If anything, the duchess had taken on a sort of governess role. She’d accompanied her to the seamstress, ordered new gloves and slippers. She’d given a brief but thorough lesson on every eligible gentleman in good society.
In short, the duchess had been wonderful. But as Estella eyed her now, it occurred to her that she still did not quite understand why the duchess had chosen to help her. And, even more confusing, how she’d dragged the marquess into it.
Yes, he’d been Andrew’s dearest friend. But were he and the duchess so close that the duchess felt comfortable asking for his assistance?
As she watched her two benefactors, she became acutely aware of what a fine pair they made. Though she was a widow, she was still quite young. Likely the same age as Sebastian, or perhaps even a year or two younger.
Were they merely acquaintances or friends, or…
Estella turned back to the musicians with a sigh. Did it matter? No, of course it didn’t. She supposed it only bothered her that the two people currently guiding her entire life were both a mystery. She’d entrusted her future to these two powerful, intimidating figures without the slightest hint as to their motivations or true feelings.
"Would you prefer the punch?" Lord Alderton’s question cut through her thoughts and Estella found herself blinking like a fool.
Punch? She returned back in the present moment, and— Yes. She’d been staring at her glass of lemonade when she’d sighed. She’d most likely been frowning at it as though it had offended her.
She cleared her throat, turned her head, and forced a smile. "The lemonade is lovely. Thank you."
He seemed so relieved, she fought a laugh. Yes, he was an endearing man, to be sure. And far less difficult to comprehend than a particularly dour marquess she knew.
Lord Alderton settled back into the chair beside her. "I confess I'm not much of a musicale man," he said, nodding toward the young woman currently torturing a pianoforte at the front of the room. "But the company more than compensates."
She smiled at the lovely compliment. And if there was a little part of her that wished his words had made her warm or flustered or giddy…
Well, that was just a childish wish, was it not?
She took a sip of her lemonade. A calm pulse was a perfectly acceptable foundation for a marriage. Preferable, even. It meant steady judgment. There was no danger of being swept off her feet by charm and flattery, which was precisely the sort of behavior the duchess had warned her about.
But just then?—
She felt it. That awareness that prickled along the back of her neck like the air before a storm.
Sebastian was looking at her. Odd how she always knew it.
It took everything in her not to fidget. It was even more difficult not to turn and confirm that his gaze was on her.
"Miss Hale?" Lord Alderton was watching her.
"Forgive me." She turned to him. "You were saying?"
He opened his mouth but was cut short by the sound of instruments tuning, coming to life. The gathered crowd found their seats. Estella was grateful for the distraction. She wasn’t much in the mood for polite conversation—comfortable or not.
The pianoforte performance concluded to polite applause. There was a shuffling of guests as the next performer prepared, and Estella saw Sebastian making his way toward them. Or rather, making his way toward the refreshment table, which happened to require passing near them.
He looked particularly striking today. His dark coat was impeccably cut, and his dark hair was groomed neatly. The scar was visible in the afternoon light, but she'd stopped noticing it the way she had at first. It was simply part of his face now. Part of him.
There were times when she found herself thinking it actually added to his appeal. She wouldn’t say it was dashing or roguish. That seemed too whimsical considering the tragedy that had caused it. But it did mar the otherwise too-handsome features, making him more…real.
He was a man who’d faced hardships. Who’d overcome grief and tragedy, just as she had.
And perhaps Sebastian was just as attuned to her stares as she was to his, because he stopped beside her. He inclined his head. "Miss Hale. Lord Alderton."
"Blackwood," Alderton said pleasantly. "Enjoying the music?"
Sebastian's gaze flicked to the pianoforte, where the next performer was arranging her sheet music. "Immensely."
It was one word, delivered with such perfect, bone-dry flatness that Estella's lemonade nearly came out of her nose.
Pressing a hand to her lips, she stifled the response. She would not laugh. No, she would absolutely not laugh, because Lord Alderton was sitting right there being perfectly nice and she was not going to snort, for heaven’s sake, at another man's deadpan observation.
