by Amelia Smith
Her gown was cut too low, but then they all were. Aunt Celia insisted that such necklines were the height of fashion: their hostess's gown covered no more than hers did, and several of the youngest ladies were tugging their necklines down surreptitiously.
One of the young ladies took a turn playing a light air. As she played, Lady Georgiana made her way across the party, greeting her guests. By the end of the piece, only the small cluster gathered around the piano were pretending to listen.
Next, another girl announced that she wished to play “The Golden Vanity,” and cast about for a singer. Of all the young people, only Hyacinth admitted to knowing all the verses through, so she was pushed forward. Singing offered Hyacinth a ready escape from Viscount Whitley's conversation, and it began well enough. Very few of the guests paid much attention. Thomas was no where to be seen, and Aunt Celia was probably in the card room.
The first verse passed without incident, except that the din of conversation seemed to recede a little. She supposed it would seem that way, whether it had or not, and she carried on into the second verse. Then she looked up, which was a mistake. Thomas had arrived.
#
Thomas looked down at the party. He had always liked this spot when he was a boy, but he felt a bit ill-at-ease now. It was not the sort of place that a grown man should frequent. Hyacinth's aunt had gone into the card room, but Hyacinth herself still stood by the piano. The weedy gentleman who’d been circling her slithered off towards the drink table. The aunt's chaperonage was deplorably sloppy. He wouldn't have let that go, if he'd been her commanding officer in India. But of course, he wasn't. If anything, he was on the opposing force, though looking at the young gentlemen below, he didn't think he wanted to be on that side, either.
Thomas was lying on his belly in the upstairs corridor, looking down through a hidden spyhole in the floor, which was usually covered by a carpet. It had provided hours of entertainment for the Pently children, each generation certain that their parents had never found this secret place. Thomas heard footsteps coming up the servants’ stair. He got up and brushed himself off. An upstairs maid hurried by, her gaze locked forward. The servants probably knew about the spyhole, too, Thomas realized. It was past time to go downstairs and face the music.
By the time he made his entrance, yet another player had begun to pick out chords. The player lacked Georgiana’s confidence, but then, most people did. The hands hesitated over the keys, but then she settled in a bit, running through the first bars of “The Golden Vanity,” a dire, depressing song.
As he stepped into the room, the singer let her first note out. It was Hyacinth. He half wished he’d stayed at his spyhole. He would have been able to see better from there without worrying about who he would have to talk to next. Her voice was light and clear, not overly schooled, but pleasant. Thomas sat down on an empty chair, behind a large vase. He would not be able to see her from there, but at least he could listen.
Conversations spilled out of the card room, though, and he could barely hear Hyacinth's singing over all the competing noise. It was no good, all this cowering in corners. He should stand up. As he did so, their gazes locked for a split heartbeat. Hyacinth's voice faltered. He smiled at her, as if he’d been standing there in the open all along. She steadied herself and continued on into the third verse, her voice growing more emphatic towards the end.
“Pretty little chit, isn’t she, Tom?”
Thomas turned around to find Nathan standing just behind him, holding a decanter of brandy. The hubbub of conversation threatened to drown out Hyacinth's voice, not to mention the sudden rush of blood to Thomas's ears. Hyacinth came to the end of the verse and stepped back from the piano. Her accompanist launched into a final, excessively flourished round of the tune.
“Do you mean to drink that all yourself?”
“Not at all,” Nathan said. “I was only bringing it over to a the lady in the card room.” He nodded towards the door. He hailed a passing servant for a glass, and poured out a few fingers for Thomas.
Thomas drank, hoping it might ease his nerves. Nate had made a wreckage of himself with drink. In India, he hadn't had the time or inclination to drink to excess, and the liquor was of dubious quality most of the time. Now, he was glad of it.
“Next, I’ll see if that singer fancies a stroll in the garden,” Nathan said.
Thomas straightened up to his full height. “You most certainly will not.”
Nathan laughed. “And why wouldn’t I? She’s quite pretty, and not a connection to speak of.”
