Page 21 of One Waltz with the Viscount

Her eyes widened. ‘The opera? Are you sure?’

It was a terrible idea. Half of the ton would be in attendance, and everyone would be curious to know who his companion was, especially as word would have got around that he was searching for a new wife. Yet, as he saw the excitement on her face, he realised he couldn’t withdraw the invitation.

‘Yes. We can say you are a distant relative, visiting London from the country.’ As long as they didn’t engage anyone he knew too well in conversation, then there was a chance the lie would be believed. ‘I will call for you at seven.’

‘Thank you.’

Chapter Seven

There was a crowd outside the opera house as they approached, and quickly Henry checked for any familiar faces. He couldn’t regret inviting Miss Shepherd, she had talked of nothing else but her love for music all the way to Covent Garden, asking him about all the operas he had seen. She looked radiant this evening, wearing the same dress she had when he’d first met her sneaking into the Shrewsburys’ library. It was a midnight blue with a white sash around the middle. There was no adornments or embroidery, but the dress was well cut and the material fell in soft lines, giving her a lovely silhouette.

‘I am glad to see you are taking this seriously.’ Henry jumped at the voice that came from over his shoulder. With a sinking heart, he turned to see his father approaching. The crowd of people parted before him as if the old man had a leper bell around his neck.

‘Good evening, Father,’ Henry said, cursing his bad luck. His father was not all that keen on the opera and only attended a couple of times a year. It was unfortunate one of those times was tonight, although perhaps not entirely unforeseeable. Many of the wealthy residents of London had left for their country estates weeks earlier, and society events were few and far between in the summer months. His father was the opposite of a social butterfly, but he did enjoy having something new to moan about, and that couldn’t happen if he sat at home counting his money.

‘Is this her? The woman you were spotted with yesterday?’ He peered at Miss Shepherd with undisguised judgement.

Henry swallowed. He did not want to subject Miss Shepherd to his father’s rudeness, and equally he would prefer it if his father thought he was doing his utmost to search for a wife.

‘This is Miss Shepherd.’

‘Miss Shepherd? Never heard of her. Who is her father?’

Henry glanced at Miss Shepherd and saw her expression turn quickly from horror to faux warmth.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,’ she said, dipping into a pretty little curtsey.

Lord Burwell grunted, although his expression wasn’t quite as hostile as she rose.

Henry thought quickly, trying to come up with some story to mollify his father.

‘Miss Shepherd is a distant relative of Lady Shrewsbury. She is newly arrived in London from Sussex, and Lady Shrewsbury asked if I would bring her to the opera tonight.’

‘A relative of Lady Shrewsbury?’ Lord Burwell asked, looking her over again. Miss Shepherd’s dress was of decent quality, but Henry was suddenly very aware that it did not compare to some of the beautiful gowns of the ton that surrounded them. No, it was more akin to the best frock of a vicar’s wife, worn to a country dinner party.

‘Yes, my lord,’ Miss Shepherd said to Henry’s relief. ‘A distant cousin on my mother’s side of the family.’

Lord Burwell gripped hold of Henry’s arm and drew him to one side.

‘You’re wasting time. I can see even from a perfunctory look that Miss Shepherd is not of the right calibre to be a candidate for your new bride. All the time you are ferrying her around the city you are not focussed on finding someone suitable.’

‘This is a favour for Lady Shrewsbury, that is all.’

Lord Burwell grunted but Henry saw him soften ever so slightly. There were many things his father disapproved of in his life, but his friendship with Lord and Lady Shrewsbury was not one of them. Lord Shrewsbury was one of the richest and most influential men in the country, which was all that mattered, it seemed. Of course his father didn’t bother to look past that fact to the man beneath, not caring that Shrewsbury was also one of the kindest, most generous men, and Henry considered himself lucky to count him as a friend.

Just as it looked as though his father might move on, a heavy hand clapped onto Henry’s shoulder.

‘Routledge, I didn’t know you were attending tonight.’

With a sinking heart Henry turned to see Lord and Lady Shrewsbury. He managed to suppress a groan, but he could not stop his eyes flicking to where Miss Shepherd was standing.

‘Surely you knew he was bringing Miss Shepherd here tonight,’ Lord Burwell said. For all his faults, no one could accuse the Earl of being slow-witted. A hint of suspicion was back in his eyes as everyone turned to look at Miss Shepherd.

Henry felt his chest constricting. At any second everything was going to come crashing down, and his chance of ever seeing his sister would become slimmer.

‘Cousin, dearest,’ Miss Shepherd stepped forward, taking hold of Lady Shrewsbury’s arm, ‘I am so glad you could make it this evening. I am very much looking forward to the opera. Lord Routledge has been kind enough to explain what to expect.’

Lady Shrewsbury looked startled—Henry thought she might protest at being led away by Miss Shepherd. He did not see what looks passed between them, but after five excruciating seconds she stopped resisting and turned away.