“Many peopledidguess. If it was veiled, it was thinly veiled. One might say, gossamer. That man made me a laughingstock.”
“If anyone made you a laughingstock, it was Marina herself, and she is gone. I do wish you would move past this already.”
“You have never been married, Tom. You don’t understand.”
His brother shuddered theatrically. “You’re right, I don’t. It is the bachelor’s life for me.”
The hotel proprietor, making his nightly round through the dining room, approached their table. “Pardon me. Is everything all right, gentlemen?”
Frederick sat back, glad for the interruption. “Ah yes, the meal is excellent. Thank you.”
The well-dressed, ginger-haired man looked down at Frederick’s barely touched plate. “Your full plate disagrees with you.”
“My fault,” Thomas interjected. “Kept his maw too busy gabbing.”
Frederick, who knew the owner slightly, said, “How are you, Mr. Mayhew?”
“I am well, thank you. A pleasure to have you both staying with us.”
Thomas lifted an index finger. “My idea.”
“How are things going here?” Frederick asked. “Business brisk?”
Was it his imagination, or did the man’s smile dim?
“Good, good,” Mayhew said, avoiding their eyes and looking around the room, his focus lingering on Ambrose Oliver.
Following his line of sight, Thomas said, “Having a celebrated author here ought to be good for business.”
The owner said, “That remains to be seen.” He bowed and then walked toward the neighboring table.
After they’d eaten, Thomas wiped his mouth, folded his napkin, and set it aside. “Please excuse me while I pay my compliments to that enchanting woman in white.”
He rose and walked over to her table.
At the same moment, Mr. Oliver stood, sights fixed on the woman like a target.
Seeing the younger man stop to talk with her, Oliver sat back down, thick lips curled into a frown.
Frederick rather liked seeing the author disappointed. Heaven help the man who tried to compete with Thomas where women were concerned. For a moment, Frederick watched his brother bow and chat, and the woman smile in return, her countenance nearly glowing in the face of Thomas’s good looks and impeccable address.
Frederick turned away. His brother had always had a way with women, a confidence and easy charm that made him a favorite wherever he went. Far more so than Frederick.
Of its own accord, his gaze traveled over to Miss Lane. She was one female who had admired him. Granted, that had been years ago, when she was barely out of the schoolroom. Now she was an attractive woman in an evening gown that flattered her feminine figure. Rich honey-brown curls framed a lovely face with smooth skin, delicate nose, and fine, full mouth.
She looked over and caught him staring. Politeness dictated he acknowledge her, so he rose, tugged down his waistcoat, and slowly crossed the room. Noticing his approach, Miss Lane sat up even straighter and dabbed a nervous table napkin to her mouth.
“Good evening, Miss Lane. I hope you don’t mind my coming over to greet you.”
“Of course not.”
He glanced at her dining companion. “Would you introduce me to your friend?”
“Oh, forgive me. Lady Fitzhoward, may I present Sir Frederick Wilford.”
The woman looked up at him with interest. “SirFrederick now, is it?”
An odd thing for a stranger to say, Frederick thought. Or was she? Something about the older woman struck him as familiar. “Yes. My dear father, Sir Roger, passed on several years ago.”
