"Yes, my brother commissioned it."
"He must have been very proud of you."
A pride he had never experienced. There had been some age difference between them and they had never been close because of it. His brother had been closeted away with his tutor during Felix's childhood and then at Oxford. Himself, he had been sent away to Sandhurst at the age of twelve.
In truth, he had never really known his brother, and at the time, he hadn't known this painting had been commissioned, but it wasn't unusual for the families with officers involved in the final battle. He had yet to see one that depicted the day as it truly was.
"Yes, in the middle of battle, I always take a moment to look heroic with my hair caught by a gentle breeze, while my horse looks up at me adoringly."
"Of course," she said. "What is the point of battle if one cannot look heroic?"
"What indeed. I should take it down."
"No, of course not. It is how much your brother adored you. Brothers always adore their siblings, don't they, Andrew?"
"Endlessly in all things," Andrew said tartly.
"Come," Felix said with a smile and led them to the ballroom. He hadn't entered this room in years. It had few uses other than balls, and he hadn't been around for most of them. But even he knew it was an awe-inspiring room. The one place no detail had been spared to impress.
Sylvia gasped as she walked into the room. Every surface was covered in fine paintings or gilded carvings. It was designed in the elaborate rococo style that had been popular in times past. Sumptuous was the best way to describe it.
"This is a room for showing off," she said.
"I believe that was the intention all along."
Her gaze slowly traveled along the ceiling.
"Endless candles make it sparkle like being inside a jewelry box," he said.
"I can imagine. Frankly, I am quite excited to see it so."
And he was quite excited to see her in it. He wondered what she would wear. Would she have a dress made especially? This wouldn't be some average evening out in someone's house. It would be a gilded affair. "But it will take quite some work to prepare."
"Yes," she said.
"An undertaking that is beyond the capabilities of my staff, I'm afraid."
"I think if we engage one of the celebrated chefs for the evening, he will bring his own kitchen staff. I am sure one of the fine wine distributors can suggest a sommelier that successfully manages to everyone's taste."
"In terms of flowers, I will have to depend on your kind advice."
"Of course."
"I trust you know the best florist for such a task."
"I think Madam Horchect would be the best person for such a job."
"I appreciate how knowledgeable you are."
Sylvia blushed. Blushing was good. It felt strange having the intentions he had. The instinct was there, but he had never really allowed himself to use it. It felt both forbidden and unchartered.
"And beautiful," he said. Her blush deepened.
Chapter 21
THE ROOM FELT WARM, but Sylvia wasn't entirely sure why. What she did know was that Lord Britheney had called her beautiful. And the room was unlike any she had seen before. It was opulence on a scale beyond most houses. It was definitely one of the finest houses in London.
"Well, you must greet the guests, of course. And dance with Araminth. Not more than twice, or else you would be signaling intent."
"Intent?"
"People would perceive it as intent."
"And then be publicly disparaged if you do not follow through," Andrew cut in.
"Ah," Felix said. "So if I dance three times with you, I would signal my intention of marrying you, and everyone gathered would expect both parties to follow through?"
"So you must never ask a girl to dance more than twice. To some even twice is too much."
"It really won't be an issue. Dancing is not a part of my repertoire."
For a moment, she was horrified with herself because she had utterly forgotten about his injured leg. Of course he didn't dance.
"This ceiling really is stunning. I shall be staring at it all night," Andrew said.
"So, let's repeat. You should graciously say hello to everyone," Sylvia stated. In her mind's eye, she tried to imagine him doing so, but struggled to see him cordial and welcoming.
"But I won't know who they are."
"Ah, that's a problem." She stared at him for a moment and her mind worked furiously for a solution. "That is a problem," she repeated.
"Again I will have to lean on your knowledge, Miss Bellworth."
"Yes, of course." That wasn't ideal, because everyone would see her helping him, but what else could be done? She had promised she would help with this ball, but each moment, this undertaking seemed to get more complex.
"Perhaps we should have a look what contents are in the wine stores. I have to admit, I haven't looked. My father did like a tipple."
"Excellent idea," Andrew said.
They walked out of the extraordinary ballroom and he led them down a corridor to a set of stairs leading down. The air grew colder and more stale the further down they went. It wasn't freezing, simply cold.
A door led to a stone room, filled with bottles along racks.
"Obviously your ballroom is exquisite," Andrew said, "but I think I adore this room."
There had to be thousands of bottles. Most were red wines, clarets and even sherry. Clearly not suitable for the ball, but there were some boxes of champagne. "Might have to add a few. Shall we try one?" Lord Britheney suggested.
"Happy to," Andrew said and Britheney bent down to retrieve a bottle.
"We lack glasses," Britheney said.
"I'll go ask for some," Andrew said and turned to the stairs. Sylvia went to argue, but he was gone by the time she had a chance. Really, he shouldn't be leaving her alone with Britheney in a secluded and dark cellar. What was he thinking? Clearly he only had bubbles on his mind.
She turned back to him and smiled.
"Do you like champagne?" Lord Britheney asked.
"How can one not?"
