Page 45 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

‘Really! The things men will do to showcase their victories,’ Lady Weber said.

Lady Smithson picked up the giant spider conch. Nora recalled the day her father had presented it to her.

‘It’s huge! I’ve never seen such a seashell. Is it real?’ Lady Smithson asked.

‘It’s from the Indian Ocean and measures twelve inches,’ Nora said. ‘If you press it to your ear, you can hear the sea.’

Lady Smithson held up the shell to her ear and her lips parted in surprise. She laughed. ‘I can hear the ocean! A sort of rushing of the waves!’

Women crowded around her all wanting their turn. Several ladies picked up the shells on display and asked questions about them. Nora couldn’t answer questions fast enough.

‘Did you find these shells?’

‘Are they all real?’

‘Did animals live in them?’

‘Were there pearls inside them?’

Nora answered patiently, thrilled with their enthusiasm. ‘Only certain mollusks yield pearls, and not every one. Yes, they are all real. And yes, mollusks inhabited the shells long ago.’

While the ladies asked questions, Mrs Hanning wheeled in a tea tray. No one paid her much attention. Nora nearly missed Lady Weber drifting away from the crowd, drawn to a bowl on an end table. The elegant piece was ceramic with a scalloped edge painted in lapis blue, purple and yellow flowers.

‘This is exquisite,’ Lady Weber said, fingering the bowl. ‘Is it Persian?’

Nora approached the pretty brunette. She was surprised at her knowledge. ‘It’s Armenian. My father received it from Middle Eastern traders. It’s dated back to the fifth century.’

‘It truly is lovely. I have an interest in collectables, though nothing so ancient. At least not yet.’

Nora smiled. The bowl had special meaning. Her father had gifted it to her on her sixteenth birthday.

Just then Mrs Hanning reappeared to deliver freshly baked scones. Tea was poured into delicate porcelain cups and the ladies gathered around to enjoy her flaky, warm scones with Devonshire cream.

‘As I’ve said before, I’ve grown weary of garden parties and soirées,’ Lady Smithson said as she took a bite of her scone. ‘This was refreshing and stimulating, Lady Ralston.’

Others agreed in approval.

Two hours later, the ladies departed and the last carriage rolled away down the drive. Nora withdrew to her bedchamber, her mind awhirl with thoughts of the afternoon. The salon had been a success and she could not have been happier.

In fact, she could not recall a time when she had been as happy.

Before Ralston, there had been the looming betrothal to the elderly Baron Umbridge. Her mother had been serious about the match. Nora shivered. What if her mother had succeeded? What would her life be like now? Dull and dutiful.

A slow death of her mind.

Umbridge certainly would not have given her funds to purchase a microscope or the freedom to host a salon. And she could not envision the Baron charming Society ladies on her behalf.

This afternoon’s gathering had invigorated her, making her all the more determined to focus on her work. And her goals. If the ladies of the ton were interested in her work, perhaps the London Scientific Society would be too. It was all so confusing. She was grateful to Ralston but still determined to keep her distance. Their arrangement was never far from her mind. No matter how tempting and considerate she was finding her new husband to be, she must never allow him to distract her from her work. Her dream to present her findings to the Scientific Society had not changed. Maybe she would even travel one day.

Meanwhile, she owed Ralston her gratitude. Even affection. She could do both, couldn’t she? Show her thanks while keeping her distance. How hard could it be?

‘Can you spare some time this afternoon for an outing?’ Nora had been working in her room when she heard Ralston’s voice in the doorway.

‘What type of outing?’

‘I have a subscription to Hookham’s Library. Would you like to attend?’

‘I’d love to.’ It was the day after her science salon, and it was as if he knew just where she’d love to spend a relaxing afternoon. He hadn’t offered to take her to another garden party, stuffy tea or a drive in an open barouche at the park during the dreaded promenade hour, but a library.