AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Why would I wish to leave, Mother?” he said, expression deliberately blank. “You know how I love a ball.”
“I know how you love this house,” she murmured but wisely saved any other comments and started toward the building.
He took her arm and they moved up the stone steps toward the huge front door surrounded by six columns the thickness of old oak trees. He recalled the first time he’d seen them at the age of six, utterly daunted by the grandeur of the old building. The house he grew up in was no hovel but he’d never been allowed to step through the front door let alone enjoy the luxuries of their wealthy lifestyle. Coming to Knowle had been quite the change from his father’s house.
And now it was all in Foster’s hands.
He pressed his lips together and they joined the crush of people trying to enter. Many stopped and gawped, despite the fact they had likely visited during Iris’s lifetime.
Tonight, however, Foster had gone out of his way to impress. Every alcove and table was decorated with flowers—so much so that the scent of roses was almost overpowering. Candles were lit in every corner, the finest vases had been put on display and Foster had also moved some of the furnishings from the private suites so they could be shown off. Aunt Iris would have never done such a thing, knowing how high the chances were that madeira would be spilled on the antique surfaces.
His mother tugged him close. “Do try not to look so grumpy, Blakey. People shall be watching for our reaction.”
“I am not grumpy.”
“You do look a little grumpy. If you are not careful, you shall turn into your f—” She paused and glanced away, her cheeks reddening.
Well, now he really was grumpy. How dare she insinuate he was turning into his bastard of a father, even if she did not mean it? He’d rather traipse barefoot through the roughest parts of London than turn into that miserable old sod.
Damn it. Was he really being so awful? Slip of the tongue or not, his mother did seem to be trying some attempt at being motherly. He forced a charming smile and greeted his cousin as genially as he could manage.
Foster grinned, his cheeks ruddier than ever. Blake had to admit, the man did a stunning job of acting the bumbling fool with little idea what to do with his newfound wealth.
“What do you think, Blake?” He gestured around. “I’d have loved your advice but you’ve been rather busy of late.”
If there was any spite in his words, Blake failed to detect them. He barely blamed Demeter for doubting his instincts in the beginning. Even he doubted them when speaking with Foster.
“Yes,” Blake murmured non-committal.
His cousin clapped his hand on Blake’s shoulder. “You are here now, which is the most important thing. Along with your lovely mother. Mrs. Blake, you are a vision, and I do so hope you will be dancing tonight.”
“Me?” She shook her head vigorously. “Goodness no.”
And a more experienced host would have realized that. Christ, what an act this was!
“Well, I do hope you have a pleasant evening.”
They moved along, spilling through the corridors and out into the ballroom. Blake grimaced. Iris loved a party but she loathed balls. She enjoyed conversing with her friends and enjoying wonderful food at a slow pace. Because of the crowds it was nigh impossible to reach the food and those that did suffered being jostled and knocked about. He took a glass of punch from a passing servant, passed one to his mother, and drained the overly sweet liquid. Iris would have hated every minute of this.
His gaze fell to a woman moving across the rear of the ballroom. He couldn’t say why his attention had been drawn there but it took him a mere moment to realize it was Demeter. Practically pressed against the wall, she moved with adept stealth.
She played the wallflower to perfection but he still could not fathom how he’d never really noticed her before. Amongst the buxom fair-haired ladies she stood out like a raven amongst swans.
Though, he doubted she would be flattered to be compared to a raven. Gads, he was losing his touch for flattery.
She continued to make her way across the ballroom, glancing back at where her family was gathered, not far from the open rear doors. He scowled. He did not need to have watched her at a ball before, he knew what she was doing. She proved him right, slipping towards the staircase and then taking them three at a time, as though that would prevent anyone from seeing her.
He’d be damned if he let her remain involved in this Foster business. His cousin was dangerous—he was convinced of it since Demeter had witnessed him snap at that boy.
“If you will excuse me, Mother,” he muttered and moved in Demeter’s direction before she could say whatever that knowing smile was hiding.
Demeter needed dealing with first. Then he’d worry about Foster.
Chapter Seventeen
Fingers latched around her arm. Demeter whirled and gasped then pressed a hand to her chest. “Blake! You scared me.”
He released her arm. His brow was furrowed, his eyes dark. She’d never really seen Blake angry before. It was odd not to see the playful dimples or the quick smile. Naturally, he was as handsome as ever but had his cousin angered him somehow?
