“How will we have proof of who’s won?” asked one of the others.
The fire hissed and crackled as one of the chunks of coal in the hearth burst into flame.
The sound seemed to rouse the earl just as Whitleigh nodded and echoed his crony’s concern. “Aye, how will we know for sure,”
“Do you doubt my word of honor?” asked Branford softly.
Whitleigh shrank back a step. “O-Of course not, milord! Stupid of me … must have had too much brandy …”
“Go away, all of you,” snapped the earl. “And leave me in bloody peace.”
The group moved off to the far end of the room, and as their conversation drifted on to other topics, Hammerton took his leave and exited the club, a faint but discernable look of satisfaction on his face.
Two
“Aunt Aurelia! Alex! Cook is threatening to give notice if the two of you are late again for supper.”
A rustle of silk sounded, followed by a glimmer of silvery hair and a pair of bespectacled eyes as Lady Aurelia Beckworth face appeared from behind a large leatherbound quarto ofThe Iliad. “Supper?” A note of surprise shaded her voice. “But … but we just had our mid-day meal an hour ago.”
At the other end of the table, Alexandra Chilton—her left cheek liberally smudged with black pigment—closed her sketchbook and squinted at the mantel clock.
“Umm, actually, it was more like five hours ago.” She, too, sounded vaguely surprised. “My apologies, Justin,” she called to her younger brother after setting aside her stick of charcoal. “I fear time has passed rather more quickly than I had imagined.”
“My dear, given my advanced years, it isIwho am supposed to say that,” retorted Lady Beckworth as she reluctantly put down her book. Her voice carried a tone of mild reproval, but there was a twinkle in her hazel-colored eyes. Though age had brought the inevitable physical changes to her face, it had not dulled the glint of intelligence that radiated from their depths.
There was, however, also a glint of concern as she turned to face her niece. “You, on the other hand,” she said lightly, “should be thinking about the Worthington’s ball, not the leaf structure ofverbena patagonica.
“Hmmph.” Alex rubbed her hand absently on the folds of her muslin day dress, leaving a smudges of gray on the fabric. “Why on earth should I be thinking about the Worthington’s ball? I’m not a giddy fresh-from the-schoolroom miss in my first Season. In fact, I’m as good as on the shelf …”
“Now my dear …”
“You know as well as I do that it’s the truth,” countered Alex. “I’m too old, too opinionated and too poor to attract any offer—decent or otherwise. And I’m very glad of that!” She made a pained face. “I’ve yet to meet a man who is interesting enough for me to want to be leg-shackled to him for the rest of my life.”
Her aunt tried to look shocked, but instead her lips curled up in a wry smile and a chuckle escaped her lips.
“Oh, Aunt Aurelia—how lucky I am that I may freely express my sentiments and know that you will understand how I feel,” said Alex, flashing a look of gratitude at her aunt. “That you have a sense of humor is yet another gift. Thank heaven that we can both laugh at the foibles of Society—and at ourselves.”
Alex sighed. “My only regret is that we are such a burden on you. If I can find a publisher for my paintings of the flowers of Kent—and Mr. Simpson thinks it is very possible—then I shall have an income, and Justin and I can …”
Lady Beckworth had risen and come to stand by Alex. “My dear, never call yourselves a burden!” She placed a hand on her niece’s shoulder. “You and Justin are treasures to me, not a burden.”
Alex squeezed her aunt’s fragile fingers but kept her face averted as she blinked back the glint of tears.
“Yes, well, it is Justin about whom you should be concerned,” she said in a husky voice. “It is forhissake that we are spending a Season here. He deserves the chance to acquire a little Town polish—and to convince Anne’s father that he will make her a good match, despite his lack of fortune. Thus I shall dutifully attend the Worthington’s ball and try not to say or do anything that might disgrace the family name …”
Another thump reverberated on the heavy oak door, and this time it also flew open to admit a slender young man into the library
“That’s enough dithering, you two!” exclaimed Justin, his hands threading through his tousled sandy curls in mock despair. But like his sister and aunt, his eyes danced with humor. “Translating another stanza of Homer into English from the original Greek and discerning the number of stamens in aNigella damascenawill have to wait until tomorrow.”
Drawing his brows together in a mock scowl, he pointed a finger meaningfully towards the hall. “As I said, supper is served. After you, ladies.”
“ShallI put your hair in a bun, milady, or or coil it in a soft chignon?” The maid was forced to ask the question for a second time..
“Oh dear, I fear I was woolgathering, Maggie. A soft chignon, please.” Lady Beckworth shifted in her chair as her long-time retainer continued to style her hair for the coming evening. But although she was looking straight ahead at the large looking glass on her dressing table, her gaze took in none of the details of her coiffeur.
Her thoughts were focused on her niece and nephew.
How capricious life was, she mused …