Thomas bristled. “I believe the dowager Countess Talbot is her aunt.”
Nathan snorted. “That is hardly a connection to speak of.” He chuckled at his own wit.
Thomas couldn't argue against that point, from the little he'd seen of Hyacinth's aunt.
“Miss Grey is an acquaintance of mine,” he said at last. “I have found her to be more honorable than most gentlemen here, and if you raise so much as an eyebrow against her virtue…” Thomas stepped in close to his brother and raised a hand to seize him by the cravat.
The last chords crashed down. People around them had turned to watch the two brothers. Thomas gave his brother a hearty pat on the shoulder and relaxed his posture. The onlookers quickly lost interest.
“Have an eye for her yourself, do you then?” Nathan hissed.
“I’m not in the business of despoiling young ladies,” Thomas said. He took the decanter from Nathan and filled his own glass again. “I believe I will go pay my respects to Miss Grey now,” he said.
“Happy despoiling,” Nathan whispered, and slunk off to the card room.
#
Thank goodness that was over, Hyacinth thought as she stepped back from the piano. Across the room, Thomas was engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation with another gentleman. He wore a canary yellow waistcoat, quite distinctive, though it did his complexion no favors. Ah. It was the Nathan Pently she'd been introduced to earlier. They were definitely arguing, and the family resemblance was unmistakable.
The young lady at the pianoforte sounded her final chords, and the audience gathered around the instrument erupted into applause, while most of the rest of the room went on ignoring them. Hyacinth knew she was blushing now, but it didn’t matter. She’d sung and played the pianoforte at larger gatherings, but she sensed that the audience at Georgiana Pently’s soirée was a good deal more critical than any gathering at Gibraltar.
“Splendid!” Viscount Whitley grinned.
Hyacinth shook her head modestly. She hoped he would find another young lady to talk to, and soon.
“Would you like to take a turn on the patio?” he asked instead.
Hyacinth wanted to shout: “No!” Instead, she begged off on account of the climate. “I am not used to these winters,” she said. “The damp, yes, but not the cold.”
“I’ll fetch your wrap, if you like,” he said. He was awfully persistent.
“Would you mind fetching me another glass of orgeat instead?” Hyacinth asked. “I am parched from the singing.”
Viscount Whitley agreed reluctantly. As he walked away from the piano, Hyacinth spied an empty seat near a window. She set off towards it.
An older lady sat on an armchair halfway along the wall. She nodded to Hyacinth as she passed. “A fine performance, Miss,” she said. She wore her hair in an old-fashioned style, powdered. Her eyes had the same pale blue color as Thomas's.
“Why, thank you,” Hyacinth said.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” said the older lady.
“I am Hyacinth Grey,” she said. When the woman looked at her questioningly she added: “Lady Celia Talbot is my aunt.”
“Ah. Those Greys.” The lady seemed to be none too happy about the discovery. “I am Lady Penelope Thornton. The Duke is my elder brother.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Hyacinth said, not altogether truthfully. Lady Penelope Thornton had wrinkled her nose quite distinctly when she’d said,
“Those Greys.”
There was an unoccupied hassock beside Lady Thornton. Out of the corner of her eye, Hyacinth saw the viscount weaving back across the party with her glass of orgeat.
“May I sit here?” Hyacinth asked. It would be a far better place to discourage the young viscount than the semi-secluded window seat she’d been aiming for. Lady Thornton's open distaste for her family wasn't exactly inviting, but perhaps she could come closer to finding out what the matter was that lay between her family and Thomas's.
“Sit if you like,” Lady Thornton said, fairly grumbling. She cast an eye at Viscount Whitley, who was standing by the punch bowl, scanning the room for Hyacinth. “Are you giving that young man the run-around?”
“I’d rather not encourage him.”
“Do you lack ambition, girl, or have you set your sights higher?”
“The former, I think,” Hyacinth said. “I’ve only just arrived in London, and I feel no need to marry in haste, if at all.”
Lady Thornton harrumphed. “Many young girls say that, but their mamas generally set them straight soon enough.”
