He’d never realized before but he didn’t, in truth, have friends. He had never especially considered them necessary. Besides, until his death, he’d had Charles who was as much a friend as a brother. Oh, he had a fair number of acquaintances, gentlemen he would converse with at his club and greet in passing on the street. Now, watching Veronica and Julia and Lady Redwell, he wondered if he wasn’t missing something although, of course, they were women and friendships between men were a decidedly different thing.
“It is my considered opinion, with talent and skill,” the poet across from him began in a pompous manner, “one can produce excellent if not exceptional …”
“Do you like poetry, Lady Winterset?” Harrison asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, of course. Don’t you?”
“I am fond of Shakespeare’s sonnets.” He thought for a moment. “'Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’That is fairly straightforward. One understands exactly what Shakespeare is saying. However, I must confess, for the most part I much prefer prose to poetry. Most poetry is too obscure, too vague if you will for my liking.” He nodded at the poet across from him. “I daresay any poetry he might compose about the cricket season would have us scratching our heads at the conclusion wondering who had won and who had lost.”
She smiled. “Probably.” She tilted her head and considered him. “But you consider poetry vague?”
“All that imagery, one thing being said when something entirely different is meant.” He nodded. “I do indeed.”
“You find …” She thought for a moment. “'She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that’s best of dark and bright meets in her aspect and her eyes vague’?”
For a moment he debated the merits of honesty. “Not entirely, and admittedly the words are very nice, but why can’t he simply say she is the loveliest woman he has ever seen?” His gaze met hers. “And everything he’s ever thought was wonderful, everything he’s ever wanted but never knew he wanted before now, is right there in her presence. In her eyes.”
She stared at him for a long moment and he couldn’t believe he had said such a thing. What had gotten into him? At last she shook her head slightly and smiled. “I believe, my lord, he said exactly that.” She drew a deep breath. “You are not a romantic, are you?”
“I’ve really never thought about it.” He shook his head. “But I fear I am too practical and rational to appreciate the language of poetry.”
“What a shame,” she murmured.
“Perhaps.” He cast her a rueful smile. “That too may be one of my flaws.”
“Is there no poetry other than Shakespeare’s you appreciate?”
“I will confess,” he said slowly, “there is a line or two that through the years has lingered in my mind.”
“Oh, do tell.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I promise to keep your secret. That you are not so practical and rational as you appear. And even you can see the beauty in something as vague as poetry.”
Again his gaze met hers and he ignored the voice in the back of his head that said this was too revealing and too fraught with meaning. “'How sad and bad and mad it was—But then, how it was sweet.’”
She raised a brow. “Robert Browning.”
“It’s a favorite of my father’s and it has always struck something of a chord in me.”
“And I believe I was wrong.”
“Oh.”
A teasing light shone in her eye. “There might be a touch of the romantic about you after all.”
“And is that a good thing?”
She smiled slowly. “Yes, I think it is.”
“… and I would dearly love for you to read my work,” Miss Nelson said to Mr. Ellsworth.
“I should like nothing better,” Mr. Ellsworth said in a most gallant manner even though the look in his eyes said the man would rather have his thumbs cut off.
Miss Nelson gasped. “Even better, I have brought a few pages.” She glanced around the table. “I could read some of it tonight.”
The question hung in the air for an endless moment.
“I’m sure we would all be delighted.” Harrison’s manner was every bit as gallant as Mr. Ellsworth’s and every bit as feigned.
“Delighted,” Portia said under her breath.
“That was very kind of you,” Julia said softly for his ears alone.
He looked at her and shrugged. “It was nothing, really.”
“You have made her evening a success.” She cast him an approving smile. “Possibly at our expense.”
“No doubt we shall bear up admirably,” he said in a no-nonsense manner. His actions were little more than polite. Any gentleman worth the name would do the same. Or at least should. Julia was giving him entirely too much credit. Still, he would take it.
A peal of laughter sounded from the far end of the table and they glanced in that direction. Miss Waverly and her parents were seated some distance away but even from here it was apparent she disapproved of the unrestrained expression of mirth. As any proper lady would.
“She is lovely, isn’t she?”
“Miss Waverly?” he asked, his gaze still on the young woman. He had met her earlier in the evening and had immediately decided to call on her. Whether Veronica intended it or not, and knowing Veronica she knew exactly what she was doing, Miss Waverly appeared to be everything he was looking for in an appropriate match.
“Yes.”
“Indeed she is.” He studied the young woman for a moment more. Excellent posture, flawless manners, she did indeed look to be quite perfect. Abruptly he remembered his own manners and turned back to Julia. “My apologies, Lady Winterset.”
“Whatever for?” she said coolly.