Forcing the cork off with his hand, it popped without flying around the room. He offered the bottle to her. It was uncouth to drink from the bottle, but she took it and placed it to her lips. The bubbles tingled up her nose as she drank. She shouldn't be doing this.
As she gave the bottle back, he took a sip as well. Something about this felt very naughty, because they shouldn't drink out of the bottle and they should absolutely not be left alone like this.
"What else do you like?" Britheney asked.
"Uhm. What most girls like, I suppose."
"Which is what?"
"Spending time with my friends. An exciting adventure."
"You are an adventuress, then?"
"I doubt we share definitions. An adventure in my book would include taking a drive to the country and picking strawberries. I am sure, in your book it is something much more grand."
He smiled. "Yes, perhaps." She wasn't sure she liked it when he smiled. It seemed to soften him and she kept seeing another side to him—a man who lived in this house by himself, and didn't entirely embrace his new role as custodian of this house and the title he bore. "There is perhaps something to be said for simple adventures."
Andrew returned and Sylvia silently released her breath, not entirely sure what kind of threat she felt Lord Britheney posed to her. It wasn't as if she felt in any danger around him as such, even though, according to his own telling, he was capable of doing things necessary to complete his objective.
"Here we are," Andrew said, carrying three bulbous glasses on stems. Britheney filled the glasses with the golden liquid, which fizzed with bubbles. "I don't think anyone would object to this," Andrew said after taking a sip. Capital wine collection," he stated, moving away to survey the racks.
"Well it seems you are rather prepared for this evening we are planning."
"Thanks to my father, I sup
pose. Although I don't know what he was hoarding all this champagne for. There must have been some event he had in mind. Actually, much of this could be my brother’s doing. He was quite fond of a tipple too." There was sadness in his voice. Sylvia couldn't imagine being utterly without family. They had been lucky in her family, only really losing the elderly. Lord Britheney had no one left, but from the sounds of it, he hadn't been terribly close to any of his family. She couldn't imagine that either. Couldn't imagine not teasing her parents like she did, and fighting with Andrew, probably more than she should.
Clearing her voice, she dismissed the dreary thoughts that had overcome her. "It is a very handsome wine store."
"Who would you like to invite?" Britheney asked.
"There are a score of lovely girls we could invite."
"Every ball needs lovely girls," Andrew stated from the other side of a rack.
"But it is your ball. Who would you like to invite?"
"I have no strong feelings on the subject."
"Obviously we cannot invite Alexander as his leg is broken," Andrew said.
"That doesn't mean we can't invite him," Sylvia said.
"Would it not be cruel?" Lord Britheney asked.
Sylvia blinked. She hadn't even thought of it that way. How would she like to be invited to a ball if she had a broken leg? It would seem very insensitive. “I just don’t want to give him the impression that he is expressly not invited.”
"He wouldn't come anyway. Alexander at a ball," Andrew said with a chuckle. "Although he would probably accept the invitation after I tell him of this fabulous wine store. He would be green with envy."
Sylvia frowned. She didn't like Andrew speaking of him that way—particularly in front of Britheney. Why she felt that way, she wasn't entirely sure, but it felt as if it was important that Britheney have a good opinion of him. Even as he had never met this man.
"Alexander has a refined palate," Sylvia said with a smile.
"Palate?" Andrew snorted. "He's a lush."
Sylvia blinked. He really shouldn't be talking this way about a friend.
"No, probably best not to invite him as he'd make his way through your cellar like a termite."
Apparently Sylvia's hard stare wasn't swaying her brother.
"Interesting choice of husband," Lord Britheney said. "I am not sure if I should be offended coming off as second best to such a man."
The statement even sobered Andrew, who finally looked awkward. Sylvia had no idea what to say. What etiquette rule best suited this situation?
"I haven't chosen him as a husband. As I've said numerous times, this prophecy is simply some silliness and we should all forget it."
"Of course," Lord Britheney said. Andrew for once, remained curiously silent, which was good, because she was of mind to murder him in some gentleman's cellar if he so much as uttered another word—especially about the stupid prophecy. "Shall we return to the drawing room?"
Relief washed over her as they ended this awkward conversation.
"Please allow me to assist you," Britheny said as they went to stairs. "Actually, in this case, you are assisting me more than the other way around. Stairs can be difficult."
"It is my pleasure," she said. Softly, she placed her hand on his arm as they walked up the stairs. He was solid and warm underneath her hand, the material of his jacket a fine wool. Was this the first time she'd touched him? Other than the quick peck on her hand, then yes, it was.
What a curious thing to feel this touch so keenly, to feel him move beside her. But his step had that slight awkwardness. Even at the top of the steps, he didn't draw away so they continued walking together toward the drawing room. And she felt a light loss as he finally let her go.
She was being silly, she conceded. Perhaps it had been all this talk of husbands that was making her a little silly. Truthfully, she couldn't see Alexander walking beside her like that.
"But as I mentioned, I do need your assistance with the flowers. I am completely out of my depth when it comes to blooms. How would tomorrow be for such an excursion?"
"Tomorrow would be perfect."
