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“What do you mean? I don’t intend to do anything to her.”
“Your interest is a thing.”
Rebellion stirred in his breast. “I wouldn’t do her any harm.”
“You won’t mean to. You’re a kind man. And yet, you are a man.”
“And thus a blundering fool?” Arthur had never been angry at Mrs. Thorpe in the years they’d been acquainted. Until now.
“Not that. But blind to certain things. It is not your fault. You are trained so.”
“Whereas you are all knowing?”
“Of course not. Yet you must admit I know more about the life of a woman than you.”
He couldn’t argue with that, though he wanted to. Fearing what he might say in his current mood, Arthur rose. “I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”
Mrs. Thorpe hesitated, then went to ring for a servant. “Further conversation does seem pointless just now,” she said, which only irritated Arthur further.
Striding along the street a few minutes later, he wrestled with his annoyance. For the life of him, he could not see how he had deserved the…judgment his supposed friend had levied upon him. He could call it nothing else. And he could only see it as unfair. She was as bad as Señora Alvarez. Two of them in as many days! It was outrageous.
Three
Arthur was still brooding over these encounters at the first great occasion of the season that year, a grand ball given by Lady Castlereagh. Standing to one side, watching the cream of society arrive, he found himself imagining Señora Alvarez here, vivid as a rose among daisies. He would like to dance with her, take her in to supper later, talk to her for more than a few minutes, and learn more about her. He wanted to show her that he was charming, he realized with chagrin. He wanted to make her smile as warmly at him as she had at Tom. But she wasn’t present, and she wouldn’t be at any of the festivities of the season, which suddenly seemed tedious.
She occupied his thoughts far more than any woman in his recent experience—the flash of her dark eyes, the enticing shape of her lips, the perfection of her form, and on the other hand, the…calculated impertinence of her manner. That was a good label for it. Purposefully insolent. She couldn’t reallywantto offend him. Could she? He would have said certainly not, any more than Mrs. Thorpe would ever insult him. Yet these things had happened. He should simply try to forget the woman. Yet he found he couldn’t.
Must he be bound by convention? Couldn’t he call on Señora Alvarez even if it was improper? Rebellion stirred in Arthur once again. He could do as he liked. Who would dare question him? And as if she stood beside him, he heard Mrs. Thorpe’s voice pointing out that the same wasn’t true for the señora. She would bear the consequences if gossip began.
Arthur set his jaw. He’d promised not to cause the lady difficulties. And he wouldn’t. He didn’t wish to! But neither would he avoid all chance of seeing her. He’d visited Tom at the workshop before; he could do so again. That would rouse no talk. He would show the señora that he was a friend worth cultivating. The resolve built in him as he realized that he wanted this more than anything he’d wished for in a long time.
More than he wished to be at this ball, for example. How would Señora Alvarez look at the bedecked and bejeweled crowd? How would Mrs. Thorpe? Arthur suspected, after his recent conversations, that it would not be as he saw them. He tried to summon their different points of view as he ran his eye over the people before him. But he didn’t know enough to do so, which was oddly frustrating. Most of the crowd was familiar, some of them even friends. And yet he wasn’t moved to go and speak to them. He knew they would exchange commonplace phrases that they’d used many times before. Was this his thirtieth season? More than that? Had he become jaded? He didn’t like that idea.
As if to illustrate the opposite end of the spectrum, a lively party came through the archway just then. The young Duke of Compton and his fiancée, Ada Grandison, were accompanied by her three close friends. Arthur had met all of them in the autumn under far different circumstances, and he knew this was their first venture into London society. Excitement showed on all their faces. The large and stately figure of Miss Julia Grandison, Miss Ada’s aunt, loomed behind them.
Compton came to join him while the ladies were detained by an acquaintance of the aunt. “My new coat,” said the younger man when he reached Arthur. He turned to show it off. “Perfection, according to Ada. Thank you for the recommendation of a tailor.”
“You look quite dapper.”
“Yes, as long as I don’t move about much,” Compton replied.
Arthur raised an interrogative eyebrow.
“Dancing lessons,” added the young duke in mock despair. “I keep tripping over my own feet in the quadrille. And that’s only when I can remember the steps. What fiend invented that devilish dance?”
“The French.”
“Some sort of revenge for Waterloo?”
“It came well before that. At the court of Louis the Fifteenth, I believe. Lady Jersey introduced it here.”
“A patroness of Almack’s whom I must not on any account offend,” said Compton, as if repeating a rote lesson.
“I don’t think you need to worry.” A wealthy young duke was too attractive a parti to be spurned, even if he was already engaged.
His female companions joined them then, and Arthur smiled at the picture they presented. The four young ladies wore fashionable new dresses and sported modish haircuts. Their appearance had been polished by someone with very good taste indeed.
“Is it true that Tom is to be in a play?” asked Miss Ada Grandison when Arthur had offered his compliments on their ensembles. Miss Ada’s authoritative eyebrows always hinted at a scowl even when she was smiling, as now. Arthur admired the way she wielded their expressive power. He thought she was going to make an admirable duchess.
