“If the search for information was m-malicious,” he said, “then more will be discovered. It was easy enough formeto discover, Lord knows. There could be gossip, Agnes.”
Lady Hazeltine had done this, she realized. And, oh, her motives would be malicious. Agnes felt no doubt about that.
“Tonight?” she asked.
“Unlikely,” he said, “though even the fact that your father was d-divorced from your mother will cause talk, even among my family. I am sorry, but I had to w-warn you. If you would rather not go tonight but stay at home—”
“Stay at home?” She glared at him. “Cowerat home, you mean? Never. And we are in danger of being late, which I understand is fashionable in town. I amnotof London, however, or of theton. I prefer to do my hosts the courtesy of being on time when I am expected or even early. Where are my shawl and my reticule?”
She brushed past him back into the dressing room, but he caught her by the arm as she passed. He was, amazingly, grinning.
“That’s my girl,” he said softly. “That’s my Agnes.”
And he kissed her hard and openmouthed on the lips before letting her go.
“Whoisshe?” she asked briskly as she picked up her things. “Just in case I should need the knowledge tonight. And where does she live?”
“Lady Havell,” he said, “wife of Sir Everard Havell. They live in Kensington. And he isnotyour father.”
She felt a little dizzy. Lady Havell. Sir Everard Havell. They were strangers to her. And she wished they might remain so. Kensington was very close.
She nodded and looked at him.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Flavian.”
He offered his arm and she took it.
. . . He isnotyour father.
Flavian would not have added that if he was not sure.
. . . He isnotyour father.
21
It had always amused Flavian that anytonparty described in advance as “small” and “intimate,” even one given before the spring Season proper began, almost invariably filled several rooms with guests. Anything larger was a “squeeze” and was the very ultimate in success for any hostess.
Marianne’s small evening party looked to be just that when he arrived with his wife and mother, for of course they were early despite the delay his confession in Agnes’s dressing room had caused. Flavian suspected, with an inward, half-amused grimace, that he was fated to become notorious for always arriving early to any social gathering. It hardly bore contemplating.
It did not take long for Shields’s drawing room to fill, however, and for the guests to spill over into the adjoining music room. The dedicated cardplayers among them soon discovered the salon across the hallway, where tables had been set up for their convenience, and the refreshment room next to it did not go long undiscovered.
Of course, any house except perhaps the largest mansion could be filled quite respectably just with his family members. Not that all of them had come to town yet, but there were enough, by Jove. And all of them wanted to pump Flavian by the hand, even if they had seen him during the past few days and already done so. They also wanted to kiss Agnes’s cheek, and say all that was proper to the occasion, and—in the case of a few of the younger male cousins—a few things that were improper, for Flavian’s ears alone, to the accompaniment of bawdy guffaws that brought frowns from the uncles, reproachful glances from the aunts, and the fluttering of fans from the female cousins, who suspected they were missing something interesting.
There were other guests who were not family, of course. Marianne took it upon herself to introduce Agnes, who looked lovely enough and dignified enough to be a duchess, Flavian thought with considerable pride, though this evening must be a severe trial to her. And this was only the beginning.
Perhaps, he thought after a while, his warning to her had been unnecessary. Even if word had spread about her father and his divorce, no one seemed inclined either to remark upon it or to shun the man’s daughter.
Even as he thought it, he heard Sir Winston and Lady Frome and the Countess of Hazeltine being announced. He was halfway between the drawing room and the music room, talking with a group of relatives and other acquaintances. Agnes was on the other side of the drawing room with Marianne, who was leaving her side to hurry toward the door, her right hand extended, a smile of welcome on her face.
Well, of course they had been invited. They were not even mere acquaintances, after all. They were neighbors in the country.
And was it his imagination, Flavian wondered, or had the buzz of conversation faltered slightly while people glanced from the new arrivals to him and to Agnes? But it was over in a moment, and the Fromes and Velma proceeded farther into the room to mingle with the other guests.
Though it hadnotbeen his imagination. Mrs. Dressler had set one gloved hand on his sleeve.
“I daresay your mama was disappointed, Lord Ponsonby,” she said, “when you married before you could meet Lady Hazeltine again this spring. It was a very sad thing when your betrothal to her came to an end all those years ago. You weresucha handsome couple. Were they not, Hester?”
The lady applied to—Flavian could not at the moment recall her last name—looked a trifle embarrassed.
