The lighthearted chatter and dainty laughter flowed from the chamber in refined strains. The ladies sounded happy. Content.
She stifled a groan.
Olivia was used to interacting with men and, if necessary, making as little small talk as possible. The conversations that women would often engage in were, admittedly, not her forte. Her responsibilities left little time for female friendships. Even if she did have time, not many women understood her drive and passions. At least for the afternoon, Olivia needed to set all that to the side. She needed to be seen as an equal to these ladies—one way or the other.
She drew a fortifying breath, released it in a steady stream, and entered the drawing room.
All eyes turned to her. The beautiful Miss Haven, the genial Miss Stanley, and the effusive Miss Kline. Their respectivechaperones were also present, and each lady held a piece of sewing or white-work embroidery. Miss Wainbridge was notably absent.
“MissBrannon,” MissHaven exclaimed. “I’m so glad you have joined us at last.”
“I do apologize that I’m late.” Olivia sat primly in the indicated chair, feeling oddly out of place, just as she had when she attended the school for young ladies all those years ago.
“Is Mrs.Milton not joining you?” MissStanley lowered her embroidery hoop to her lap. “I was hoping to speak with her this afternoon. She seemed in quite an agitated state last night.”
Keenly aware of the attention focused on her, Olivia straightened her posture. “She is quite well, no need for concern. She said she had a matter to attend to, but she would be here for tea soon.”
MissKline, who was seated to Olivia’s left, pivoted toward her, her almost-black eyes unnervingly direct. “You’ve come down at the most opportune time, for we’ve been discussing the Whitmores’ ball.”
“The Whitmores’ ball?” Olivia echoed.
“Of course!” The volume of MissKline’s nasal voice increased. “The ball we are to attend in two days’ time! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about it.”
“Oh no.” Olivia gave a little laugh to mask her mistake. “I’ve not forgotten about it.”
“The Whitmores never fail to host the most exquisite events.” The golden curls on each side of Miss Haven’s face bounced witheach syllable. “I’m sure it will rival any of those we attended in London this past Season.”
MissKline lowered her sewing to a basket on the floor at her side. “I understand you’re from London, MissBrannon. What events did you attend this summer? Perhaps we saw you there.”
She hesitated. She’d not lie, but neither would she divulge anything more than necessary. “I’m afraid I did not attend any balls this year, or really any events of significance. I’ve been much occupied with family obligations.”
MissHaven and MissKline exchanged a glance.
MissStanley, however, leaned forward. “While we were waiting for you to join us, we’ve come up with a surprise. We intend to produce a concert tonight for the gentlemen, but especially for Mr.Wainbridge, for his graciousness in inviting us all here. We’ve each already decided what music we will perform. You will, of course, participate with us. What musical skill will you contribute? Do you play the pianoforte? Harp?”
Olivia thought she’d be happy for a change of topic, but this development only intensified the anxiety gripping her.
Of course all of these women were likely accomplished musicians. They would expect her to be the same, and yet, on this topic, she could not even pretend to have knowledge. “You’re kind to include me in your plans, MissKline. I do enjoy listening to others play, but I fear I’m not musical.”
MissKline blinked. “You do not play? Anything?”
Olivia shook her head.
Miss Kline giggled incredulously. “Surely you sing at least!”
Olivia could almost laugh at the stunned silence that had descended upon the room. Was it really that difficult to believe?
She had no choice but to force confidence.
For it was true. They might have spent their lives chasing certain accomplishments, but so had Olivia. She was an expert in antiques and could rival any male in the business. And that was what she was here for.
Before she could respond to MissKline’s question, commotion sounded in the corridor outside the drawing room. All attention shifted to the door, and MissWainbridge and Mrs.Milton entered with a newcomer: tall, dark, and extremely attractive.
Olivia thought MissWainbridge might burst with pride as she spoke.
“Ladies, a man who needs no introduction, I’m sure, but our esteemed guest has arrived. May I present Mr.Romano.”
Olivia felt it as palpably as a gust of wind before a storm—a rush of excited energy surged through the chamber. Clearly the other ladies and chaperones knew details about Mr.Romano that she did not. She quickly assessed him: A sapphire ring glittered on his right hand, and his intricately tied cravat gleamed snowy white against his olive skin. Not a speck of dust or dirt marred his double-breasted sienna velvet tailcoat, and his black leather court shoes boasted a gleaming silver buckle.
