She ate a dinner for which she had no appetite, wondering if she could use his powerful sense of duty and honor to save him.
Harriette, bless her, picked up conversation as if nothing had happened, and talked about plans for the garden.
The play was doubtless excellent, and ethereal Mrs. Hardcastle with her long silver hair was perfect as the fairy queen, but Maria paid little attention. She sat in her box seeking ways to put Vandeimen in contact with his past, his future, and his friends.
As Sarah had said, they had been born neighbors in Sussex and all called George. A patriotic gesture, he’d explained, in response to the actions of the French sansculottes against their own monarch.
“We were lucky, I suppose,” he’d said. “We could have all been called Louis. That would have been too much for our staunchly English fathers to stomach, thank God.”
They’d been christened on the same day, in the same church, and been playmates in the nursery years. As lads they’d been inseparable, and in the end, they had all joined the army at the same time. Their talents and inclinations had differed, however, and their military careers had swept them apart. Con had chosen the infantry, Van and Hawk cavalry. But then Hawk had been seconded to the Quartermaster’s Division.
They hadn’t seen a great deal of each other during their army years, but he didn’t talk about them as if they were estranged. So why weren’t they in touch, at least by letter?
Lord Wyvern was probably busily involved with his new estate in Devon, but he could still write.
Hawk was Major George Hawkinville, heir to a manor that went back to the Domeday Book. His father, Squire John Hawkinville, was still alive, living at Hawkinville Manor. Her gazetteer had described it as “an ancient, though not notable house in the village of Hawk in the Vale, Sussex.”
The same gazetteer had described Vandeimen’s home as “a handsome house in the Palladian manner,” and Somerford Court as “Jacobean, adapted and adorned, not entirely felicitously, in the following centuries.”
The main word used to describe Crag Wyvern in Sussex was “peculiar.”
Wyvern had been a second son, but Vandeimen and the major were both only sons. Strange that they had joined the army.
Major Hawkinville was still at his duties abroad, apparently, but Wyvern must know of the heavy losses Vandeimen had suffered—mother, two sisters, then father—so why was he doing nothing to help? If only one of these friends was here to help hold Vandeimen together....
The curtain fell, signaling an intermission, and she must leave her thoughts to smile and talk as her footman servedrefreshments. Everyone was enchanted by the play and delighted with the Titania.
“Mrs. Hardcastle’s hair is naturally white, they say,” said Cissy Embleborough, “though she’s still under thirty. And she always dresses in white.” Cissy leaned closer and whispered, “They say she was mistress to the Marquess of Arden until he married last year. So not quite as pure as the white suggests.”
Maria had never imagined it.
Her guests were the Embleboroughs, including Cissy’s son and daughter. Natalie was here, too, and Harriette, of course. Maria was mostly able to let talk flow around her. She noted Vandeimen doing the same thing. Did he generally do so, or was this part of his dark mood? She suspected she had been very unperceptive these past weeks.
There was a knock on the door. Her footman opened it and turned to announce, “Major Hawkinville, ma’am.”
Maria stared at the tall man in uniform, feeling as if she’d performed a conjuring trick. Then she thought to look at Vandeimen. He was already on his feet. “Hawk!”
There was joy there, but a great many other things too.
Chapter Six
He was smiling, and it was a heartaching flash of boyishness she’d never seen before.
Now he was grasping his friend’s hand, and she had the feeling that he’d like to embrace him. They weren’t estranged, and whatever magic had brought the major here, it was good magic.
Everyone was watching them, doubtless sensing an important moment, then Vandeimen turned to her. “Maria, I’ve spoken of Major Hawkinville, an old friend and neighbor. Hawk, my lovely bride to be, Mrs. Celestin.”
She held out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Major.”
He was hawkish, though a second later she wasn’t sure why. No hooked nose, no yellow eyes. His face was lean, his hair a soft brown, and worn a little long with a wave in it. He was, above all, elegant, making even Van look a little rough around the edges.
He took her hand and actually raised it to his lips. She felt their pressure through her glove. “How unfair of Van to steal you before I had a chance, Mrs. Celestin.”
She started to smile, amused by his flirtation, but then she caught a hard glint in his deeply blue eyes. Hawkish indeed. But why was he turning a predatory eye on her?
“You are still in the army, Major?” she asked, to fill the silence, though it was inane, given his scarlet and braid.
“Easing my way out, Mrs. Celestin.”
