Page 38 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

He glanced at Rowe, who gave a subtle nod, and went away. His sister had no difficulty in taking charge of his house whenever she came into it, as though she were still the daughter of a viscount and living in their father’s London house.

“What have you done with Tom and Henry?” he asked her. Rowe had not been the most devoted uncle to her twin boys. He laid that down to not wanting to spend too much time in Mary’s presence, but perhaps that was not fair to his nephews.

“They are with Nurse, of course. It is not as though we have left town. We will be back tonight.”

They made desultory small talk, and Rowe was reminded why he had never desired to enter into the domestic scene by taking a wife and setting up his nursery. But perhaps with the right woman that scene might not look exactly like what he observed at his sister’s. The vision of Camilla sitting comfortably at his side in the candlelit library while a storm raged outside swept into his thoughts like a storm front moving in. It felt like something he could wish for—something he desired.

Right on the hour, a gentle rap on the front door heralded the Rowlandsons’ arrival.

“They are here,” Lady Throckmorton said, sounding as though she anticipated the evening. This was different. His mother could be managing and disapproving, but she was rarely good-humored.

The sounds of a small crowd being admitted resonated in the hall, and he almost betrayed himself by smiling. After all, the Rowlandsons were nothing if not lively. He decided he would not wait for them to be announced but would go down to them. As he descended the steps to greet them, he looked down just as Camilla’s head tilted up, and their eyes met. Now he did smile, and instead of returning it, she gave him a regal nod. Her cool demeanor sparked something in his breast; he wanted to shake it out of her. Or kiss it out of her. That thought he quickly batted away.

“Welcome, my lady,” he said bowing before Lady Poole. He repeated the greeting to the other family members and gave a friendly nod to Evo, who responded with perfect courtesy.

“Won’t you please come with me?” he invited them. “My mother, sister, and my sister’s husband are waiting. We will sit down to dinner without delay so we are on time for the opera.”

When they entered the drawing room, Camilla greeted his mother with that same unruffled calm she had shown at Almack’s, then turned to his sister. Her expression revealed no qualms, though he knew his sister could be intimidating. As for the rest of Camilla’s family, Joanna was quieter than he was used to seeing her, and Tilly shrank close to her mother. He hoped they would soon relax. After the introductions had been performed, they moved into the dining room to take their seats. The dishes were brought in by the servants, and his mother invited everyone to serve themselves.

“Do you like the theater, Lady Matilda?” his sister asked, targeting the youngest person in the family.

“It is my first time attending it,” Tilly replied. “Although I am looking forward to it.”

“Is that so? You are at an advanced age to attend for the first time. But I am certain you will find it vastly diverting.” Mary spooned peas on her plate and set the dish down for the footman to bring it the small distance to Evo. “And you, Lord Poole? Surely you have attended a performance at Covent Garden before?”

“No, I haven’t, but unlike Tilly, I am anticipating a visit to something quite different, for I have been promised Astley’s Amphitheater, you see.” He glanced at Rowe, who caught the wry expression that hinted at underlying humor. A shift from boyhood to the man he would one day be. It made him smile, and he looked at Camilla to share the jest with her. He was certain he would find her smiling at her brother’s comment and look—and indeed there was a twinkle of humor in her eyes—but it disappeared as soon as she brought her gaze to him.

A frown creased his brow, and he looked away. She was holding her friendship from him, her smiles. And she was denying him alone. He was now fairly certain she had had feelings for him that he had not noticed and that he had hurt her. The idea pained him.

“I see,” Mary said, now helping herself to the veal. “Astley’s is a favorite amongst the gentlemen but not ladies, such as we are, is that not so, Lady Joanna?” His sister was making an extraordinary effort to include all of the members of the Rowlandson family, but it felt ponderous. And in Lady Joanna she had erred.

“I like nothing better than horses. Therefore, I am afraid I must agree with Evo, and I have been to Covent Garden for the comparison.” She smiled apologetically. “But I am confident that given our company, it will be a most pleasurable evening.”

Rowe followed Camilla’s regard as it traveled to her sister, curious as to what she was thinking. So far she had not spoken more than a few words, and he could not resist addressing her himself.

“And you, Lady Camilla? As much as you enjoyed Astley’s, do you expect to amuse yourself more at the theater this evening?”

She slid her gaze to his like a bolt coming into place. “Considering, my lord, that tonight’s play is a tragedy”—she lifted an eyebrow—“I am not sure ‘amuse’ is the best choice of words.”

Her manner of replying made him want to laugh, for it was that same undercurrent of wit that highlighted their encounters from before. If only she would share her warmth.

Camilla likely feared she might have offended her hostess, for she then added, “However, as my sister has said, we are most fortunate in our company tonight”—and turning back to him—“therefore, I am sure to enjoy myself vastly.”

Chapter 15

Camilla found the evening something of a trial. The Rowlandsons were not in the habit of dining with other families. As they had not come to London at all while growing up, nor had they been particularly social with local families—apart from the Cunningworths, whose friendship had soured after Robert treated Felix so abominably—they had little experience with intimate dinners. She feared they had answered their hostess rudely by not showing an enthusiasm for the theater. In fact, she was sure they had.

They were now fully accustomed to the balls and evening parties and were adept at morning calls, both being at home to visitors and also visiting others. But dining before the theater with a family they had only just met, apart from Pembroke, suggested a level of intimacy between the two families that had not been fostered. Not only that, for all she was displeased with the earl and wished to hold him at arm’s length, he was at the very least warm and approachable. At first appearances, his mother and sister were far from sharing his affable nature. On the contrary, they were rather formidable.

The dinner was got through somehow. They then squeezed into Evo’s crested carriage to travel to the theater, with their mother, Joanna, and her on the front-facing seat, and Evo and Tilly on the rear-facing. Lord Pembroke carried his family in his.

“What do you think of Lady Throckmorton?” Camilla asked. “And Lady Mary?”

“Dull as dish water,” Evo answered.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Camilla retorted, then turned to her mother.

Lady Poole was more inclined to be positive. “They seem agreeable enough.”