The drawing room was already crowded when I made my way to its grand doors after winding through the west wing and down two flights of stairs. Sylvia saw me as soon as I entered and took hold of my arm.
“Come. Let me introduce you,” she said, pulling me into the room.
The fire was too hot, the room too crowded, and the stuffiness of the air weighed on me. Heat prickled through my long gloves, and I wished for a fan. There were so many gowns and so many shoulders and so many feathered headdresses. I was not prepared for the new London styles here. I had heard of them, but I had not seen them before. The effect was disconcerting. I felt like a bird who had wandered into some strange flock, surrounded by a different species.
And there were so many gentlemen here to choose from. How could I select three? And how would I know which three would be the most likely to propose to me? The realities of my bargain struck me again, and I regretted ever making that deal with Mama. This was overwhelming.
Regret made my steps falter, and I turned this way and that, looking for something besides shoulders and backs and feathers and struggling to breathe in this hot, stifling room. Then my gaze, in my panic, rested on a familiar sight. The dark hair caught my eye, then the grey eyes, and the crease next to his mouth, his face tilted down, a smile beginning to form. And I saw the person he was smiling at: Miss St.Claire, who was standing too close to him and speaking to him, her body leaning toward his. Her eyes seeming to twinkle in this light.
The sight burned through my regret and indecision and doubt; it strengthened my resolve. I would win my three proposals, and I would leave for India, and the sooner, the better. If I had known she would be here—if I had known that I would have to watch them together, and be a witness to their courtship—I would not have come.
Sylvia stopped leading me and turned my attention to the two gentlemen standing before her. “Mr. Brandon and his son, Mr. Thomas Brandon.”
Ah. Sylvia’s Mr. Brandon. My interest piqued, I pushed aside my own concerns and turned my full attention to the handsome young man in front of me. He had brown hair, nice eyes, and a wide, infectious smile. I cast a sideways glance at Sylvia, thinking, Well done, my friend. A happy-looking gentleman with an appreciation for Shakespeare and a fondness for my best friend? I could not be more pleased. For Sylvia’s sake, I tried not to grin.
His father, the elder Mr. Brandon, was not half so enthusiastic about being there. He looked as if he would be much more comfortable in a study, like my father. This was clearly a man of quiet habits.
His son, however, was not. He rubbed his hands together and eagerly said, “I cannot wait to explore the coast tomorrow. And was that a ruined abbey we passed, just south of here a mile or so?”
Sylvia nodded, and his face lit up even more.
“We should take a picnic there! Tomorrow!” He looked from Sylvia to me and back. “What say you?”
I liked his enthusiasm. “I would like nothing better.”
The younger Mr. Brandon turned to his father. “And you, Father? Will you join us?”
The elder Mr. Brandon hesitated, then said in a quiet voice, “The air is so chilly here, right by the ocean.”
“But we shall not let that stop us, Father. Not when there is adventure to be had!”
I grinned at this younger Mr. Brandon. Here was a man I could relate to. Here was a kindred spirit. I glanced at Sylvia and beamed when I saw the besotted smile on her face. I was flattered, really. She had chosen a man very much like me in temperament. It was meant to be a successful match, without a doubt. Sylvia and I had grown up together, and we were the dearest of friends. We balanced each other, complemented each other. So undoubtedly this Mr. Brandon would be perfect for her.
“It is settled, then,” said the son. “A picnic tomorrow! Let us hope for clear skies.”
“Indeed,” Sylvia said, pulling on my arm. “Excuse us. I have more guests to greet.”
The men nodded and bowed, and I noticed as we walked away that the elder Mr. Brandon’s gaze lingered on us, following us. A thought came to me—an idea. “Where is Mrs. Brandon?” I asked Sylvia quietly.
“Mr. Brandon is a widower,” she replied.
I smiled to myself. A widower was always on the hunt for a wife. And older gentlemen were much quicker to propose than younger gentlemen, or so I had heard. The elder Mr. Brandon might be a very good possibility for my bargain. And I would be helping Sylvia in the process, by keeping him occupied so that she could claim the full attention of his son, her admirer. Perhaps my situation was not quite so dire as I had thought.
By the time Sylvia had introduced me to all the guests, I had two more possibilities to consider for my bargain. Besides the elder Mr. Brandon, I had chosen a younger, nervous-looking gentleman named Mr. Dyer, and a Mr. Pritchard, who had recently returned from India. My thoughts turned from my goal only when Sylvia introduced me to Herr and Frau Spohr, musicians from Germany.
“Herr Spohr is a composer,” she said, after the introduction. “And we heard the most lovely duet performed by him and his wife in London on the clarinet and harp. They were very generous to prolong their stay in our country to come here and grace us with their music.”
Herr Spohr was a middle-aged man with hair that looked untamed. His wife was younger than he, with rich brown hair and a quiet but elegant air.
“A pleasure to meet you, Herr Spohr, Frau Spohr,” I said. “I look forward to hearing you perform.”
“Miss Worthington is a musician herself,” Sylvia said, which caused me to blush.
Herr Spohr looked interested at that. “Oh? What do you play?”
“Just the pianoforte.”
