Lady Sommerset chuckled. “Hardly. He and Lord Sommerset are opposites in many ways, just as I and my sister were.”
“Was Lord Harewood in love with Lady Northwick then?”
This time, Lady Sommerset laughed, drawing the attention of others in the room. “Lady Dorothea, how adorable.” The words were said loudly enough for all to assume someon-dithad been shared and nothing was of great import. Then the lady lowered her voice again. “No, Joanna and the lord would have never been a match, nor would Mariel. It was my sweet sister Belinda who caught Lord Harewood’s fancy and he hers.”
The softness in the countess’s gaze caused a tightening in Dory’s chest for both Lady Sommerset and Lord Harewood. Lady Belinda was revered by the Mabry sisters and even by those who attended the school. They all knew her story. She’d been kind, gentle, giving, and very understanding. Despite Lady Northwick nursing Lady Belinda through scarlet fever, she never regained her strength and faded away.
She and her classmates referred to Lady Belinda as “the Angel.” The life-like full-sized painting of her, created by Lady Sommerset, graced the parlor of Silver Meadows, where the school was housed. Many of her classmates admitted to talking to the portrait, which seemed so real.
She tried to imagine the stiff Lord Harewood with the Angel. “Did they truly love each other?” She couldn’t quite see it.
Lady Sommerset nodded. “Indeed, they did. He was just waiting for her to come out before asking her for her hand. Some say they were too young to know what it was to love, but I disagree. They were well matched, perhaps too well matched. Her passing changed all of us, but the most drastic change was in Lord Harewood. As a young lad, he was much like my husband, full of mischief and smiles.” She sighed. “Very few are witness tothat side of him now. And for years, it simply did not exist, as if it died with my sister. I like to credit my husband for helping Lord Harewood find that piece of himself again.”
Dory had a feeling that Rose also had a hand in helping him with that. “Do you think that means that he will love again someday?” She wasn’t sure why the countess’s answer was so important, but it was. Perhaps because he had helped her, she held a sympathy for his loss.
“I do not know.” The lady gave her usual smile. “But I do hope. In fact, I had noticed his interest in you and so I needed to ask.”
She almost laughed herself, even as a deep disappointment settled in her belly. “I am so far from being like Lady Belinda that to posit such a notion is humorous.” Was that why Lady Sommerset had turned her back on them when they’d been in the library? Best to make it clear that the earl in question had no intentions toward her. “No, our conversations centered on people’s thought processes and happiness.”
Lady Sommerset rolled her eyes. “That sounds like a conversation with Joanna. Ah, well. But what about the other men I mentioned?”
Ignoring her feeling of disappointment over Lord Harewood, even though she hadn’t realized she’d had any hopes in that direction, she thought about the men who had shown her interest so far. “Today is only the second day, but I do believe there may be some mutual interest. It is difficult to know a person in just a couple of conversations. Perhaps I will better be able to answer that in a fortnight.”
“That sounds like a pragmatic approach. I will listen carefully and let you know if I think any the men are ones to stay clear of. After all, that’s what a chaperone is supposed to do, or so I’ve been told.”
“Thank you. I’m already avoiding Lord Leighhall. He’s never liked me because of my mother. Do you think you can influence Lady Enderly into not seating him next to me again?”
“I’d be pleased to do so. He hasn’t endeared himself to me, either. Lady Enderly did say she was going to change the seating every night. Maybe I’ll have him seated next to me tomorrow.” Her lips lifted in a particularly impish smile.
Dory almost felt sorry for Lord Leighhall, but not quite. “I am most grateful for your kindness toward me.”
Lady Sommerset waved away her comment and picked up her needle again.
As she returned her attention to her own embroidery, her thoughts wandered to Lord Harewood. Now her heart ached for him, though not enough to suggest him to another woman. Did that mean she had some small feeling for him? If so, she needed to disperse it post-haste. But she did wish to help him in some way, like he had helped her. Perhaps she could convince him that he could be happy. Yes, she liked that idea. Maybe then, he could let himself fall in love again. She had no doubt that he would feel happy to see her succeed by following his suggestion, which gave her more motivation. She was just thankful that in her head, she could wander along her many squiggly lines to her heart’s content.
Chapter Eleven
Felton focused onhis hit and drew back the mallet. The black ball ran along the lawn and smacked into Leighhall’s ball, sending it off the course and leaving the pathway clear for his own partner, Lady Matilda.
“I say, Lord Harewood, that was a particularly harsh stroke.”
He shrugged at the man, not at all unhappy with his shot, which should put them in the lead, if Lady Matilda continued to show her skill at the game. Taking his second stroke, he passed his ball through the wire hoop and stepped back. “It is your turn, my lady.”
“Thank you, Lord Harewood. You cleared the way nicely.” Taking aim, she hit the ball, sending it through the wicket. She turned toward him. “I do believe we will take this contest.”
She was a slender lady, with light-brown hair, nondescript eyes, dressed in a typical white day dress. She had a strong competitive streak, which he had noticed at dinner the other night. He gave her an approving nod before moving off toward his ball.
Rose blocked his way. “Truly, brother, you take unfair advantage of us.”
“I do not. You are as skilled at pall-mall as I.” He nodded toward Leighhall, who stood at the edge of the game lining up his mallet. “It is your partner to whom you should complain.”
She sighed. “True, but that would hardly be fitting.” She moved aside and let him proceed. His sister always put propriety before her own wishes. Though she would prefer to win against him, she would encourage the man he’d nicknamed “the braggart.” He hoped she had no true interest in him.
By nature, Felton was competitive, which was why he’d started betting at White’s Gentlemen’s Club. He planned to win this game and the one after with the winner of the next set playing behind them. But his pleasure at soon winning the game was quickly being overshadowed by Lady Dorothea and Lord Dearling. The two of them were still at the second wicket as the man attempted to instruct the lady on aiming, which was hardly fitting since he didn’t seem to be able to find the wicket himself. That would not have bothered Felton at all. In fact, he’d usually find it mildly amusing.
However, Lady Dorothea’s laughter was distracting. That she could enjoy losing so thoroughly rubbed at him like a rock in his boot. It didn’t help that not only did she look lovely in her green dress and matching bonnet, but Lady Arabella and Lord Manning appeared to be purposefully miss-hitting to make her feel better about being such a poor shot. They were enjoying the game far too much despite their lack of progress.
“Lord Harewood, I believe it’s your turn.” At Lady Matilda’s call, he lined up and struck, his ball easily rolling through the next wicket and lining up on the next one.
