For a moment, she seemed not to have an answer.
"The only one I have ever given, I will add."
"One I cannot accept."
"Shame."
"My mother is leading us," she said, clearing her throat, but for a moment, she didn't move.
"What flower means a kiss?"
Her breath hitched. "There isn't one."
"A deeper shame."
"Silly," she said, gently whacking him with the flowers.
As she walked away, he followed, his attention drawn to wisps of hair that seemed to stroke her neck as she walked. And urge to grab her and kiss the tender skin of her neck pierced through him, but he restrained himself.
"What of this one?" Mrs. Bellworth said, indicating to a marble bowl, filled with bright flowers and dark foliage.
Truthfully, Felix didn't care about flowers. As long as there was some present, he considered his job done. "I think your expert opinion has led us right," he said. "But much larger. Can they do larger?"
They all sought the attendant, who nodded.
In the end, he ordered three large bowls and fourteen smaller urns. His man of business had been roped in to engage the musicians, the sommelier and whatever celebrated chef was currently in fashion. This left only the guest list. For himself, he had relatively few people to invite. Which left around two hundred and eighty invitations to be filled.
"I think we have achieved success," Mrs. Bellworth said as they left the florist and returned to his waiting carriage.
Sitting, his gaze traveled between Mrs. Bellworth and her daughter. Interesting, Sylvia wasn't horrified by his teasing. Her regard had changed on closer acquaintance. Neither had she taken it completely seriously. But there was a large grain of truth in his jest.
His intention was to hook her and draw her in. He wanted her heart to quicken when he walked into the room, but he wasn't sure that it did. Her intent had been to dismiss him and even to treat him as a beneficiary of her matchmaking charity.
As they traveled, her attention was out the window. There was a humid warmth building in the carriage.
Mrs. Bellworth spoke. "So exciting throwing a ball. From what I hear, it will be an evening to surpass all others."
"I don't know about that. It will simply be a ball. You and your husband are, of course, most heartily invited."
Pleasure colored her cheeks. "That is so kind."
Sylvia was regarding him. What he wouldn't pay to know what her thoughts were at that moment. While she had been easy to read, he was finding her more difficult now.
It didn't take long to arrive and Mrs. Bellworth stepped out of the carriage first with the help of the driver. Again his knee was stopping him from being gallant.
"Thank you for your assistance," he said before Sylvia had a chance to move.
"We didn't really do anything."
"You made the experience tolerable."
A smile formed on her lips. Politeness more than anything.
"I will have to trespass on your kindness further with the invitations. My circle of acquaintances is small, and I do not know who else to invite."
"I can make a start on a list," she said, her mind already working away. "I shall send you a draft this evening. Obviously, you should invite the notables. I cannot say I travel in those circles, but I know who they are. And Araminth, of course."
"Of course," he repeated, aware that she still thought this ball was planned for this girl Araminth when all along, it was planned for her. "I look forward to hearing from you. Until next time." He reached for her hand and she let him take it. The tenderest of kisses he placed on her knuckles. It was the only touch they were allowed, although there had been a few times during the excursion when other kisses had come into his mind.
"My Lord," she said before slipping out of the carriage. Her expression was more serious now. She had those expressions every once in a while, and he wondered what they meant. He had hopes it meant that he in some way unsettled her notion of the category she had placed him in.
Chapter 23
LORD BRITHENEY'S LETTER arrived the next morning, after sending the suggested guest list the previous afternoon. She had taken it to her bedroom to read, wanting some privacy as Andrew was mewling over his sore head. Served him right. Why should they have any sympathy when his agony was completely self-inflicted?
Cracking the red wax with his family crest stamped into it, she opened the stiff paper. His handwriting was better than she had expected, although she didn't know why she had expected it to be poor. His education would certainly not be lacking. In fact, he had been educated at Sandhurst, which was one of the most prestigious schools in the country.
Perhaps it was his sometimes gruff manner, but he had been perfectly gentlemanly with her mother. Although slightly more provoking when she had been out of earshot. He wasn't entirely stoic, and he wasn't entirely polite. There was an edge there—of something she couldn't put her finger on. It wasn't as if he was debauched like his father. According to his own telling, he didn't particularly dally with actresses, and when she had queried Andrew, he didn't act inappropriately at the clubs, as so many others did. She couldn't entirely work him out.
Miss Bellworth,
Thank you for the list of names you sent. I will have invitations drawn up and sent. I will have to trust in you entirely in these things. My one regret is that I will not be able to dance with you, or anyone else for that matter. One might query why I would plan a ball as that is the case. I would be lying if I didn't say duty was the greatest proportion of my reasoning, but you have made the process much more enjoyable. I look forward to seeing you on the night.
Your Servant,
Felix
It didn't escape her that he had signed the letter with his Christian name. It suggested intimacy between them—friendship at the very least. Different parts of her were pleased and equally dismayed. It had never been her intention to be on such personal terms with him, but somehow, she'd been absorbed into his world. A place both more privileged and lonely than her own.