His gaze turned into a gentle rebuke. “Never say just the pianoforte. Never slight the instrument, Miss Worthington.”
“It was not the instrument I meant to slight, Herr Spohr, but rather my own skill,” I explained. “I think very highly of the pianoforte. In fact, I am a great admirer of Mozart.”
I would have said more about the great musician who had won my loyalty, but dinner was announced and it was time to make our way, with the crowd of guests, into the dining room. I saw Henry and Miss St.Claire again. Her copper hair made her difficult to miss in a crowd.
But to my gratification, I was not completely invisible either, for Henry saw me and looked twice. I thought of Alice’s work on my hair and had to keep myself from touching it self-consciously. He threw me a questioning look, as if to ask if I was well, and I smiled back in response. I was quite well, now that I had a plan.
Chapter 11
My plan was not advanced one bit at dinner, as I was seated between two married men. So I took advantage of the first opportunity I could find when the gentlemen joined us in the drawing room. The man who had recently returned from India took a seat first, on one of the settees arranged in front of the fire. I hurried to join him before anyone else could claim the seat next to him.
“Mr. Pritchard,” I said. “I am very interested in talking to you about India.”
He was probably twenty years older than I, but Sylvia had confirmed that he was not married. He had sandy blond hair and was very tan. I had chosen him knowing that we would have common interests.
He took his time taking a snuff case out of his pocket, tapping it with a fingernail and then flicking it open. Looking at me, he took a pinch of snuff and said, “Yes? What about?” He held the snuff to a nostril, sniffed, then did the same to the other nostril. He dusted off his fingers and pocketed his snuff case before looking at me again.
Now that I had set the plan in motion, my nervousness had returned in full force. What was I doing? And how would I actually go about encouraging this man to like me?
Eleanor. The thought came to me again, and I thought of all the times I had watched her flirt. I thought of her smile, and the tilt of her head, and how she would stand and sit and what her hands did.
I slid closer to him on the settee, aware suddenly of the people around us. Tilting my head to one
side, as I had seen Eleanor do, I smiled at him. “I would love to hear what India is like.”
He stared at me without blinking. “Hot.”
I blinked enough for both of us. “Hot?”
“Yes. Hot.”
My smile faltered, especially as I saw the amusement on the faces of the people listening to us.
“Yes, I understand that it is a warmer climate, Mr. Pritchard. But I was hoping you could tell me something more. You see, I plan to travel there myself, very soon.” I remembered how Eleanor would lean toward a man she was interested in. So I leaned toward Mr. Pritchard.
A movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention. Henry was standing there, watching us with an unsmiling expression. In fact, his expression went beyond unsmiling. His jaw was set, his eyes like steel.
“You plan to go to India?” Mr. Pritchard surprised me by actually showing some expression on his face. “With whom?”
“With my aunt.”
“Just the two of you? Alone?”
I nodded.
He looked from me to the people who were watching and listening to us, then chuckled, as if it was all a great joke. They smiled in return. Miss St.Claire smiled, and so did Sylvia, and an older couple whose names I could not remember. My face was hot. I felt sure I was the cause of those smiles and that laugh, but I could not guess why. The nervous-looking Mr. Dyer smiled the broadest of them all. I did not look at Henry to see his reaction.
“Why is that amusing to you, sir?” I forgot to smile and lean toward him.
“Two reasons.” He held up his fingers and ticked them off one at a time. “Two single ladies. Going to India alone.” He shook his head. “I have never heard of anything more foolish in my life.” He shifted in his seat, as if dismissing me, and turned from me. But my pride would not let me lose.
“I do not think it foolish,” I said, loud enough for everyone in the group to hear. “I think it is adventurous.”
Mr. Pritchard turned back to me, with one eyebrow raised, and looked me over with disdain. He shifted again, but this time he leaned closer to me. Looking straight into my eyes, he said in a blunt voice, “India is no place for girls looking for adventure. It is a hostile country. The journey alone has a good chance of killing you. And if you are not lost at sea, you will probably die of some disease once you are there.” His eyes drifted over my figure lazily. “You are not ugly. It would be better for you to get married and save the adventures for those suited to them.”
He stood, straightened his jacket, and walked away from me. My face burned. I did not dare look at anyone, but I felt their gazes. I felt Henry’s gaze, and I was so humiliated I did not think I would ever be able to meet it again. After sitting awkwardly for a long moment, I stood and walked away with as casual an air as I could force myself to adopt.
I did not know where to look or go. I knew only that I had to leave the group that had witnessed my humiliation at the hands of Mr. Pritchard. Crossing the room, I did not have a safe harbor in mind. But then, like a ray of sunshine, I saw the gaze of the elder Mr. Brandon. He was watching me from where he sat in a corner, far enough removed from the group that he could not have overheard my conversation.
Grasping my courage with desperate hands, I turned my steps to him. I would try once more. Mr. Pritchard had been cruel, and the nervous Mr. Dyer had clearly agreed with him. But Mr. Brandon was kind. I could see it in his eyes.
He stood as I approached, bowing to me, and offered with an outstretched arm the chair next to his. I smiled with relief. I had not erred in my judgment here. He was a kind man.
