tonight, and they teased me that I had not been faster, so I am come to secure my own dance before it’s too late.”

  Alethea suspected she looked rather like a fish as she gaped at him, but she wasn’t sure what his game was.

  Lord Dommick then nodded to the two girls and took Alethea by the arm to lead her away.

  As it happened, the musicians signaled the start of the first dance. “Are you engaged for this dance?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “Now you are.” The centre of the two connected rooms was being cleared of spectators, and couples began lining up. Lord Dommick led her among them. He said nothing as they waited for the music to start, but his face looked faintly forbidding.

  It was fortunate Alethea was not easily intimidated.

  The music began and she curtseyed to him. As they drew together in the movement, she whispered to him, “What in the world was that about?”

  “Why did you engage in conversation with a vulture like Miss Herrington-Smythe?” Lord Dommick hissed back.

  Alethea tried to yank her hand from his, but his fingers bit into her knuckles, and the two healed fingers twinged. “I needed information.”

  “Don’t you realize the girl eats reputations for breakfast and spits them out as the most spurious gossip?”

  “Oh, she’s harmless.”

  The movements of the dance separated them, but she could tell Lord Dommick was trying very hard not to scowl at her. As they came together again, he said, “I can’t determine if you are simply naive or blind.”

  She smiled and bared her teeth at him, saying through her tight jaw, “Miss Herrington-Smythe hasn’t an original thought in her brain. She only repeats what she hears with great relish, which makes her useful when I need to know why people are staring at me as if I have a peacock roosting on my head.”

  His face remained stern, but the corner of his mouth twitched. If he weren’t so incensed, she was sure he might have cracked a smile. A real one, this time.

  “I came to find you as soon as I heard what people were saying,” he said.

  She blinked at him. “Why?”

  “I have seen rumours ruin a person.” The ballroom wall suddenly fascinated him. “I thought it very unfair that your simple curiosity about your own violin would expose you to such ugliness.”

  It had never occurred to her that he would be concerned for her. She had been so busy detesting him and trying not to think about him that she had assumed his heart was an empty shell.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. From the assembly, she knew he cared deeply for his sister. That he had extended his concern to her . . . she was not certain what it made her feel. “I thank you, my lord.”

  “You should call me Dommick since I made free with your first name in front of those harpies.” He frowned, and at first Alethea thought he was upset about that, but then she realized he frowned because he was embarrassed.

  How strange. She had placed him on a pedestal in her season in London, but then later she had set him apart as a cold statue. Yet in both cases, she had made him out to be remote and unfeeling, when in reality, he was . . . human.

  Alethea said, “If the rumours only involved myself, I should find it hilariously diverting, but I do regret that the rumour requires people to studiously avoid mentioning your name.”

  “It’s not my name I’m worried about. Miss Herrington-Smythe was doing a bang-up job smearing yours all over the floor.”

  “Oh, that was nothing to worry about. If you had not extricated me from them, I was going to say something along the lines of, ‘Ladies, your conversation has ceased to be entertaining to me, so I bid you good evening.’ ”

  He finally did smile at her. It made his eyes crinkle, and laugh lines deepened in his cheeks. “Can it really be true that you do not care about the rumours?”

  Alethea gave a one-shouldered shrug she had picked up from Calandra. “I have had tales told about me my entire life because of living buried in the country. One becomes a figure of curiosity.” An oddity. Fodder for ridicule.

  The dance separated them and he looked confused.

  “Before I even arrived in town for my season, gossip had painted me as a wild hoyden with no table manners simply because I had never been seen in society. Several servants spread tales about how I forsook a regular schedule when I was practicing my music, and so the gossip expanded to say that I was an eccentric.”

  “I never heard those rumours.”

  “You probably did, but did not know me at the time and so it meant nothing to you. My Aunt Ingolton was sponsoring my come out and she was appalled, but the tales we
re so ridiculous I could not help but be amused by it all.” Alethea grinned. “I teased my aunt by threatening to pick up my soup bowl and drink directly from it at the next dinner party.”

  He looked at her as if unsure if he should be amused or appalled himself.

  “I no longer credit gossip about anyone else after being the object of such imaginative tales.” She could do no less, when the tales had both amused her and hurt her, though she never revealed her pain.

  He surprised her with an expression of almost . . . awe. Then his face hardened. “I dislike gossip, but dislike even more being its object.”

  The dance partnered her briefly with an older gentleman who was a friend of her aunt. “Lady Alethea, how lovely you look tonight.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pollwitton.”

  For the rest of the dance, Alethea and Dommick said nothing to each other, but he did seem to be less disapproving.

  And why should she care about that when she didn’t care about the disapproval of Miss Herrington-Smythe?

  After the dance, he led her not to her aunt but to his mother, sitting with Lord Ravenhurst and Lord Ian. Lady Morrish greeted her with a smile. “Lady Alethea, how lovely to see you. Bayard has told me about your violin. I am relieved you have given him something to occupy his time this winter. He has had nothing to do besides be a trifle overprotective of his sister.” She nodded toward the dancers, where Miss Terralton was returning with a ginger-haired man with heavy-lidded eyes. The young lady held herself stiffly and appeared to not want to touch the man’s sleeve.

  “Lady Alethea, do let me introduce my daughter, Miss Terralton, and my husband’s nephew, Mr. Morrish.”

  Alethea curtseyed, but she didn’t like the way Mr. Morrish’s eyes lingered on her person as he rose from his bow. She had the childish urge to do what she used to do to the boys in her village and poke at his eyeballs with her fingers. She understood Miss Terralton’s distaste.