“I don’t know about that,” Hyacinth said. “My mother is long since departed, so I have only my aunt to worry over that.”
“How unfortunate,” Lady Thornton said. “Your mother's death, I mean, as well as your aunt's guidance.”
Hyacinth stiffened.
Lady Thornton shook her head and a light dusting of powder escaped from her wig onto the cushion behind her. “I did not mean to distress you,” she said. “It is my habit to say things which others might not.”
“Is it?” Hyacinth asked.
Lady Thornton gave Hyacinth a second appraising look, then waved her off without answering. She reached for her cane and began to stand up.
“Lady Thornton, have you been long acquainted with my family?” Hyacinth asked.
The older lady sat back down, and her lips twitched into a suggestion of a smile as she peered at Hyacinth. “Personally, no,” she said, “but I believe there was some question of honor raised a few decades ago. It was soon put to rest, but not entirely forgotten.”
“Whose honor was in question, then?” Hyacinth pressed.
Lady Thornton fluttered her hands. “Oh, nearly everyone’s. It was quite a messy affair. There were accusations and threats of blackmail on both sides, but it was a long time ago, possibly before you were born. It might be more appropriate if you were to ask your aunt about it, don't you think? Except that might be cutting too close to the bone. Whatever you hear, it wasn’t from me.”
“You’ve told me nothing at all,” Hyacinth said.
Viscount Whitley had finally arrived with Hyacinth’s glass of orgeat. He approached warily.
“Good evening, Lady Thornton, Miss Grey,” he said.
“Ah, you’ve brought me some orgeat!” Lady Thornton said. “What a considerate young man.”
The young viscount’s face flushed and he glanced apologetically at Hyacinth. “I’m delighted to be of service, Lady Thornton,” he said, handing her the glass. “Would you like one too, Miss Grey?”
“Why yes,” Hyacinth said, “I certainly would.”
“Then I will fetch it.” With that, he was off again, weaving across the crowded room as another of the young ladies sat down at the pianoforte.
“You'll be better off to steer clear of that one, I think,” Lady Thornton advised.
“My aunt seems to think him quite appropriate,” Hyacinth said, without enthusiasm.
“Your aunt’s judgment in matters of fashion is impeccable,” Lady Thornton replied. “In the appraisal of gentlemen’s characters, it is less well esteemed.”
“I see,” Hyacinth said.
“Ah,” Lady Thornton said, “here comes my long lost nephew. I wonder if he’s gone as savage as they say.”
Hyacinth turned to look. Thomas was halfway across the room, trying to break away from a conversation with a young gentleman and looking really quite out of his element. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a heartbeat then he turned his half smile into a broad grin as he nodded to Lady Thornton. He gestured to her and the young gentleman he was speaking to clapped him on the back and hurried away.
“Aunt Penelope!” Thomas said. “Georgiana told me you would be here. You don't look a day older.”
“Don’t try to flatter me, nephew,” Lady Thornton said. “You do look older, so I'm sure I must, too. The effect is better on you.”
“I thank you, but really, you do look to be in good health.”
“As do you,” Lady Thornton said, “unlike some of my other nephews. Dead. Imagine that. And a drunk.”
Thomas shook his head and pulled a footstool closer. He sat down at his aunt's feet, as if he were still a boy.
“I see that you’ve met my shipmate,” he said, indicating Hyacinth.
“Shipmate?” Lady Thornton turned to Hyacinth. “You didn’t tell me that you were already acquainted with my favorite nephew.”
“We’d only just begun talking,” Hyacinth said, “and how was I to know he was your nephew?”
Lady Thornton shook her head. “You must begin to take note of these things, Miss Grey. It will help you immensely.”
“Am I still your favorite, then?” Thomas interjected. “I would have thought I’d be supplanted by now.”
Lady Thornton raised her glass. “Richard was loved by all. He didn't need to be my favorite. Gregory is dead. Your surviving brother is unlikely to supplant you.”
“There is that,” Thomas said, looking towards the doors to the balcony.
