She probably should have screamed. That would have served him right, and perhaps his aunt would have tossed him out on his ear. An opportunity missed and now she’d have to keep her door locked at night or not feel safe in her bed.
She’d go to Lady Cawle, tell her tale, and get him evicted.
But then Ethel returned.
“As you say, he’s Lady Cawle’s nephew on her husband’s side, and she’s softhearted with him—that’stheir words—as she wasn’t with her husband and isn’t with her own son. Their words again.”
“What else?”
“I didn’t like to ask too many questions, but Lady Cawle’s maid was warning the younger maids about him. She said he’s the rascal he is because his father died when he was young, so he’s been the earl from a lad, cosseted by all.”
“And of course he was gifted with a devil’s charm.” At Ethel’s look, Ariana exclaimed, “It’s not praise! A devil charms people down to hell.”
“But some probably enjoy the journey. He has a room here, but that’s recent. He’s been abroad for years and only returned a few weeks ago.”
“Thank God we’ll soon be gone. As he clearly lives a life of dark-hours debauchery, our paths may never cross again.” Ariana saw the somewhat mangled newspaper and picked it up. “Having won a copy of theTimesat such pains, I intend to enjoy it.” She sat down again and opened the paper, but her mind wouldn’t stick to the words on the page.
He’d remembered dancing with her.
But only because she was tall.
“Forgive me my sins.”There’d been such sorrow in that, as if he felt true repentance. Surely he couldn’t remember everything about that night.
After the memorable set danced with Lord Kynaston—at the hostess’s insistence, of course—she’d resumed her regular station as a wallflower. She’d felt conspicuous, as always, even when sitting down, especially when she’d just made a spectacle of herself with the object of her dreams.
Even though it was obvious his aunt had been compelling him, he’d been gracious as he’d asked her todance. Unlike one gentleman she’d heard whispering, “Gads, no, ma’am, please. A veritable maypole!”
Alas, she’d paid him badly for his courtesy. She’d been a well-taught dancer, but being so close to her idol had made her clumsy, which had made her even clumsier, as had awareness that every eye was upon them—because he was a god and she was freakishly tall.
When the set was over, he’d returned her to her mother’s side, but she’d felt every eye was upon her. She’d used the excuse of needing the ladies’ retiring room to escape. She’d spent as much time there as possible and then lingered on her way back, taking a circuitous route. She’d found herself in a corridor, able to hear men’s voices from a room ahead. The door had been ajar and so she’d hesitated, wondering if she could walk past without being seen. Then she’d realized they were indulging in a cruel review of the young ladies present.
One miss was a giggling pink rabbit, and another a pudding bag with her bulk tied into a white dress. Then some wit had turned to ornithology. Miss Penty was a big-breasted buzzard, because of her hawklike nose and large bosom. Miss Sallicome, who had pimples and sadly crooked teeth, was a lesser-spotted crossbill.
Each sally had brought louder guffaws, and she’d stood there, fists clenched, desperate for the courage to storm in and call them a gaggle of lesser-brained vultures. But then she’d heard Kynaston’s voice.
“And let’s not forget the big-footed Boxstall longshanks!”
How they’d hooted and choked. She’d fled back the way she’d come, aware as never before of her feet, of the slap they made as she ran and how they must lookin white satin slippers trimmed with pink rosettes to match her gown.
At the memory, the agony of embarrassment washed over her again, as if she were seventeen again, and her hands crushed the edges of the unread paper.
A knock brought her out of the past, but Ariana was instantly alarmed that it would be him. She didn’t want to see him, not even if he’d come to apologize. When Ethel opened the door, however, it was to a maid bearing a folded paper.
From him?
Apologizing?
It was a letter, however.
“From Hermione Faringay,” she said with relief. The letter had been addressed to the town house and sent on. “Perhaps she’s coming to Town after all.”
Ariana broke the seal with anticipation, but her friend’s first words were that she and her husband were fixed at Faringay.
But she continued:
I’m so pleased you’re in London again. You’ve been much too inclined to stay in the country, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy all London has to offer. Never mind the trivial social whirl. You must visit the British Museum and any number of other intelligent diversions. I mention the British Museum because they have Egyptian artifacts there, including the Rosetta stone, and I know that’s an interest of yours.
You may also want to visit my great-uncle, Mr. Peake. He has recently acquired a town house where he can display the items he brought back from the East. He’s also amusing himself by hosting gatherings of a society called the Curious Creatures. Theyare people who share an interest in anything odd or obscure, and in new ideas and developments.
