He threw his drink back in one swallow, relishing the burn that cleared his thoughts. “We should find seats.”
He led her into the music room, one of four locations in which Mrs. Gibson would display the many talents of her musical grandchildren. Every chair was taken. They returned to the drawing room, and he led her to an open row of chairs.
She stepped closer to him and leaned in, her perfume thick and sweet, sending his head into a dizzying spin. “Wait, we should wait until my Aunt Ruth sits and then select our seats as far from her as possible.”
His mind had gone blank, so he just nodded. She tugged him toward the back of the room, where other guests had congregated, some of whom he knew as acquaintances.
“Blakewood, surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be haunting the corners of the Lyon’s Den while...” The young man stopped as he noticed Amelia. “Lady Amelia, a pleasure. I know your brother well. We met last season at the Archeron Summer Solstice party.”
“I’m afraid I don’t recall,” she said.
“Mr. Phillip Deveraux,” Graham offered.
“Oh, yes. Now I remember. You went to school with my brother.”
“Indeed, is Alston here? I have a wager I’d like to discuss.” He paused and peered around the room.
“He’s traveling north for... Mr. Blakewood? What was the urgent issue?” She peered up at him innocently.
Graham cleared his throat. “An issue with the well water.”
Deveraux grimaced. “I’m pleased to remain a mere third son and let my father and two older brothers handle estate matters.”
“Indeed,” Lady Amelia returned. Some of the stiffness left her. “My brother is always busy.”
A lady joined their small triangle, and Deveraux made room for her with a coy smile. Graham recognized her instantly and cursed in his mind.
“Lady Foxcroft,” Mr. Deveraux crooned.
Chapter Thirteen
Amelia studied thevision in pink silk gliding into their group. Julia Whistler, the beautiful young widow of the Viscount of Foxcroft, delivered the aged gentleman three healthy sons and ensured herself a life of comfort and freedom. The new viscount was just ten years old.
So young, just as Sam had been when he’d inherited.
Amelia had not yet met Lady Foxcroft but envied her for her independence and sophistication. Her black hair was smoothed into a neat coil, and she wore a tall black feather in her hair. Her eyes were a stunning green, like emeralds.
“Graham?” Lady Foxcroft smiled warmly at him, ignoring Deveraux’s swoon. “Did I see you at the Den earlier today?”
“Perhaps,” Graham said, his voice rough as though he’d swallowed gravel. “May I introduce Lady Amelia Clark? Lady Amelia, the Viscountess Foxcroft.”
The stunning woman turned her attention to Amelia. “Lord Alston’s sister? A pleasure, my dear. My, you do look like him.”
“Thank you, Lady Foxcroft.”
“Please, call me Julia. Graham and Alston do. I dislike formalities among friends.” Her gaze moved back to Blakewood and shifted to something Amelia could only describe asheated.
Amelia went cold, fighting an uncomfortable shiver as many ideas and feelings occurred at once—thoughts she did not want to investigate—one of which seemed suspiciously like jealousy. But she couldn’t be jealous. Of what? She knew nothing about this woman or the extent of her relationship to Blakewood. She only knew that this woman looked at him with such intent that Amelia had to wonder how certain Lady Foxcroft—Julia—was of his regard in return. How well did they know each other? And what was the Den? Amelia stood beside Blakewood, hand cupped around his elbow, and shrunk inwardly, feeling young and insignificant. A child who needed to be sent to bed while the adults discussed adult things.
Amelia would not accept these thoughts. “My brother had to go up north to tend to an estate. Something about well water, wasn’t that right, Graham?” Amelia turned to him, rubbing his forearm as if she also knew him quite well—she was his fiancée, was she not?—well enough to touch him with such familiarity, and looking up at him just the way Julia looked at him.
Julia caught sight of her hand stroking Graham’s arm, and Amelia could have sworn the faintest of frowns marred her face before swiftly disappearing behind the beautiful mask of serenity she wore.
“Yes, the well water may be tainted. Terrible news. He will return as soon as matters are rectified.”
“How unfortunate,” the viscountess murmured, her attention bouncing between them. “And you remain here, Lady Amelia? Are you not alone in the household and unmarried?” She presented a convincing frown of concern.
Amelia wasn’t certain how to read this woman. It was a pity. Before meeting her, Amelia had imagined becoming friends with her at one point or another, but now... she had a feeling she would soon come to dislike Julia Whistler. Was she a genuine person? Or was this whole persona a performance?