“It’s most impolite to …” To ignore the lady he hoped to make his friend for the one who might become his wife. “To stare.”
“No apologies necessary. You weren’t staring at me after all.” She smiled in a pleasant yet remote manner and returned her attention to the quail on her plate and the conversation across from her.
Damnation. Everything had been going so well. He groped for something to say but he’d never been good at idle conversation.
“… even, so, I must confess a preference for light opera,” Lady Redwell said. “Lady Smithson and I attended the Mikado some months ago and we thought …”
“Do you like theater, Lady Winterset?” Harrison asked.
“Yes, I do.” She sighed. “Quite a lot really but I rarely seem to attend. Do you?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“I thought it might be too frivolous for you.”
“Not at all,” he said quickly, although in truth he did find some offerings somewhat frivolous. “And you like poetry.”
“Yes, my lord.” She considered him for a moment. “I like poetry, I like to read. I have always had a fondness for Shakespeare but I like novels as well. I enjoy art, galleries and museums. I paint and sketch a little but not very well. I enjoy the out of doors, especially at this time of year. My husband used to take a walk in Hyde Park every morning before he went to his office. I often accompanied him. Now, I find I still enjoy a morning constitutional although I admit I am not able to do it every day. Now then.” Annoyance sounded in her voice. “Is there anything else you wish to know about me?”
He ignored the question and drew his brows together. “You walk alone in the park every morning?”
“I’m not entirely alone. You would be surprised at the number of people who are about at that hour.”
“I must disagree, Lady Winterset. I myself ride or walk in the park nearly every morning and I encounter no more than a handful of people.”
“You are probably right. I am usually engaged in my own thoughts so I pay no real notice.”
“Lady Winterset.” He leaned closer. “Do you think a woman walking alone in the park is wise?”
“I have yet to have any diffic
ulties.” She shrugged. “The sun is well up and I feel perfectly safe.”
“Still.” He paused. “Do you have a dog, Lady Winter-set?”
“A dog?” She shook her head. “No.”
“You should consider getting one if you insist on walking alone in the park.”
“I suppose.” She cast him a grudging smile. “I always wanted a dog as a child.”
“You are no longer a child, and if you want a dog you should have one.”
“I understand they are superb companions.” She studied him. “Do you have a dog?”
“There are dogs at the estate in the country but they are hounds and used for hunting. Working dogs.” He shook his head. “Not pets. It is difficult to keep a dog in town.”
“I see.”
She sounded distinctly disappointed.
“I don’t have a dog at the moment but I am considering acquiring one soon,” he lied. A furry, messy, problem of a beast. He snorted to himself. When Hades froze.
“Are you?” She arched a delicate brow. “What breed?”
“Breed?” He searched his mind for a breed of dog and couldn’t think of one. “I have not decided. Something substantial I should think.”
“Not a lap dog then?” Amusement danced in her eyes as if she knew he was lying, although why shouldn’t he have a dog? He did enjoy the dogs at the estate. And a man with a dog was surely much more likable than a man who thought a dog was a great deal of trouble.
“Most certainly not.” He paused. “Perhaps, when I have my dog, you will allow me to accompany you on your morning walk one day.”
She glanced past him toward the other end of the table. “Perhaps you should be asking Miss Waverly that question.”
“I am asking you.”
“Because you wish to be friends?”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “And because I think a woman shouldn’t be walking alone in the park. It’s not safe.”
“Because a woman is unable to take care of herself?”
“Even to a capable woman of independent nature I don’t think that can be debated,” he said without thinking
“Not only on walks alone but in other matters as well?”
“Women, my dear Lady Winterset, no matter how competent, are still merely women.” Even as he answered he knew it was a mistake. Still, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was as if his words had a life of their own. “A woman needs a guiding hand as it were from a husband or father or brother or—”
“Friend?”
“Yes,” he said staunchly.
“Then a woman should choose her friends wisely, don’t you agree?”
“Without question.”
She smiled in a pleasant but dismissive manner and pointedly turned away to join in the conversation on her other side.
He pressed his lips together in annoyance. He should have known better than to speak his mind on the topic of the capabilities of the fair sex. He wasn’t an idiot after all, or perhaps he was. But he had no intention of lying to further the cause of friendship. And damn it all, he would get a dog.
Through the final two courses of dinner, his attempts to engage her in further conversation were stymied at every turn. If he ventured a question, she would respond politely then return to chat with other guests. She busied herself with involvement in the discussions on her other side or across the table. Still, it did give him the opportunity to study her. She was indeed dreadfully intelligent and far too clever to do what she didn’t think was wise simply because of friendship. This was not going to be easy.
