"I am surprised to see you here, Lord Malory," was said by his side.
He hadn't noticed the dowager countess approaching him. He knew her by sight but couldn't recall ever actually speaking to her before. She, apparently, knew him by sight as well, to know who he was.
As for her wondering at his presence, he replied skeptically, "I doubt that, Lady Siddons, considering who your houseguest is."
"No, truly," she insisted, though she said it with a smile that merely confirmed his impression. "After all, you were privileged enough to obtain the gem, yet foolishly tossed it away."
"I've tossed away nothing, madame," he said stiffly, well aware what she meant, and continuing in the same vein, "The gem is still legally mine."
Her brow shot up, indicating he might have actually surprised her this time, yet her tone was merely curious. "I find that passing strange, considering the connections available to a marquis that would expedite the disposal of matters of that nature. Perhaps you have merely been delayed in seeing it accomplished?"
"Perhaps I have no intention of doing anything of the sort," he shot back.
"Well now, that presents a dilemma. It might behoove you to make the gel aware of it, since she is quite under a different impression. Or do you think she's been launched just to gain your attention?"
"Actually, that she's been launched a'tall is beyond comprehension," he told her. "Or aren't you aware of who she really is?"
"Who she is? You mean aside from being your wife?" she rubbed it in, then, "I can't imagine what you're thinking. She's my dear friend's niece, of course. I don't believe you've made his acquaintance. Well, come along, my lord, and we shall rectify that."
She walked off, fully expecting him to follow her, He did, since he did in fact have a few pertinent questions to put to Sir William Thompson.
The old man was alone, standing sentinel next to a rather large fireplace, where he'd been keeping a "paternal" eye on his young "relative." Making quick work of the introductions, Lady Siddons left them alone there,
Christopher didn't mince words, asking right off, "Why have you claimed Anastasia as your niece?"
William didn't answer immediately. He glanced away from Christopher to stare again at the large group in the center of the room, his expression thoughtful. He took a sip from the cup of tea he held.
Christopher didn't get the impression that he was grappling to find an answer. He suspected he was being kept waiting deliberately. To prod his impatience? To punish him? No, that was too ulterior. Perhaps the old man simply hadn't heard him, a distinct possibility considering his age, which was likely in the seventies.
But then Sir William said in a mild tone that could have been discussing any mundane thing, rather than what was likely painful memories, "My sister disappeared some forty-two years ago, Lord Malory. I never forgave myself, at least not until very recently, for my part in it, for not taking her side when she fought with my parents over whom she was to marry. She chose to run away, rather than accept their choice for her, and we never saw her again, nor ever heard from her again. She had lovely black hair, you know. It's not inconceivable that Anastasia could be her daughter, not hard to believe a'tall, actually."
"But she's not, is she?"
William glanced at him again now. He seemed somewhat amused when he said, "Does it matter? When the society that you allow to dictate your actions thinks she is? You want to hear facts, my lord?"
"That would be wonderfully helpful," Christopher said dryly.
Sir William smiled at his tone. "Very well, it's a fact that I was traveling with those Gypsies myself. The reason isn't important, but I was in that camp when you arrived to tell them to leave. You wouldn't have noticed me, though. The truth is, you noticed nothing and no one else, once you set eyes on the lass."
The heated flush came swiftly, the truth of those words embarrassing, though undeniable. "She's uncommonly attractive," Christopher said in his defense.
"Oh, she is that, indeed, but what has that to do with anything, my lord? No, you have only to consider. There is love that takes a long while to grow, then there is love that is immediate. I never wondered at your interest in the lass. It was blatantly apparent."
Love her? Christopher started to snort, then nearly choked on his own derision. Good God, why hadn't he considered that? He had thought he was obsessed with her. He'd thought he was losing control of his own emotions. He'd thought he was letting lust get the better of him. Yet thinking back on it, he recalled how incredibly happy he'd been, waking up to find Anastasia in his bed that morning. He hadn't thought that he might be in love.
"The question, Lord Malory," William continued, "is what are you going to do about it?"
He'd come to her. Anastasia hadn't had to go out and be "seen" in places that Christopher might frequent, hoping to run into him. It wasn't going to take weeks, as she'd suspected it would. He'd come to her, and the very next day after her official "launching."
She shouldn't read anything into it, other than that Elizabeth's prior rumor-spreading had paid off, yet Anastasia couldn't help doing so. He was here, and so soon. And she discounted that he was staring green daggers at her. She had expected him to seriously disapprove of what she'd done, considering how he felt about commoners and nobles mixing socially, let alone more permanently.
She was doing a bit more than that, she was pretending to be something she wasn't, not her idea, but she certainly hadn't balked at it. It would be in line with Christopher's rigid beliefs to denounce her for it. But he didn't, at least not immediately. He spoke with Victoria. Now he was speaking with William. And all the while she was kept in suspense, waiting to see what he would do.
It was impossible to continue to carry on conversations with her admirers when her heart was slamming in anticipation, when her every thought was centered on the large, handsome man across the room, rather than on what was being said to her. If she'd said one word since he walked into the room, she'd certainly never recall it.
She was about to excuse herself and approach Christopher, unable to wait a moment longer when her future happiness was at stake here. But she didn't have to. He began walking directly to her, and his expression had only changed slightly. It was decidedly determined, implacable, and somewhat menacing, a combination that didn't bode too well for Anastasia's hopes.
She held her breath. It wasn't hard to tell that her attention was utterly transfixed, which had the men around her all glancing toward Christopher as well.