A quick knock sounded on the door and she knew by the sound that it was Ester. They hadn't seen each other for a few days, and Sylvia quickly hid the letter inside a book. Why she was hiding it, she wasn't sure. Perhaps because Ester still had that stupid prophecy in mind and would see any dealings between them as proof that it was true.
As for herself, she had dismissed it entirely. Even to the point where she was no longer considering Alexander as something more than Andrew's friend, and not her future husband simply because he broke his leg. It was stupid, silly notions and she wasn't that insensible.
"Invitations to Lord Britheney's ball have started arriving. I received one this morning. I didn't even think he knew my name."
Oh, he knew her name and the details of her infatuation with Marcus Sousey. But there was nothing to be gained from telling Ester that, other than to embarrass her.
"I think he and Andrew have an acquaintance."
"Oh, Andrew didn't say."
How was it that Ester and Andrew acted as if they belonged together? It had only been a few weeks since Andrew had started paying attention to Ester.
"Andrew has asked me to not dance with others."
"What?" Sylvia said, astonished. That was quite some message. It was tantamount to staking his claim on her. She stared at Ester to try to read her expression. "And how have you responded?"
Ester was blushing and then she shrugged. "I suppose I am not opposed to the idea."
"By opposed to the idea, you do understand you are suggesting more than simply who you dance with."
"I'm not a dolt."
"And if Andrew doesn't follow through with the implication?" Would he do that? Andrew was a bit of a scatterbrain at times, but he was never deliberately cruel. Well, certainly not on such a scale with Ester’s reputation at stake. He did understand what this meant, didn't he? Ugh. Some of the finer points of etiquette did escape him. This was something that Sylvia h
ad to deal with before Andrew accidentally ruined Ester's reputation without meaning to.
Ester didn't say anything. "Do you think he would do that?" Well, there was some uncertainty there, but Sylvia could also see the hurt encroaching—and he hadn't even done anything yet. Except get Ester's hopes up. Because apparently she had hopes. It was clear on her face.
"Not deliberately, no, but he can be unobservant."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing," Sylvia said, taking her hand. "Just not to let any man take any advantages until he had confirmed his intentions. Under any circumstances. That includes my brother. So I think your answer to such a request must be no."
When Ester was interested in a man, she could be completely insensible . If Marcus would have suggested she meet him alone in a dark alley, she probably would have. And now she was in danger of being trapped by Andrew's ill-conceived suggestions.
"Never mind," Sylvia said. "It will be a fabulous party."
"They say the event of the season. There hasn't been a ball planned at the Britheney house for years. And for a long time, events at the Britheney house weren't ones any respectable woman would attend. But Lord Britheney seems to have overcome that blight. It is said even the Duke of Wellington might attend. Could you imagine us going to a party where the Duke of Wellington is attending?"
The brightness in Ester's eyes was unmistakable.
"Yes, it will be marvelous. Are you going to call on Miriam Flautener this afternoon with me?"
"I can't. Mother expects me back. I really should rush. I just dropped by to say hello."
A flying visit, which Ester sometimes did. But now Sylvia had to wonder if she was an afterthought and the reason for this visit had really been her ailing brother.
They made plans for tomorrow instead and then Ester was gone, and Sylvia went in hunt for her brother, which she found wrapped up in a blanket in the library.
"You asked her to reserve her whole dance card?" she stated harshly.
"Could you please speak more quietly?"
"Do you know what kind of message that sends? You do understand what kind of message that sends?"
"Yes, I'm not an idiot."
"You are basically publicly proposing to her?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Is that so bad?"
Even with all this, the answer astounded her. He was actually thinking about marrying Ester? Now she was stumped. Firstly, she couldn't imagine her brother as mature enough to marry. Secondly, to Ester. Clearly Ester was an excellent girl and much too good for him.
"Have you spoken to father about this?" she asked after a long while of silence.
"Not yet."
Both her parents liked Ester, so she didn't foresee any problems there. They might actually be delighted. And if Sylvia did end up a spinster for the rest of her life, she would be in the company of her best friend. And any children her and Andrew had. The idea was simply too shocking to consider.
"You're serious about this," she finally said quietly.
"Well, as far as I can see, I couldn't do better."
A statement difficult to argue, but it was only recently he had seen Ester in such a light. "It is just so fast."
"If I don't act, she will be snapped up by someone else. Even Alexander has a tenderness for her."
"What?" Sylvia said.
"Oh, didn't I mention? I thought you knew."
Ideas of Ester and Alexander bombarded her mind. How had she not seen that?
"But I will beat him to the prize."
"This is not about competition," she said.
"I know that. All I am saying is that I can't wait around. So yes, it is all happening rather fast."
In fact her brother sounded sensible about it all.
"So you are prepared to make a statement at this party?"
"So will you if you stand by Lord Britheney's side throughout the evening," he said.
"I will not. I am merely helping him identify his guests."
"Isn't it curious how you are helping him at every turn?"
"He appreciates my knowledge."
