“I may make other plans,” Joseph said.
But before he could elaborate on them, they were interrupted by the approach of Ralph Milne, Viscount Sterne, another cousin, who was eager to talk about a pair of matched bays that were going up for auction at Tattersall’s.
Joseph had accepted his invitation to attend the concert on Grosvenor Square by the time he escorted Miss Hunt to the theater that evening. He was related to neither Whitleaf nor his wife, but he had long ago accepted them as cousins of a family that embraced more members than just his blood relatives. Certainly he felt that he ought to attend any entertainment to which they had been obliging enough to invite him. He wanted to attend also because he had heard good things about the singing voice of the Countess of Edgecombe and welcomed the opportunity to hear it for himself. He wanted to attend because Lauren—Viscountess Ravensberg, his cousin of sorts—upon whom he had called after leaving White’s, had told him that she and Kit would be there as well as the Duke and Duchess of Portfrey. Elizabeth, the duchess, was another almost-relative of his. He had always thought of her as an aunt though she was in fact the sister of his uncle by marriage. He wanted to attend because Neville’s wife, Lily, who had also been visiting Lauren, had invited him to dinner before the concert.
And he was to attend, he discovered during the course of the evening, despite the fact that Portia Hunt wasnot. It was regrettable, he supposed, but unavoidable under the circumstances.
During one of the intervals between acts of the play, Miss Hunt asked him if he was going to Lady Fleming’s soiree a few evenings hence. There was something quite new in her manner toward him, he had realized all evening—something rather proprietary. Clearly her father had spoken with her. He was about to reply in the affirmative when Laurence Brody interjected with a question of his own.
“You are not going to the Whitleaf concert on that evening, then, Miss Hunt?” he asked. “I have heard that everyone is going there. Lady Edgecombe is to sing and the whole world is eager to hear her.”
“Not thewholeworld, Mr. Brody,” Portia said with controlled dignity. “Iam not eager to go, and neither is my mother or any number of other people of good taste whom I could name. We have already accepted Lady Fleming’s invitation. I expect to find superior company and conversation at her soiree.” She smiled at Joseph.
He could have kicked himself then.Of courseshe would not be going to the concert. The Countess of Edgecombe was married to the man Portia had firmly believed for most of her lifeshewas going to marry. It was during the days and weeks following the ending of that relationship that he, Joseph, had first befriended her.
“I regret that I must miss the soiree, Miss Hunt,” he said. “I have already accepted my invitation to Lady Whitleaf’s concert.”
He would have refused his invitation if he had remembered—as he ought to have done—that connection between the Edgecombes and Miss Hunt. And she was clearly not pleased with him. She was very quiet for the rest of the evening, and when shedidspeak, it was almost exclusively to other members of the party.
He arrived on the appointed evening with Lily and Neville and paid his respects to Whitleaf and Susanna. The ballroom, he could see, was already filling nicely. The first person he saw when they stepped inside was Lauren, who had a smile on her face and an arm raised to attract their attention from the other side of the room. Kit was with her as were Elizabeth and Portfrey.
And Miss Martin.
He had thought of the schoolteacher a number of times since his return to town. He had liked her more than he had expected to during the journey to London. She was prim and straightlaced and severe, it was true, and independent to a fault. But she was also intelligent and capable of dry humor.
But he had thought of her mainly for other reasons. He intended to have another talk with her before she returned to Bath, though tonight was probably not the right time for that. She was smartly dressed in green muslin, he noticed. Her hair was styled a little more becomingly than it had been at the school or on the journey to London. Even so, anyone looking at her this evening could surely not mistake her for anything other than what she was—a schoolteacher. It was something to do with the discipline of her posture, the sternness of her expression, the total absence of frills or curls or jewels about her person.
As he approached with Lily and Neville, she turned to see them come.
“Lily, Neville, Joseph,” Lauren said as they joined the group, and there followed a flurry of greetings and handshakes and kisses on the cheek. “Have you met Miss Martin? These are the Countess of Kilbourne, Miss Martin, and my cousins, the Marquess of Attingsborough and the earl.”
“Miss Martin?” Neville smiled and bowed.
“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Martin,” Lily said with her customary warm smile as Miss Martin inclined her head and bade them all a good evening.
“We have already met,” Joseph said, extending a hand for hers and remembering that the last time he did so he had committed the faux pas of kissing it. “I had the pleasure of escorting Miss Martin up from Bath a week ago.”
“But yes, of course,” Lauren said.
“I have not set eyes on you since then, Joseph,” Elizabeth said. “How is your father?”
“Considerably better, thank you,” he said, “though he chooses to believe otherwise. He is certainly fit enough to grumble about everyone and everything. My mother, meanwhile, appears to be enjoying Bath society.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” Elizabeth said. “I know she was disappointed not to be coming up to town this year.”
“Miss Martin,” Portfrey said, “both the Countess of Edgecombe and Lady Whitleaf were once teachers at your school, I understand?”
“They were,” she said. “I still mourn their loss. However, I am exceedingly proud of my present staff of teachers.”
“Christine tells us,” Kit said, speaking of the Duchess of Bewcastle, “that Miss Thompson is very happy there.”
“I believe she is,” Miss Martin told him. “She was clearly born to teach. My girls love her and learn from her and obey her without question.”
“I am fascinated by the idea of a girls’ school,” Lily said. “I must talk with you about it sometime, Miss Martin. I have a hundred questions to ask.”
“All of which must wait, my love,” Neville said. “I believe the concert is about to begin.”
“We should take our seats, then,” Elizabeth said.
