“Only pleasant?” Viola smiled warmly at her. “Estelle was bubbling over this morning about all her experiences there. And she was very happy that you were there too. She told us about how you appeared very different from how she had always thought of you. About how, both at Kew Gardens last week and at Vauxhall last evening, you were full of sparkle and laughter andfun—her words, I do assure you.Didyou enjoy yourself?”
“Well, I did.” Matilda felt horribly uncomfortable. She was not accustomed to being the focus of anyone’s attention, even her family’s. “It was a birthday party, and they are a close family and were greatly enjoying the occasion and one another’s company. How could I not show pleasure too? It would have been uncivil to look bored or even just solemn.”
“Aunt Matilda.” There was sheer mischief in Anna’s smile. “Do you have abeau? I do hope so.”
“Anna,” Louise said reproachfully.
“Oh, do say it is true, Aunt Matilda,” Jessica said, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I thought when we were at Kew that Viscount Dirkson was particular in his attentions toward you.”
“And we heard, Matilda,” Viola said, “that youwaltzedlast evening. More than once. With Viscount Dirkson more than with anyone else.”
“I believe you are in love,” Jessica said, laughing and clapping her hands.
“Jessica.”Her mother’s outraged voice put an instant end to her merriment. “Your aunt Matilda isnota figure of fun. She is a lady of mature years and must be treated with the respect that is her due. The very idea of her being in love, as though she were a giddy girl. And with Viscount Dirkson of all people.”
“I must agree with Louise,” Mildred said. “I cannot stand by and listen to my sister being teased upon such a matter. She is far too mature to be in love or tohave a beau. And she is far too sensible to lose her head over a man like Viscount Dirkson. He may have reformed his ways in recent years, but he once had a very unsavory reputation indeed and even now ought not to be welcomed into society with wide-open arms. It was probably unwise of Alexander and Wren to invite him to dine with us. Just consider what followed. He had the effrontery to suggest that Matilda share the duties of chaperon with him for the young people’s excursion to Kew. And when I heard this morning that he had taken her to his daughter’s birthday celebration, I was very angry. You ought not to be subjected to such disrespect, Matilda, and I am sorry it has happened. I shall ask Thomas to have a word with Viscount Dirkson. It would not hurt, Louise and Anna, if you persuaded Avery to do likewise.”
Matilda sat quietly in her chair, fighting the urge to jump to her feet to fuss over her mother for some imaginary need.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for coming and showing your concern. You speakofme as a mature woman, Louise. And you too, Mildred. Yet you speaktome as though I were a child, someone lacking in the knowledge and experience needed to command her own life and make her own decisions. You speak of me as though I were someone who needs aman, a family member, to protect me from all the wicked harm that awaits me beyond my doors.”
“Well, you must admit, Matilda,” Louise said, “that your experience of life is severely limited. You have lived all your days with Mama, and Papa while he was alive, sheltered within the safety of home. Wecare. We do not want to see you the subject of gossip.”
“We could not bear to see you humiliated,” Mildred added. “Or hurt. We love you, Matilda. You are oursister.”
Matilda drew breath to answer, but her mother spoke first.
“And Matilda is my daughter,” she said. “My firstborn. The eldest of you all. Quite old enough to decide for herself what she wants to do with her life, even if it is only to go to Kew Gardens with a party of young people and the father of one of them, a man whose reputation once set him beyond the pale of polite society. Or even if it is to go to Vauxhall under the escort of the same man and in company with his son and daughters and their spouses. She is old enough to decide for herself whether she will sparkle and laugh and have fun, as Estelle put it. Such careless language, Viola! And Matilda is old enough to decide whether she will waltz under the stars.She is old enough.Perhaps it is disrespectful, Louise and Mildred, to question the judgment of your elder sister.”
There were a few moments of incredulous silence while everyone—Matilda included—gawked at the dowager countess.Gawkedwas the only appropriate word.
“I really meant no offense, Matilda,” Louise said at last. “You must know that. I am merely concerned for you. Of course you may … But do you have anattachmentto Viscount Dirkson?”
“Is it true,” Jessica asked, “that you were once in love with him, Aunt Matilda?”
“And that you are again?” Anna asked. “But we are embarrassing you. Do forgive us. We reallydocare, you know. If we did not, we would not tease you. We care about your happiness. And about you. Do let us shift the subject a little. Were there fireworks last evening? Were they as amazing as they usually are?”
But before Matilda could answer, the butler appeared in the doorway—no one had heard his discreet knock—and they all turned to hear what he had to say.
“Viscount Dirkson, my lady,” he announced, and Charles came striding into the room.
Charles had seen the two carriages outside the door. He had even recognized one of them as belonging to the Duke of Netherby. For a moment he considered driving his curricle right on by and returning later, but there was always a chance that he had already been spotted from the drawing room window. Besides, he had no reason to hide from the Westcott family. Indeed, he had every reason not to.
He was a bit disconcerted a few minutes later, however, when he stepped into the drawing room on the heels of the butler and found the room seemingly full of ladies. All of them were members of the family. Matilda, he was happy to see, was not hovering behind her mother’s chair today but was seated very straight backed on the edge of another chair, two spots of color in her cheeks.
“Ma’am.” He bowed to the dowager countess and looked around at the others. “Ladies. Matilda.” He smiled at her.
She looked back at him with what he could describe only as acute embarrassment as everyone else rushed into greetings, which varied from subdued to effusive. He guessed they had been talking about him before his arrival. He wondered if Matilda hadtoldthem, as he had told his children—Adrian last night, Barbara and Jane this morning.
“Estelle was bubbling over at breakfast about last night’s visit to Vauxhall,” the Marchioness of Dorchester said. “What an inspired idea it was, Lord Dirkson, to choose that venue at which to celebrate your daughter’s birthday.”
“It was entirely her idea, ma’am,” he told her. “But it was indeed a lovely evening. Was it not, Matilda?”
“It was,” she said, and surely it was not his imagination that all attention was suddenly riveted upon her. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Her lips were in a prim line. “It was lovely.”
Ah, she had not told them.
“I came to assure myself that you had taken no chill or other harm,” he said.