Still, he considered the evening at least moderately successful thus far. Even if he hadn’t yet managed to pull Julia and Mr. Ellsworth into a discussion of the risky nature of publishing, there would certainly be time later between the readings from one poet to the next. And while he hadn’t planned on it, if Miss Nelson’s work was as questionable in quality as Veronica had implied, it might help his case.
Veronica signaled the end of the meal and announced the ladies would retire to the parlor to allow the gentlemen no more than a half an hour for their brandy before the poetry recitations would begin.
He rose and assisted Julia with her chair. She turned to leave with the other ladies then turned back.
“Lord Mountdale, I congratulate you. Your purpose this evening has been admirably achieved.”
“It has?” he said slowly.
“You said you wished to change my mind about you and you have succeeded.”
His spirits lifted with satisfaction and he smiled modestly. “Excellent.”
“While your manner on our first meeting was not conducive to cordial relations—”
“My fault entirely,” he said quickly.
“—you do seem to have made a concerted effort this evening to convince me to give you another chance. And, as Veronica seems convinced of your sincerity—”
“Oh, I am nothing if not sincere,” he said in as sincere a manner as he could muster
“—I can do no less.” She smiled cordially. “Therefore I will not refuse to consider any further offer you may put forth.”
This was good.
“I assure you, you will not regret it.”
“Furthermore, I do accept your offer of friendship. It’s most kind and one can always use another friend. And I know that, as my friend, you only want what’s in my best interest.”
This was extremely good.
“Without question,” he said staunchly and seized the moment. “And what is in your best interest is to receive the most income possible in the most guaranteed manner possible from Lady Middlebury’s memoirs.”
“Ah, and there we differ, as friends often do.”
“But—”
“I should tell you, my lord, the more I read my great-grandmother’s memoirs the more I feel I know her. Her work is not merely an accounting of her adventures but is filled as well with her observations on the relations between men and women.” She leaned closer, laid her hand on his arm, and gazed into his eyes in a knowing manner. “And some excellent advice regarding those relations as well.”
Good Lord. What kind of advice would her great-grandmother … He swallowed hard. “Indeed.”
“Oh my, yes. It would be a shame, my lord—why, it would be a travesty if her words were not allowed to be read by the world.”
He stared. “The world?”
“The entire world.” She removed her hand and smiled. “The world could certainly use more good advice just as a mere woman could always use the benefit of a guiding hand. Don’t you agree?”
“I—”
“However, I will certainly give due consideration to any further offers you might wish to make. Because you”—she cast him a smile so brilliant he swore he felt it somewhere deep inside—“are my friend.” She nodded and joined the rest of the ladies on their way out of the room.
He stared after her. The sense of triumph he’d noted a minute ago still lingered, if now a bit fainter and uncertain. Still, the evening was indeed successful for the most part. Julia had left the door open for him to continue to pursue the memoirs and had agreed to a tenuous friendship. The vaguest glimmer of a new idea teased the back of his mind and, God help him, he needed a new plan. And he had met Miss Waverly. Yes, it had been a most efficient evening.
A wave of satisfaction bolstered him and he ignored the voice in the back of his mind that wondered why Miss Waverly was at the bottom of that list of accomplishments.
And Julia was at the top.
… and the count knew exactly what he wanted or more precisely who. Men are odd creatures in that regard. Often what they think they want isn’t what they want at all. A wise woman recognizes that, a truly clever woman uses it to her advantage.
That is not to say that, on occasion, donning the costume of a shepherdess or a Roman slave girl is not greatly amusing for all concerned even if, as was the case in this instance, the count was intent upon …
from The Perfect Mistress,
&n
bsp; the Memoirs of Lady Hermione Middlebury
Chapter Seven
“I never imagined you to be a coward.” Hermione’s chastising voice drifted into her dreams and at once Julia was fully awake.
She sat up and glared at the figure as always at the foot of her bed. “Where have you been?”
“San Remo, Brighton, Trouville. Seaside resorts, hunting lodges, palaces.” Hermione scoffed. “Where do you think I have been?”
“I have no idea where those who are no longer alive go when they’re not haunting those of us who are still living.” If Julia hadn’t been sitting up in bed, she would have tapped her foot with impatience. “Well? Where have you been?”
“Hither and yon. Here and there,” Hermione said in an offhand manner then grinned. “You missed me, didn’t you?”
“I most certainly did not.”
“Come now. I am not that easily fooled. You, no doubt, have a great many questions for me other than where I have been.”
“A great many, yes, but let’s start with why you haven’t returned since you proved that you were, well, real.”
“I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
“Hah! You don’t convince someone that you’re a ghost and not simply a dream and then just vanish.”
“Most of the people I know vanish all the time,” Hermione said under her breath.
“I think it’s rather rude.”
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