“Miss Worthington, you look rather flushed. Perhaps the fire was too warm for you?”
I pressed a hand to my hot cheek, thinking of how my face burned from embarrassment, not heat.
“Perhaps.” I thought bravely of my bargain with Mama and my escape to India and the example of Eleanor. I would try again. I had to try again. I could not give it all up because of one man’s rudeness. Sitting next to him, I smiled in the way Eleanor had smiled, and I leaned toward him, and I asked him to tell me about himself.
“I need to speak with you, Kitty.” Sylvia stood before me. Her gloved hands were clenched into fists, and a warning blazed from her cool blue eyes.
I had just left speaking with the elder Mr. Brandon for the past hour. Acting like Eleanor had exhausted me, and the room was much too warm. Seeking the coolness of the hall, I had walked toward the doors when Sylvia intercepted me.
“Of course,” I said, a little surprised by her demeanor.
I followed her out of the room, down the hall, and into the dining room, which had been cleaned after dinner and now sat empty. She closed the doors carefully behind us before whirling around to face me.
“How could you, Kitty?”
I fell back a step, startled. “How could I what?”
“How could you do this to me? After everything I have done for you?” Her face was a splotchy red, and tears made her eyes glisten.
Completely dumbfounded, I shook my head. “What have I done to you?”
She stepped toward me, pointed a finger at my chest, and said with a sob, “You have just spent the past hour trying to steal Mr. Brandon from me! After I told you I liked him! After I showed you the ... the quote ... that he gave me.” Her lips trembled. “The quote about me. Maybe you did not think it was significant, because he didn’t write it himself, but I loved it! It was the sweetest thing any man has ever done for me, and I could easily fall in love with him, and you knew that, and you just sat there and—and—flirted with him, in the most obvious and disgusting manner!”
My mouth had dropped open at her first sentence and I stared at her, stunned. “You mean that paper was from the elder Mr. Brandon?”
“Of course it was!” She wiped at her cheeks. “Who else could it have been from?”
“The son, of course!” I was yelling now. I was horrified at what I had done, but I was appalled, too, that Sylvia had not imagined that there could have been some confusion on my part. “The man who is closer to your age! The handsome one!”
Her eyes opened wide with incredulity. “He is a younger son, Kitty. My children would never have a chance at inheriting anything. The father at least has a title, even if he is only a baron. Besides, I would never be interested in the son. He would drag me all over the countryside, talking about adventures and making me go places that I did not want to go. It would ... it would be like being married to you! I would hate it!”
I reared back, feeling as if I had been struck. “I ... I thought it was a compliment to me that you liked the son. I thought we ...” I took a breath, and let it out with a feeling of great loss. “I thought we were the dearest of friends.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “I think we were good childhood friends, Kitty. But we have been different now for quite some time.”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead, feeling suddenly much too tired for this. “Kate. Please. Please, just once, call me Kate.”
Her expression hardened again, and she looked at me with tightly closed lips.
“You never liked who I grew into, did you?” I asked, suddenly realizing the truth. “That is why you refuse to call me Kate.”
She lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. She did not need to confirm it. I knew it was true. And with the knowledge came a heavy sense of loss.
“Never mind,” I said. “It doesn’t matter what you call me. I am so sorry I flirted with your Mr. Brandon. I had no idea. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think there is any chance of my having stolen him away from you. He kept looking your way.”
“Really?” A small smile appeared.
“Yes. Really. Hopefully no permanent harm has been done.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, feeling defeated. There went two of my prospects. Mr. Pritchard and Mr. Brandon both had to be crossed off my list. That left only the nervous Mr. Dyer, and I had no hope in him. I rested my chin on my hand. Sylvia pulled o
ut the chair next to me and sat down, turning toward me. I could feel her gaze on my face, but I was too embarrassed to meet it.
“I have never seen you behave like that,” she said in a quiet voice. “I have never seen you flirt with any man, much less two in one night. But watching you reminded me very much of someone else.”
I covered my eyes with my hand, dreading her next words. I shook my head. “Don’t say it.”
“You looked very much like Eleanor in there. First, with Mr. Pritchard. And then with Mr. Brandon.”
I closed my eyes tight and fought back tears.
“I need to know why you acted that way, Kitty. If you want to stay here, I need to understand.”
Her words sounded like a threat. If I wanted to stay here? I dropped my hand and looked at her with disbelief. Would she really make me leave Blackmoore simply because I had flirted with two gentlemen? She met my gaze directly and did not look as if she was teasing.
“Very well. I will tell you why I flirted this evening, even though flirting is no great crime.” I drew in a deep breath. “I made a bargain with Mama. She will give me my freedom—my independence—to go to India if I receive and reject three marriage proposals.”
Sylvia stared at me, then laughed, one short, mirthless laugh. “So you thought you could flirt with some gentlemen and then they would propose to you?”
My face burned again. “It has happened to other young ladies.”
She was shaking her head, and her disbelief turned to something I hated even more: pity.
“I have to tell you something, Kit—Kate. And I am not telling you this because I’m upset with you. I am telling you this because I am your friend and you deserve to hear the truth.”
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