There was no way to discover what she already knew without ruining the evening.
Mrs. Williams turned to read her playbill and said no more about it, though the question didn’t seem like an accident. Lyman shot a glance to Della, who had claimed the seat to his left. She looked as surprised as he felt, but helped him by turning the conversation elsewhere.
“I had a lovely idea I wanted to share with you,” she said, addressing her friend. “What if we had musicians play at Bishop’s in the evenings? They make everything so lively! Our members would love it.”
Mrs. Williams looked up from her playbill. “That sounds rather expensive for something that won’t bring in any extra profit.”
“It will if it makes our guests want to stay longer,” Della returned.
“I’d rather we didn’t change too much at once.” A small furrowhad appeared between Mrs. Williams’s eyebrows. She looked worried, though the suggestion had seemed harmless enough to Lyman. “We’ve just collected the art you wanted and we’re about to add a new table and dealer. Let’s take a month or two to see the effect of all that before we throw anything else into the mix.”
Della looked downcast, her shoulders drooping slightly. Would it have killed Mrs. Williams to consider the proposal a little longer? Lyman had a hunch that the brief exchange he’d just witnessed was part of a larger pattern. Mrs. Williams looked to be an overly cautious sort of woman, while Della was practically allergic to caution. No doubt they balanced each other out when managing their business, but Lyman didn’t like to think how it must feel for Della to be always on the receiving end of a swift no. She had such boundless energy. She needed room to explore her ideas.
“What if you tried it for an evening or two, just to see how your guests liked it?” Lyman suggested. “Then you wouldn’t be under any obligation if it didn’t work out.”
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Della exclaimed. “I’ve already made a few inquiries, Jane. You won’t have to do a thing.”
Mrs. Williams looked startled by Lyman’s intervention. “I didn’t think you took an interest in our club, my lord. Didn’t you refuse to include it in your book because we cater to women?”
It was plain she’d dug up just enough information to form a damning portrait of his character.
I take no interest whatsoever in your club, he nearly retorted, put out by Mrs. Williams’s arch tone.But I take an interest in Della.
No. That was no good. She could never be for him, and everyone here knew why.
Della came between them a second time, with a nervous laugh. “Lord Ashton didn’t exactly refuse to include us because we cater to women. It was—” She broke off here, and Lyman could see theprecise moment she realized that the repugnance of his past made any honest conversation impossible. If her friends weren’t already aware that he’d gambled away his country house nine years ago, she wouldn’t want to be the one to share the news. “It was a misunderstanding,” she finished awkwardly. “Anyway, I’m happier including us in my own guide, and Lord Ashton has been more than helpful in achieving that end.”
Clarkson, seated a little further down the row, shot Lyman a bemused look over the heads of the others. Lyman couldn’t find any humor in it. He didn’t like that Della should have to defend him to her friends, spinning half-truths to avoid embarrassing him.
By this time the footmen were extinguishing the gaslights that lined the walls and the audience took the signal to hush their chatter, putting an end to the conversation. Della cast a nervous glance between Lyman and her friends. He caught her eye and offered a faint smile to reassure her that she needn’t worry. It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.
The play began with the introduction of a great many characters—the Chuzzlewits and the Pecksniffs and the various people who had attached themselves to these families in the hopes of an income—and proceeded to lay out the quarrel of young Martin and his grandfather with an appropriate dose of humor. Della laughed easily at all the absurd characters. Lyman enjoyed the show well enough, but found that her exuberance did far more to draw his attention than the actors on stage. She had lost herself completely in that unselfconscious way of hers, fully immersed in the story before her.
Even as he liked to see her so happy, Lyman couldn’t help but recall the last time they’d been seated together like this before a stage. The tableau vivant at Laurent’s Casino. When Della had slid her palm over his thigh, beginning an affaire they’d never brought to its logical conclusion.
No. Not logical. There was nothing logical or reasoned about his desire for her.
Lyman stared shamelessly at Della from the safety of the darkened room. It was refreshing not to have to worry about schooling his face into a more impassive expression, as he usually did. No one was watching him now.
She was so lovely. In another life, one where he hadn’t bowed to the pressure to marry too early and then ruined his good name, he might have accompanied her here tonight as a suitor. Might have held on to the memory of every precious smile to grace her lips as a promise of more to come, instead of a possibility that was lost to him.
She’s for someone else, not you. Nothing so joyful could be for you now.
There was an intermission once Martin Chuzzlewit traveled to America (a horrid place, Dickens concluded), and Della accompanied Miss Williams downstairs to find the powder room, leaving Lyman and Clarkson alone with the rest of the party.
Mr. Williams was a gregarious fellow and soon drew Lyman into a conversation about the places they’d each traveled to. He was much warmer than his wife, who observed them without joining in.
“And what made you decide to write a guidebook?” Mr. Williams asked Lyman.
Conscious of Mrs. Williams’s scrutiny, he adopted a self-effacing tone. “I suppose most people would consider such a thing a vanity project, but I simply wanted to accomplish something useful with my time. I considered myself competent to advise newcomers on places of interest, so I did. It was nothing more profound than that.”
“And now Miss Danby has followed your example,” Mrs. Williams interjected. Her expression gave no hint of her thoughts on the matter.
“That was entirely her idea,” Lyman said.
“I know.” Mr. Williams laughed. “I was there when it came to her. She was very enthusiastic.”
“She often is.” Mrs. Williams said gently. She seemed to want to say more, hesitated, then added in a low tone, “I mean no offense, my lord, but I do hope you’re being careful with her. Miss Danby might give the impression of being very worldly, but she has a trusting heart.”