"Is that all he appreciates?"
"What is that supposed to mean? I thought you liked him."
"I do, but it wasn't me he invited to his house to help him plan this ball. I was simply the chaperone."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Don't be an idiot. Britheney isn't an idiot and he could quite easily manage to pick out flowers without our approval."
Sylvia didn't know what to say. On some level, the things Andrew said were true. On another, she had no idea what this meant. It put the letter upstairs into a new light. What was it he wanted from her? What was the point of all these little confidences he had bestowed about himself and his background? The flirting with the flowers and the intent interest he showed in her opinions?
She didn't understand. It was as though she had been completely deluding herself and refusing to see it. Why? Why would she do that? What was it she wanted from him, because there was something driving her, and it had to do with the thrill she felt when he suggested inappropriate flowers. The same thrill that drove all her dealings with him.
Chapter 24
ANOTHER VERY COLD NIGHT had left frost on the windows, and Felix missed India with its humid mornings. Nothing quite matched the scent of the lush, tropical gardens in the mornings. Funny that what he missed the most was the scent. There were many unpleasant things about India—including the heat, the sheer mass of people and other less pleasant odors, but he missed his life there.
It was difficult not to be resentful that his life had been usurped by the title and the responsibilities to it. And it was astounding that so many thought him inordinately lucky. What could be said to such persons?
In his heart, he also knew that his nostalgia presented a false notion. It wasn't that he would simply be happy in India. What he missed was his youth, where he had no real responsibility and no real care for the future either. Things would not be the same if he went back. What he missed was not something he could recapture.
So he needed to find some peace with this new life. Throwing balls certainly wasn't it. Underlying it was the business of the people he was going to surround himself with. It would spell his future happiness.
"My Lord," Mr. Croft said quietly from the door. "The post has arrived."
"Right," he said and eyed the bundle of letters that Croft put down on his desk. Say what you will about balls, they took an inordinate amount of planning. Mostly for his man of business, who was less than pleased with this addition to his duties, even as Felix assured him this would only happen once.
Not only were there letters from the suppliers of the various services needed, there were also letters from persons wishing to supply their services.
Then there was another from Miss. S. Bellworth and he discarded all the other letters and slid the brass penknife within the envelope and pulled out a single folded sheet.
Dear Lord Britheney,
It has been an honor to be of assistance to you, although I can not say I have done anything more than anyone else could have.
She was modest and he suspected she truly believed that. Someone like her saw her own point of view and characteristics in other people.
As I mentioned, I have never been involved with planning an evening of this scale, so perhaps it would be prudent to thank me afterward.
The Sincerest Regard,
Sylvia Bellworth
There was a tone to her note he couldn't put a finger on. This wasn't the real her he had seen on a number of occasions now, but a cloak of politeness. This politeness was not what he wanted. He liked dealing with the real person, the one that chided him and was even exasperated. In all maelstrom of politeness he had experienced in London, it felt as if it was the only dealings with a true person he'd had. And her brother, of course, who didn't so much bother with politeness, probably as his good nature meant he didn't need to.
Tapping the letter on the
desk, he looked out the window. He wasn't entirely satisfied and he picked up a sheet of paper and pulled it to him. Exactly what he wanted to say, he wasn't sure.
Dear Miss Bellworth,
I think perhaps on second thought, I should have asked you to host the evening as all seem to enjoy your company, while at me they look with suspicion. I am not sure I have met a single person who does not find you delightful. How is it you can be so agreeable to all? I am, of course, asking as a person who can be agreeable to very few. Is it too late the withdraw the invitations and issue new ones?
Your Servant,
Felix
This letter was completely out of character for him. Never in his life had he written one, or flirted with someone like he was with her.
"Have this delivered at the earliest opportunity," he asked Mr. Croft when he next appeared and Felix handed over the letter.
The clock in the room ticked away dully. There was nothing for him to do. The accounts were all reviewed. Well, he could assist more with the ball, but he felt too distracted to. Where was Miss Bellworth now? The letter was likely on the way to her right at that moment. While she wasn't a girl who sat at home all day, few wanted to venture out on such a cold day.
For a moment, he turned his attention to Lady Wenstropp, and reviewed his strategy for dealing with her. Including the Duke of Wellington to clinch her agreement, he was sure of it. It was a sturdy soul who said no to the duke.
Feeling restless, he paced in front of the window and watched the snow that was starting to fall outside. Then he exhaled deeply and wondered if he should take himself off to the Black Swan, simply to break the quiet monotony of the day. No, it was too early. Only people who were seeking to escape their own skins were there at this time of day, and he had too much pride to count himself as one of those poor lost souls.
Maybe a trip to the book merchant was in order to stock up on things to read on sparse winter days. Reading had not been a typical pastime throughout his life, but since his injury, he'd had to fill his convalescence with something, and had read whatever had been at hand. There were things that interested him—politics, technological advances. There were even farming techniques he should probably read up on. But none of these topics interested him today. What he wanted, was to hear back from Miss Bellworth.
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