“How do you do?” Lyman was obliged to give the young lady a few moments of his attention, and the opportunity to say anything further on the subject of Della’s parents slipped away.
Though no one else thought anything of it, the encounter troubled him. Was writing a lady’s guidebook really such a mundane occurrence that it hadn’t warranted the notice of anyone in her family? Except for Annabelle, they never seemed to wonder how she spent her time.
Lyman found the echo of his concerns later that evening, when they sat down to supper. They were an intimate number around the table, perhaps thirty people all told, as most of the guests would be arriving after the meal. For now there was only the Danbys, the Greenwoods, and four or five other families with children oldenough to be out. Among them, Lyman recognized the St. Claires, a couple that he had a passing acquaintance with from before his disgrace. He hadn’t seen them in over a decade, but the husband had obviously recognized him. They’d spent enough evenings gambling together at White’s.
Would they recount his past to the others as the night wore on?Perhaps this will finally be the thing to provoke some concern from the Danbys for their daughter’s welfare, Lyman thought grimly.
There was nothing he could do about it. He tried to steer clear of their side of the table.
Peter Danby was seated across from him and kept peppering Lyman with questions about the upcoming season at the Lyceum, so that he scarcely had a chance to speak to Della until the main courses arrived. She’d been lost in conversation with a gentleman to her right, but in a brief lull she turned toward Lyman and spoke in a low voice.
“What do you think of the idea of including a chapter on all the hospitals in town?”
He blinked at the abrupt shift in topic. Peter, who’d overheard them while his attention was fixed on Lyman, used this hesitation to put forward his own opinion. “I thought it was a guide for sightseeing. Who on earth would want to tour a hospital for fun?”
“Women, of course.” Della gave an exasperated sigh. “Forcharity, Peter. You remember, it’s the thing you’re always saying I should do more of.”
“So you’re really going to write up a chapter on Bethlem?”
“Yes.” Della sat very stiffly in her chair. Though she kept her voice light, it was apparent he was embarrassing her. “And the Royal Hospital Chelsea and Christ’s Hospital, and whichever others I’m forgetting now.”
Peter caught Lyman’s gaze, then rolled his eyes as if to sayCan you believe it?
Lyman paused halfway through the act of cutting his lamb. Had he done something to give this man the impression that he was eager to look down on Della? He was behaving as if they were old friends, snickering at an outsider. It wasn’t just this evening either. He’d been much the same when they’d signed the contract.
Lyman understood his error now. He’d been reluctant to speak up in front of Mr. Armstrong, unsure how it might be received, but his silence had only encouraged whatever this was. He should never have let it go on.
“I think it’s an excellent idea, Miss Danby,” Lyman said pointedly. “I wish I’d thought to include hospitals in my guide. I’ll be glad to see you correct the omission.”
Lyman put on his best viscount face—the one his father had used on underlings he wanted to frighten—turned to Peter, and said nothing for a full five seconds without breaking eye contact.
“Well, I suppose… Of course, if you think it best—” Peter coughed and reached for his drink.
“Don’t forget Greenwich Hospital,” Miss Annabelle added from across the table, breaking the tension. “They have a chapel and dining hall with all sorts of paintings you can visit, though there’s an admission fee for those.”
Suddenly Lyman recalled something Clarkson had told him once. “I believe that Guy’s Hospital will even allow interested members of the public to request tickets to view some of their surgical operations being performed. That might be worthy of a mention as well.”
“My!” Della’s cheeks had turned pink. She smiled as she turned from Annabelle to Lyman. “Thank you for all these suggestions. Though I don’t know if the prospect of viewing an operation might be too gruesome for a ladies’ guide?”
Lyman raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been expecting that. Della must have read his mind, for she laughed and colored more deeply.“You’re quite right. If it’s likely to be of interest to at least a portion of my readers, I must include it. Who am I to say there are no aspiring lady surgeons who might thank me?”
It surprised him how quickly they’d learned to read each other. Della was easy enough, for she wore her thoughts openly on her face, but people didn’t normally find him quite so easy to pin down unless he spoke his mind. Yet she’d known what he was thinking instinctively.
Peter held his tongue and asked Lyman nothing more about theaters or hospitals or anything else for the rest of the meal.
***
Della had rarely seen her brother so uncomfortable, and she was quite delighted by the sight. It did him a world of good to be put down by a gentleman he respected from time to time.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Ashton, once Peter was distracted by a conversation with Miss Greenwood.
He didn’t need to ask what for. His jaw was tight as he murmured, “They shouldn’t talk to you that way.”
“It’s only Peter. He’s always been a bit smug, but he means well.”
“It isn’t only Peter,” Ashton insisted. “And I wish you wouldn’t pretend it doesn’t matter how other people treat you.”
Della found herself momentarily unable to reply to this. Her throat was suddenly tight, though she hardly knew what they were talking about. “I don’t—”
