Page 22 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

The next night, at five minutes to the hour, Rowe knocked at Lord Poole’s residence and was admitted by the butler.

“Good evening, Turton,” he said, removing his hat and cape and handing both over, along with his cane. “I trust the family is aware of my coming? Mr. Harwood extended the invitation to me.”

“Indeed they are, my lord. The family is awaiting your arrival in the drawing room.” The butler handed the items to a footman and led the way.

The Rowlandson women, along with another young lady with a familiar air and introduced as Miss Milton, stood when he arrived. He greeted each in turn, surprised to experience what oddly felt like nerves when he came to one lady in particular.

“How do you do, Lady Camilla?”

“Quite well, I thank you.” Her enigmatic smile was still in place, which was mildly irritating since this could not be explained away as her effort to avoid standing on ceremony. What was she doing now but standing on ceremony? In fact, she was being deliberately frosty. Well, if that was what she wanted to play at, he was no stranger to such games and would give her back her own.

“Excellent.” He moved on. “Lady Joanna, if I am not mistaken, you are the one anticipating this evening’s program the most.”

“Indeed I am,” she answered, eyes twinkling. “I have wanted to go to Astley’s ever since I heard about its existence and am astonished we have not yet gone in our two London seasons.”

“Evo will be so put out when he learns that we attended without him,” Tilly said, sounding pleased by the notion.

“Perhaps I will take him again when he comes. When will he arrive?” Rowe’s gaze involuntarily sought that of Camilla’s.

“Tuesday,” she replied. “Unless he gives his tutor the slip again and shows up on Monday.” A flash of her usual humor made a brief appearance in her eyes, then disappeared. That it was so fleeting worried him, despite his intentions to ignore her aloofness. Something was indeed troubling her.

They went into the dining room, where the dinner was brought out all at once and Lady Poole begged his pardon for its simplicity. As the table was filled with viands, fish, side dishes, and sweetmeats with scarcely any room to spare, he assured her an apology was unnecessary.

“If there had been even one more course, we would likely arrive late for the performance,” he added cheerfully.

Camilla picked at her food, and he wondered if she was not feeling well. She usually had a hearty appetite, which was something he appreciated about her. He viewed it as a part of her character—a woman who lived fully and did not pretend boredom or displeasure simply to be interesting. She did not hide behind a façade. Perhaps that was what irked him so much about her behavior now. She was pretending boredom, was hiding behind a façade, and had been doing so at the ball as well. It was unlike her.

When the meal was over, they settled the travel arrangements between them, as the servants brought their cloaks. The inside of the amphitheater would be chilly.

“Pembroke, if it’s all the same to you, Sophia and I will travel in your carriage and leave ours here,” Felix said. Rowe agreed to it, and Lady Poole considered the remaining passengers.

“Our carriage will not hold five of us comfortably. Camilla, I think you had better ride in Pembroke’s carriage as well”—she turned to him—“that is, if you do not mind it.” He shook his head, inexplicably pleased with the arrangement until Camilla protested that she had thought to ride with Miss Milton. When this was overborne, she answered with a wooden expression that made her displeasure clear.

“Yes, Mama.”

His groom was waiting for him, and Rowe held open the door while Felix helped his wife and her sister into the forward-facing seat, then climbed in across from Sophia. Rowe was last to take his seat across from Camilla, and when he reached over to pull the door shut, his knees touched hers. He immediately pulled back to avoid repeating the intimacy, although he was more conscious of her than he usually was. What had come over him?

Felix and Sophia kept up a light and steady conversation, and Camilla would interject a word here and there. Rowe, preoccupied by this new Camilla he was encountering, did not attempt to do more than add to the conversation when applied to. They encountered little traffic on their way to Newcastle Street and before long were dropped off in front of the large theater, with Poole’s crested carriage pulling up ahead of them. Rowe stepped out first and held out his hand to assist Camilla. When she paused as though to refuse, he knew with a certainty that something was wrong and wondered how to discover what it was. But then she placed her hand in his and alighted.

He decided to throw his usual behavior to the wind and ask her what was amiss, but he was given no chance to do so because the two groups joined and turned to enter the theater. He contrived to walk beside her, but apart from acknowledging his presence with a brief glance, she turned to talk to Miss Milton. He wasn’t precisely frustrated at her obstinacy, for that would be taking things too far. But he had not thought her to be the sort to display such feminine wiles.

They climbed the stairs to the first-tier gallery where they had seats, and where Pollard was already waiting for him. Beside him sat Weatherby and Gerry Wilmot, and they all stood and turned as the large party entered.

“I proposed the idea to these two and they were keen to attend,” Pollard explained.

Rowe was glad to see his friends until he watched each of them bowing over Lady Camilla’s hand and coaxing her into those smiles usually reserved for him, and now denied. He would most certainly have to speak to her.

He made little attempt to join the conversation that swirled around him, which was eventually brought short by a spectacular opening piece—the fast La Réjouissance of Handel’s Music for the Royal Fireworks. A circle of silver bay mares with tall feathered headdresses entered the ring led by riders of the same height wearing costumes of the previous century with shiny pale blue justaucorps, breeches, and satin slippers. The horses pranced in a circle at a smart pace and performed the steps in unison. This was a thrilling sight, even to Rowe who had seen the act before. When the riders stood on horseback, one after the other, and rode in perfectly balanced symmetry, the audience thundered with applause. He glanced at Camilla, who sat at an angle in the row in front of him, her eyes shining with pleasure. He watched her enjoyment, thinking that this look suited her much better than the ennui she had shown him since arriving in London.

The atmosphere remained lively throughout the performance, and the conversation and refreshments taken between the acts allowed a degree of informality to settle upon the party. Gerry and Weatherby became better acquainted with Felix and Sophia, then Gerry drew Camilla into conversation. Pollard seemed to enjoy speaking to Miss Milton, and Rowe did his best to entertain Lady Poole and her youngest two daughters. At times, he could not resist listening in when Camilla spoke and noticing how natural she was with everyone but him.

The chance to have private words with her he had been waiting for came after the performance while they waited for the carriage to be brought. Lady Sophia and her husband were caught up in a discussion, leaving Rowe at liberty to pursue his own. He let his eyes rest on Camilla’s face, searching it for that warmth he had seen earlier with his friends, but which was once again hidden.

“You seemed to have enjoyed yourself,” he said, watching her reaction.

“It is easy to be pleased in such a lively environment. I must be very dull to have found fault with it.”

“You also seemed to enjoy your conversations with my friends.” Oh, devil take it! Now he sounded jealous.