Small tables were set out in a number of rooms, many already occupied by ladies as their partners went to the buffet to select food. North steered toward a table where two ladies were settling, each with a gentleman standing behind.
Something about a plump lady and her companion suggested a married couple, but a handsome, dark-haired lady was being seated by Kynaston. Phyllis? No, the lady must have been in her thirties at least.
All the same, Ariana didn’t want to take supper at the same table as Kynaston and looked around for an alternative. When she knew so few people, it was impossible.
Kynaston saw them approaching and his cold look implied again that Ariana was pursuing him. She desperately wanted to deny it, and even to tell him exactly what she thought of him. Being a well-mannered lady was a great impediment.
Introductions were made and Ariana discovered thatthe couple was Lord and Lady Eastonholme, and the lady Mrs. Manners.
Wife or widow?
North seated her and then went with the other gentlemen to find food.
“I don’t know why we can’t select food for ourselves,” Ariana said.
Lady Eastonholme smiled. “One of the many advantages about being married, Lady Ariana, is that my husband knows just what I like.”
“Another reason to regret that I’m a widow,” Mrs. Manners said, adding, “I feel the need to say that. With everyone in mourning it’s not instantly clear and gentlemen keep asking me to dance.”
“My condolences, ma’am,” Ariana said, annoyed by a pang. She didn’t want Kynaston, so why begrudge him to another woman? Mrs. Manners would be an odd choice, however. She was a good-looking, well-bred woman, but her clothes and ornaments didn’t suggest a rich widow, and she might have been as much as ten years Kynaston’s senior. She certainly didn’t seem a likely match for a rake.
“In addition to that,” Mrs. Manners said, “I’m Lady Phyllis Delacorte’s companion, and not quite an equal of this company. So thoughtful of Lord Kynaston to partner me for supper.”
“I’m sure he enjoys your company, ma’am,” Lady Eastonholme said kindly. “May I ask, was your husband a military man?” When Mrs. Manners said that he had been, she added, “One of our sons died at Quatre Bras.”
The two women began to share their experiences, seeming to find comfort from it.
How sad that such a bond be so likely. There seemed to be scarcely a family in Britain untouched by thelosses of war. If peace prevailed, there could come a time when a similar coincidence would stir astonishment. May that be so.
Ariana was also digesting the fact that Lady Phyllis was probably Kynaston’ssister. Delacorte was the family name. It was remarkable that he partner an employee and she had to give him credit for that. She truly couldn’t imagine a match there, so she felt more kindly toward Mrs. Manners. Major Manners had died of wounds suffered at Waterloo, but only recently. He’d been brought home, where he’d lingered for nearly two years. Mrs. Manners seemed to treasure that time, even though there’d never been hope of recovery.
“I’m very fortunate to have my position,” she said, smiling. “Lady Phyllis is a good, quiet girl and can be relied upon to be sensible. Lord Kynaston agrees and told me I need not hover over her.”
A kindly brother and a considerate employer. Can it be believed?
Ariana said, “I assume you and Lady Phyllis have been living in the country?”
“At Delacorte, yes, but a problem developed with the roof that made leaving the house for a while advisable.”
Ah, rack and ruin. That fits the picture better.
“It can be so hard to keep a large house in good repair,” Ariana said, seeking more evidence.
Mrs. Manners didn’t oblige. “We were to visit a relative in Cambridgeshire, but then some neighbors, the Weathersteds, invited us to come to Town with them.”
“Much preferable, I’m sure,” Lady Eastonholme said. “Especially for a young lady.”
“She’s only seventeen,” Mrs. Manners said. “Her brother thinks her too young.”
“Not if she’s as sensible as you say, ma’am. A littleexperience at a quiet time will be just the thing. When did you first come to Town, Lady Ariana?”
“At seventeen,” Ariana admitted.
“There, see.”
Lady Eastonholme and Mrs. Manners settled happily to discussing young ladies and society. Ariana gazed around, seeking Dauntry, but instead saw Lord Inching approaching. He was partnering a young lady only a few inches taller than himself, but his attention was on Ariana. There was no way to prevent him from claiming the two remaining seats, but why did one of them have to be at her side?
He was obsessively attracted to tall women, and something of that glittered in Lord Inching’s eyes. She was remembering an elderly gentleman in Hampshire who’d been in constant pursuit of plumply bosomed young women. Apart from his age, there’d been nothing particularly to object to, but his attraction had become a kind of mania. When he’d progressed to lurking in wait for his targets and then rushing out to grab their breasts, his family had installed him in a home for the demented. Everyone had been most relieved. Thus far there’d been nothing to object to about Lord Inching’s behavior, but it was a relief when he went to the buffet of food, leaving Miss Cushing at the table.
