Ellie let out a breath and gave the man a soft smile. “He is better than he was.”
“That’s good,” Benedict nodded, pleased. “I vaguely remember his mother, she was once a Diamond of the First Water in those times. She was such a beauty, and when Dorian was younger, he mirrored her more than he did his father.” The raven-haired man chuckled at a distant memory. “Though I suppose us dandies always mirror our mothers until we must take on the roles of our forefathers.”
That was interesting.
“Do you remember his mother’s name?” Ellie inquired.
His eyes shifted to the left. “Georgiana, I believe. Yes, GeorgianaYateswas her maiden name.”
“If she is anything like my husband’s soft interior, she sounds lovely,” Ellie smiled.
“She indeed was,” Benedict chuckled as he straightened. “Ah. I met your cousin last night. She was worried for you after your impromptu departure.”
Evelina’s emotions took another turn.Harriet.
She feared for her cousin in that social-climbing house. Maybe she should go to her aunt’s house and warn them away from dropping Harriet into Carrington’s clutches.
“I should speak with her and ease her worries,” she said.
He dropped some more cream in his coffee. “She is a lovely young woman. I spoke with her for all of five minutes, and I could already tell as much… though we never got around to thepart of whether she is being courted by someone,” he trailed off, feigning distraction.
There was something in his tone that piqued Evelina’s interest. “Benedict…” her lips twitched, “Are you seeking my permission to court my cousin?”
Ruddiness stained the high ridges of Benedict’s cheekbones. “In a roundabout way, I suppose.”
Ellie laughed. “I’d be delighted if you did court her. She would do well with a man like you.”
“Thank you,” he coughed in fevered embarrassment, reaching for his cup. “Would you… perhaps mind telling me her favorite flower?”
Hurrying back to Somerton in the late evening, almost night—rain was on the air—Ellie shed away her coat and rested the box of books from Temple of the Muses on the closest table.
The deluge came.
“Goodness,” she peered out a window at the sudden sheets of rain pummeling the streets and making the water in the fountain dance and spill over.
The day had been wonderful; after the talk with Benedict, she and Victoria had gone to the Pall Mall Haberdasheries in Bond Street, then for ices at Gunter’s Tea Shop, and lastly, book shopping.
She headed to her rooms, ready for her bath and supper, only to cross Dorian’s study. He was leaning in his chair; a long index finger was tracing the rim of his whisky glass.
Dorian’s expression was as bleak as the rainy night. His skin stretched drum-taut over the sharp frame of his bones. His eyes were bleary, rimmed with red, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for months.
“Dorian?” she entered, concern twisting her stomach in knots. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, of course,” he murmured, tossing back a mouthful. “And I’ll be much better when you tell me where you were today.”
Her stomach curdled. “I have a feeling that you already have the answer to that.”
He pressed the glass to his temple. “How many lies did he tell you this time?”
Ellie felt her heart sink, and she pushed from the table. “Dorian, if you would—”
“Tell me.” His eyes were cutting.
She notched her head up to meet them while her heart felt as if it were beating out of her breastbone. “He did not lie to me.”
Dorian slammed the glass down with a hardthunkbefore he rounded the table. His stride was that of a panther on the prowl, his golden eyes narrowed like the great cat. She spun around and, with nowhere to go, had her backside on the edge of his table.
He planted his palms on both sides of her while leaning in. “Did he now?”