"Unfortunately I cannot join you," Andrew said, "but I am sure mother would be happy to come. She really is quite gifted with flowers."
"That is true," Sylvia confirmed. "She would probably be even better to advise you. Flowers have meaning, messages you send by the choice and arrangement."
"Yet another thing I didn't know," Britheney said and Sylvia couldn't stop herself blushing. Why was she blushing at everything he said? Had she started to develop a tenderness for him? No, this was wrong. He was the perfect husband for Araminth, and he had asked her to assist him to impress her and now she was looking at him all moonfaced. She had to get a grip on herself. "I will pick you up. Shall we say in the afternoon?"
"Splendid," Sylvia said. Had that come out too loud? Perhaps she should extricate herself before either she or Andrew embarrassed her even further. "We shall take our leave. Until tomorrow."
"And thank you for the champagne. Marvelous tipple," Andrew said. "I have to say, I am looking forward to this ball. Might well be the event of the season."
Chapter 22
FELIX WASN'T ENTIRELY sure what reception he would get from Sylvia's mother as he arrived to pick them up in the carriage. While Sylvia would probably be happy to walk, with his limp, he was better off riding or having to take the carriage if company was expected.
Sylvia came out the door just after he arrived, saving him from having to get out. Offering his hand, he helped her ascend. She wore a pretty dress made of a light green material and her mother followed, looking like an older version of her.
"Such a pleasure to meet you again, Lord Britheney," Mrs. Bellworth said. "Sylvia has told me of your plight and we are, of course, delighted to assist you."
"Assistance for which I am eternally grateful," he said. "I am only sorry that Andrew's delightful company is unavailable."
"No, he had to run off somewhere," Sylvia said.
The carriage set off and a silence settled for a moment.
"From what I hear, this is to be a very grand ball," Mrs. Bellworth said, filling the silence.
"I understand it would be a good idea to hold something to introduce myself."
"As you say. The town is very curious about you. Your father was very well known," the woman said. "I didn't know him myself, I am sorry to say."
No one had reason to be sorry to not know his father, because those who did truly were sorry. The man had few loyalties and that included his own family.
It didn't take them long to arrive and it embarrassed him that he couldn't walk such a distance, but he would suffer for it later if he overtaxed his leg.
A man from the store came out to assist them to alight. It wasn't so much a store as a warehouse. The very air was moist and large windows made it bright. Blossoms filled every space. It was as if walking in a dream. Perhaps the most beautiful and fresh smelling place in London.
There were bouquets that were riots of color. Iridescent color that seemed to glow. There was so much he didn't know where to look.
"Oh they have orchids," Mrs. Bellworth said and drew herself away to examine them.
"Unfortunately, it is not the best time of year for flowers." Miss Bellworth said and he didn't understand at all, because as far as he could see, there was every flower under the sun. "Most of these are hothouse."
"And that is bad?" They looked splendid to him.
"They are more expensive. Many come from France." He hadn't realized flowers crossed borders. Luckily, expense was not an issue. Truthfully, this was the one and only ball he planned to throw. "I like those," he said, pointing to large white flowers.
"Madonna lilies," Sylvia said and walked over to them, running her fingers over the stark white petals.
"How is it nature can produce such exquisiteness?" he asked.
"Fertility and chastity," she said. "That is the message of these."
"They are m
utually exclusive."
She blushed and he loved it when she blushed. "Yes, but not to the Madonna. Irises, she said, moving onto another set of purple flowers.
"And what do they mean?"
"A message."
"A message of what?"
"A message of whatever you pair them with."
"Ah. So what message do I say if I pair these?" he asked, pulling out a purple one to join one of the large white ones and giving them to her. Their fingers touched as he did and he felt the energy that ran between them.
"Probably one you shouldn't," she said, avoiding his eyes, but the blush gave her away.
"Maybe the world would be a better place if we all sent messages we shouldn't. And this one?" he said, picking up a bulbous purple one with lots of smaller flowers.
"A hyacinth. Games and sport, and the color means regret."
"In other words, a rogue's bouquet. Would your mother chide me terribly if I sent a bouquet to you of these flowers?"
"She would bar you from the house. Include the rhododendron and you would absolutely have the kind of bouquet no mother would approve of."
"What does the rhododendron mean?"
"Danger."
"Good to know. This flower arrangement is much tricker than I thought, because I would probably have exposed myself as a libertine."
A smile spread across her lips and her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Never fear, we would not let you fall into such a trap."
Mrs. Bellworth returned. "Have you found some flowers you like?"
"I like the rhododendrons and Madonna lilies," he said. "I think we should cover every room with them." It was what people believed of him so he might as well, he thought wryly.
"Visually a pretty combination, but I think we can do better," Mrs. Bellworth said diplomatically. "The fashion is for abundant bouquets with many different kinds and colors. I found a bouquet in the back that they just finished preparing."
She turned and walked around the corner.
"Your chaperones have a habit of disappearing on you," he said.
"My mother expects you to behave admirably."
"And you? What do you expect, considering I just gave you a rogue's bouquet?"
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