Hyacinth followed his gaze. The man with the canary yellow waistcoat was speaking to a young lady, who seemed eager to return to the party. As they watched, an older woman, plainly dressed, rushed to join them and stared daggers at Nathan, who backed away to the balcony alone.
“Here comes your shipmate’s suitor,” Lady Thornton announced. While Hyacinth had been preoccupied with the little scene, she had taken it all in at a glance and gone back to surveying the rest of the room.
Viscount Whitley approached, holding two glasses of orgeat. He handed one to Hyacinth with a flourish.
“Your orgeat, Miss Grey.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“I thought I might join you,” Viscount Whitley said, taking a sip from the second glass, “but it seems that there are no more footstools near at hand.” He looked at Thomas with a frown.
“Indeed, they do all seem to be taken,” Lady Thornton said briskly. “Perhaps you should go encourage Georgiana to have another turn at the pianoforte. It sounds so crass when the other young ladies play.”
Viscount Whitley withdrew, flustered.
Hyacinth looked over her shoulder. Her aunt should have been nearby, or at least within sight, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“I should go find my aunt,” she said, “and leave you to your reunion.”
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but his aunt held up her hand. “Not at all. If I know Lady Talbot, she is in the card room, and would not like to be interrupted. Do stay.”
Hyacinth cast another glance at the card room's doors, but kept her seat, as ordered.
“From what port did you journey together?” Lady Thornton asked her.
“From Gibraltar,” she said. “I have lived there for many years, ever since my mother…”
“Ah, your mother!” Lady Thornton exclaimed. “Now I remember. That scandal nearly eclipsed the other one, for a season, at least. It’s a pity that your mother wasn’t able to go out in society. Had your father been a little more influential, it might have happened in time… but he wasn’t, and so that’s done. Is he still among the living?”
“My father?” Hyacinth said, taken aback by Lady Thornton’s directness. “He is in good health, or was when I left Gibraltar, and hasn't written anything to the contrary since.”
“I formed the impression that all the captains in the Mediterranean fleet bow and scrape to him,” Thomas said. “He holds th
e keys to the Navy’s stores on Gibraltar.”
Lady Thornton looked at her nephew. “I suppose I don’t care much what Captain Grey does with his time, as long as he’s out of our hair. What’s been occupying you, boy?” she asked. “You’re starting to take on the look of a man.”
Thomas didn’t seem to mind being called a boy, at least not by his elderly aunt.
“I suppose you could say that India has been occupying me,” he said with a shrug, “and since I returned, I've had some visits to the tailor and a nagging sense of obligation to distract me.”
“Ah, yes, you do have obligations now,” Lady Thornton said.
“Nate tells me that Father is at the castle with His Grace,” Thomas said.
“So I hear. They don't tell me anything,” she said.
Thomas laughed. “But I'm sure you know more than they do, anyway.”
Lady Thornton let out a sigh. “It's a pity Georgiana wasn't a boy, but you'll do, I suppose.”
“Tho... Sir Pently will do for what?” Hyacinth interjected.
“My dear,” Lady Thornton said, “didn't you know? I told you: you must start paying attention to these things! Thomas is second in line to the duchy of Windcastle, after his aged uncle and his almost-as aged father pass on. It's all over town.”
Hyacinth calculated. She thought of the house, what she saw around her, what she'd seen on approach. This was the family obligation that had brought Thomas, Mr. Smithson, back to England? No matter how despicable his relations were, or at least some of his male relations were, it was a great deal to leave behind, in favor of malarial jungles. She turned to him.
“Did you know when we were on the Whistler?” she asked.
Thomas shifted his weight around on the stool. “I rather hoped it wasn't true,” he said, “and besides, the duke is still very much alive―”
“I wouldn't say, 'very much,'” his aunt interjected.
“As is my father―”
“Again, he is younger than me, but...”
“And I am told that my cousin left a widow, only a few months ago.”
“There is that,” Lady Thornton said, “but really, Gregory was hardly the picture of health, and...”