Page 18 of The Work of Art

“Oh, yes,” she said. “The dinner tomorrow evening. I’d almost forgotten.”

“Will you be in attendance?”

Her smile faded. “I think I must.”

“The prospect doesn’t appeal to you.”

“It’s not that. It’s only…” She hesitated. “Since I’ve come to London, I sometimes find social gatherings rather difficult.”

“The society in London must be very different than what you’ve been used to in Fox Cross.”

“I’m afraid there wasn’t much society to be had in Fox Cross. My grandfather preferred a quiet life. We had guests to stay once or twice a year, and Sunday dinners with the vicar and his wife.” She broke off, looking up at him. “It must sound awfully dull.”

“I assure you it doesn’t. In fact, it sounds much like my own life in Somersetshire. Quiet, with little society.”

“What do you do to pass the time?”

Arthur reflected on the years he’d spent down in the country since coming back from Spain. He had isolated himself there, not even employing enough servants to properly run Heywood House. “Sometimes it seems as if the time doesn’t pass at all. Or if it does, it moves so slowly that one can hardly feel it. I’m sure your life in Fox Cross was quite exciting by comparison.”

“Will you be going back soon?”

“In another week or two. As soon as this business with your uncle is completed.” He watched her awhile. She was looking out across the expanse of grass at her dogs in the same pensive way she’d done the last time he’d sat with her. “Perhaps one day you’ll return home to Fox Cross?”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she continued to look out over the park, as if contemplating some dilemma of her own. “I dearly wish I could, Captain Heywood. But in truth, there’s no home to go back to. My grandfather is gone now, and Satterthwaite Court is to be let. I have no one else except Uncle Edgar. I must make the best of things.”

“That’s often easier said than done, I’ve found.”

“What other choice is there? One mustn’t give up.”

Arthur fell silent. The sentiment she expressed, so undoubtedly earnest and determined, only served to remind him of his own loss of hope and optimism. “I don’t think I was half so pragmatic when I was your age,” he managed to say at last. “Indeed, I cannot claim to be so now.”

“I’m three and twenty, Captain Heywood. Surely not that much younger than you are yourself.”

“You’re nine years younger than me, Miss Satterthwaite.”

“Am I?” Her brow creased.

He watched the play of emotions on her face, unable to fathom what he’d said to disconcert her so. “I think I’ve offended you.”

“No, indeed, you’ve only reminded me of two people I met at a ball on Saturday evening.”

Was she speaking of the Collector? If so, who was the other person to whom she referred? A young gentleman who had caught her eye, no doubt. “Would this be the Worthings’ ball?”

“Yes, it was. Do you know Lord and Lady Worthing?”

“Once. A lifetime ago. They throw quite fashionable parties, if I remember.”

“It was certainly well attended. I’ve never seen so many people in one place. Between the crowds and the dancing, I could scarcely draw breath.”

The throbbing in Arthur’s injured leg was more acute than ever. As he looked down at it, a familiar coldness seeped into his veins. “I expect you must enjoy dancing.”

“Regrettably, no. I’m afraid I don’t seem to enjoy much of anything here in London. I’ve been trying to make myself more agreeable, but the people are so different. At the ball, everyone stared at me so, and they sounded as though they were mocking me, even when they were being kind.” She turned her focus back to her dog. “I suppose I’m not yet sophisticated enough to appreciate such subtleties—or to respond to them in kind. I’m determined to try harder.”

The hint of sadness in her eyes made Arthur inexplicably angry. “Miss Satterthwaite, these subtleties you speak of are nothing more than cruelties disguised as amusements. They’re not worth your notice. And as for these two people you met, if they’ve upset you—”

“They didn’t upset me. They puzzled me exceedingly.” She assisted Fox into her lap, wrapping her arms around him. “Captain Heywood…do you happen to know the Duke of Moreland?”

The cold drifting through him was positively icy now. “I know of him.”