She turned on her heel, whipping the heavy tome out. A cloud of dust bloomed when she pulled it down from the shelf, and she coughed genteelly.
Now it was Arthur’s turn to blush. “I beg your pardon,” he muttered. “The servants are greatly overstretched with the cleaning, since we are opening up the house to guests and entertaining, so I, er, I told them to omit dusting the library.”
“It is your house, Lord Lanwood,” she responded coolly. “You must do with it as you wish. Do excuse me, and I am sorry for intruding uninvited into your private sanctum.”
“But it’s not my…” Arthur began weakly, but to no avail. Book tucked under her arm, Felicity was marching away, closing the door behind her when no doubt she really wanted to slam it. “… private sanctum,” he finished with a sigh.
Oh, well done, Arthur. Well done, indeed,he thought sourly.
Tiptoeing to the door, Arthur inched it open, and peered out into the hallway. He could see the trim figure of Miss Thornhill striding away, head held high. As he watched, she paused halfway down, and took out the book from underneath her arm. She flicked through the pages, pausing at a spot halfway through.
“Interesting,” she murmured to herself, under her breath, then walked on more slowly, reading as she went.
Arthur hid a wry smile. So this was Lucy’s guest, the friend she’d so longed to see. Well, she had spirit enough to make up for Lucy’s calmness and placidity. That was good.
Of course, he’d made a terrible impression himself, but that couldn’t be helped.
Conversation and laughter echoed down the hallway, presumably from the half-opened parlour door at the bottom of the corridor, where sunlight spilled out into the hall. Suddenly, the thought of entering and greeting his guests filled Arthur with absolute dread.
No,he thought wildly.No, I can’t. I can’t, and I won’t. Nobody can make me.
Rearing back from the door, he stumbled towards the French doors, flinging them open. A cool breeze rushed into the room, making the curtains flick and dance, and pushing back his hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes, revelling in the fresh air. His scar throbbed strangely, tugging at his skin. The surgeon had warned that it might happen, that such deep wounds tended to cause strange, long-term symptoms.
One symptom, apparently, was people treating you strangely and generally ignoring you.
A familiar voice caught Arthur’s attention. It was his mother, talking in a low voice to somebody, possibly the butler.
“… in here? Yes, it’s very like him, sneaking away when there are guests to be greeted. You know how Lord Lanwood enjoys his rest and privacy. Still, he really had better come out. I shall talk to him.”
And then the handle started to twist.
Arthur thought quickly. He could stand there and do nothing, of course, and try and convince his mother that he would much rather stay here, away from people. It would not, naturally, have any effect. When Beatrice had set her mind on something, she was undoubtedly sure to get her way. And he reallyshouldgo and greet his guests, before the soiree tonight.
The gathering which was going to be much larger than he had been led to believe.
Or he could save himself the trouble, and simply… simply slip away.
As the door opened, Arthur stepped neatly out of the open doors onto the terrace, and tiptoed away along the side of the house, leaving his mother calling his name in the library behind him.
***
“Looking very fine, your lordship, if I may say so,” Julius commented, smiling complacently.
Julius was a flaxen-haired, plump youth, who was not quite as experienced a valet as he claimed. Not that Arthur minded. Aside from a little help in shaving, and perhaps with pulling on his tighter coats and getting out of his boots, he didn’t much care to be dressed up like a doll. He had not had a valet in the army, naturally, and much preferred it that way.
Gentlemen, however, always had valets, and lords certainly did. Beatrice had pointed that out often enough, and eventually Arthur had hired Julius.
Julius was a decent enough young man, who kept Arthur’s clothes clean and pressed, but didn’t bother him too much about following the latest fashions or allowing himself to be dressed and generally babied.
Tonight, though, a great deal rested on how Arthur looked. There was nothing to be done about his scar, or his unsatisfactory manners, so he’d better look the part of a gentleman, if nothing else.
Julius had done a good job. Arthur’s hair was well-styled, shining in carefully careless waves over his forehead. He wore a midnight-blue velvet suit, wearing a paler blue and gold waistcoat underneath, and his Hessians were polished to a high shine. His cravat was done in one of the newer styles, which Julius had picked out of a magazine, and frothed around his neck like a waterfall. A delicate sapphire cravat pin sparkled in the depths of lace.
“Thank you, Julius. You’ve done well. I know I don’t give you much to work with.”
“That’s not true, your lordship,” Julius responded brusquely. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, you don’t need any padding or corsets. That makes things a great deal easier.”
Arthur gave a wry smile. His reflection copied him, looking surely paler and more nervous than he must look in real life. Or so he hoped, at least.
