Ariana hid a smile. She and her mother had often been amused by the fuss men made over the way they tied a strip of cloth, giving different knots particular names. Doubtless the twists and turns of Norris’s gray silk had taken him and his valet a great deal of time.
He was blushing with pleasure. “It’s a Braydon. Very tricky. But I think we pulled it off.”
They left the library so the evidence of their meal could be removed, and made a final check of the arrangements. The lute in the drawing room now seemed like evidence of stupidity and her mother spotted it.
“I didn’t know we’d provided a lute.”
Ariana found no response other than the truth. “Kynaston plays, or did. I heard him once. If he can be tempted, it will provide variation.”
“It certainly will. What an excellent idea.”
Ariana distrusted her mother’s bland tone, but she wasn’t about to poke into that pile of trouble.
The hired musicians began their soft music from a corridor on the first floor and so the family gathered in the hall to prepare to greet their guests.
Soon the house began to fill in a most satisfactory way. Ariana did her duty, but she was alert for her targets. There were no formal announcements of guests, so she hovered near the door to hear people give their name and invitation to the footman as they came in.
Kynaston arrived with the Weathersted party. Ariana noted that her words had not had effect. Poor Lady Phyllis was as ill dressed as before.
Norris hurried forward to greet the Weathersteds. Perhaps her problem was solved, but she wouldn’t count her chickens.
At last she heard a man say, “Sir Arraby Arranbury.” What a mouthful. But she saw a tall, rather gingerish man—she would not be prejudiced against ginger—with a square chin and a pleasant expression.
She moved forward. “Sir Arraby, welcome. I’m Lady Ariana Boxstall.”
He smiled and bowed. “Honored, ma’am. From Hampshire, I believe.”
“Yes.” A maid came by with a tray of wine. Ariana took a glass from it and presented it to him.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I don’t drink.”
She almost said, “Not even water?” but was mainly dismayed by the implications. She managed a smile. “Very wise, I’m sure. Do you forbid all inebriating beverages in your house, Sir Arraby?”
“I permit small beer for the servants. Abovestairs we drink tea.”
“Tea is an excellent beverage,” she agreed.
His smile became approving, but Ariana knew another candidate had tumbled off her list. She wasn’t addicted to alcoholic drinks, but she enjoyed wine with her meals, an occasional glass of port, and even a small brandy now andthen. She didn’t want to live in a house where only small beer and tea were allowed. What was more, she wondered what other restrictions on pleasure ruled there.
She took him over to her mother. “Mama, I present Sir Arraby Arranbury. He is as fond of tea as you are.”
With that, she escaped.
“Arranbury not to your taste?”
She turned to find Kynaston by her side, with a glint of amusement in his eye.
“I assume you know his ways.”
“You could tipple in your boudoir.”
“He’d know.”
“And read you a lengthy lecture on the subject.”
“At which I’d throw the chamber pot at him.”
Ariana realized with a start that she was chatting to Kynaston in much the same joking way she might talk to Norris. Perhaps it was because he was looking normal again, and humor warmed his eyes. She squashed down any lusty reactions. She wanted information, and he might be the man to provide it. She moved into the corridor toward the back of the house, where they wouldn’t be observed. He followed.
