“Your mother mentioned that you were interested in art history?” Lady Elworth asked from beside him.
“Yes, I am,” Robert answered a little uncertainly. He glanced over at his mother and caught her gaze on him briefly before she looked back at Lord Elworth.
“Oh! Well, I wanted to ask your opinion on this painting, here?” Lady Elworth said, gesturing towards the back of the room. “Amelia guessed that it was painted around two centuries ago. Perhaps you could lend your voice to the discussion?”
Robert sighed inwardly. That was his mother’s plan. Lady Amelia was standing by the painting, and he made himself smile as he went over to join the group there. He looked across the room at his mother, but she was ignoring him.
Dash it, Mama,he thought crossly as he went to stand with the group around the painting.I must salute your ingenuity, even if you do use it to torment me.
He stood with the group, listening to the discussion, but his mind was not there with them. It was outside in the garden where he had seen Miss Brooke, wondering where she was and if he might see her again.
Chapter 5
The sound of chattering voices hit Sarah like a wave. It was evening, the smell of cool, dew-soaked grass drifting through the window of the hallway. Though it were not loud, the sound seemed like cannon-fire in her ears, accustomed as they were to silence. She tensed, her breath stopping for a moment. Her heart raced and she stood rooted to the spot, unable for a moment to step forward. She was expected to join the guests in the drawing room and then to go down to dinner.
It has been so long since I was at any sort of gathering,she thought wildly. Her fingers laced through each other, a habit to stop them plucking nervously at the blue muslin of her gown.
She heard the butler’s footsteps coming up the hallway and she breathed in, smelling the scent of perfume and pomade. It was the smell of so many gatherings of theton, and she felt her knees lock, even though she forced herself to take another step forward. Even before she had become accustomed to the silence of Wakeford, she had hated public gatherings. Before she could turn and run, she heard her cousin’s voice.
“Ah! Sarah! There you are. You look lovely. Come in, dear. Edward is over there with Lady Egerton. She has just arrived. Go and join them, if you like?” she added with a smile.
“Thank you,” Sarah murmured, understanding that Caroline knew how afraid she was. She had evidently chosen the most affable, friendly people in the room for Sarah to talk to, and she crossed the floor to join Edward by the window.
“Sarah! My dear. May I introduce you to the Earl and Countess of Egerton? They have just arrived. Lady Egerton is the daughter of Her Grace the dowager Duchess of Clairwood,” he added, with a pointed glance at Sarah.
Sarah swallowed hard, dropping a curtsey. The dowager Duchess of Clairwood was the woman who had been so unbearably rude the previous day. Cheeks burning, she straightened up from her curtsey, studying the young woman who stood before her.
“Nice to meet you, my lady,” she said indifferently, mistrustful of the lady due to her connection with the odious woman who had insulted her. “Nice to meet you, my lord,” she added to the man who stood beside her.
The two greeted her and Sarah studied them unobtrusively as they chatted to Edward and herself. Lady Egerton was tall, with a long oval face and black hair that she wore in a chignon, partly covered by a thick band of dark blue lace; her attempt at covering her hair. She had dark eyes, a long, graceful neck, and a comfortable posture and manner, as if she was deeply at home in herself and in any possible surroundings. She looked only distantly like the tall, blond-haired man who Sarah had met yesterday.
He must be her brother,Sarah thought distractedly,since she is the daughter of the Duchess of Clairwood, and he is the Duchess’ son.
The young woman seemed nothing like the dowager duchess—she was talking amiably with Edward, her warm laugh lifting Sarah’s frayed spirits. The lady turned to Sarah with a twinkling-eyed smile, but before she could say anything, the dowager duchess appeared.
“Victoria!” the dowager duchess greeted Lady Egerton. “Are you not overly hot in that shawl?”
“No, Mama,” Lady Egerton commented lightly, tucking the offending garment into the crook of her elbows. “It’s a little chilly this evening. No slur on your fine hospitality intended,” she added with a grin at Edward. “The fire is amply warm.”
Edward smiled. “Thank you,” he said teasingly. Lady Egerton laughed.
Sarah smiled at Lady Egerton. She seemed a pleasant, warm-hearted person, and Sarah could not help liking her. Her gaze moved from the tall, dark-haired countess to her mother, and she tensed. The woman was looking straight at her but ignoring her completely as though she was a footman or part of the furniture. In high society, it was what was known as the “cut direct”, the rudest form of failing to acknowledge an acquaintance.
“Lord Averhill,” she addressed Edward, turning to look at him after a few seconds of giving Sarah a hard, cold stare. “Might I avail upon your hospitality and request you have the drapes drawn back? It is too hot in here.”
“Oh. Of course,” Edward said swiftly. “I will see to it directly.” He nodded to Sarah and the earl and countess, excusing himself for a moment. Sarah stood uncomfortably, trying to ignore the dowager duchess, her cheeks burning with a mix of shame and rage as she recalled the woman’s rudeness.
“Victoria,” the duchess began, addressing her daughter. “Might you come here a moment? I require your opinion. I have been discussing a matter with Lady Bardwell, and I...”
She trailed off as someone approached the group. The person was approaching behind Sarah, and she turned around and her heart almost stopped in surprise. The Duke of Clairwood was there. Sarah stopped breathing for a moment as his gaze met her own. He stared into her eyes, and she felt as though she was being drawn into his gaze, falling into those deep sapphire eyes and drowning there. It was only a moment, and the duchess cleared her throat.
“Robert!” She addressed her son. “Perhaps you might help me? Lady Bardwell and I were discussing the Shakespeare play, Henry the Fifth, and...”
“You were requesting my sister’s help just a moment ago,” the duke said smoothly. “I think in matters of English literature, she is far more well-informed than I.”
Sarah hid a smile. The duchess shot her son an angry look but turned away. She began to speak to her daughter, and the duke turned to Sarah.
“I was glad to find you here,” he said. His voice was low and resonant, extremely beautiful. It sent shivers down her spine to hear it. “I wished to apologise properly for my son’s exuberant behaviour yesterday. He can be careless sometimes.” A small half-smile played across his mouth.
