Lady Rabron’s gaze narrowed as if she’d caught the reprimand, and wasn’t pleased. She walked off.
Gwendolyn watched her weave her way to find a place to sit for Miss Purley’s performance. Would Lady Rabron betray Mr. Steele’s identity? Would she expose Mr. Curran as a fraud?
Of course she would. She was in a miserable marriage, one of her own making. Seeing her former suitor had raised her spirits. But if Mr. Steele rejected her, how might she react?
And if she thought Gwendolyn would docilely stand by and do nothing to protect him, she was wrong.
The problem was, Mr. Steele had not returned with the gentlemen. Gwendolyn wondered where he was. She hoped he appeared in time for her to warn him of Lady Rabron’s intentions... that is, if he wished to be warned.
Doubt began to worm its way into her thinking, especially as time passed and he didn’t make an appearance. She remembered Mr. Steele’s warning to her that day in the coach when he’d chastised her for being attracted to him. Was it possible he had cautioned Gwendolyn not to have feelings for him because he still carried atorch for Lady Rabron? He hadn’t acted as if he did since they arrived at Colemore.
Gwendolyn looked over at Lady Rabron and wanted to believe all the way to her bones that Mr. Steele now had better taste. He’d obviously been very young when he’d made his offer. Why else would he fix his attention on such a shallow woman?
A wave of loneliness rolled through her. She wished her sisters were here. They would commiserate with her over this unwelcome information, even though Dara might secretly rejoice.
Finally, Lady Middlebury commanded the room’s attention to introduce Miss Purley. The singing began. Lady Julia accompanied her while Lady Beth turned the pages. Miss Purley did, indeed, have a lovely voice. Her parents smiled indulgently, their chests puffed with pride. They kept looking over at Lord Ellisfield to see if he noticed how talented their daughter was.
Gwendolyn doubted if he did. He leaned against a wall as if it held him up.
As for Gwendolyn, she couldn’t carry a tune. But she did have a talent—loyalty.
Mr. Steele needed to be warned of Lady Rabron’s intentions to claim him at all costs. And that she could expose him, if she so desired.
Or at least, sitting there listening to Miss Purley warble on, Gwendolyn convinced herself that was what she must do... because confronting him would also give her the opportunityto gauge his reaction to Lady Rabron, one she hoped would be as enraged as her own.
Beck took his time as he made his way back to the house.
Colemore raised more questions than it had answered. Nothing made sense.
Most of all, his father.
His dreams had been vivid but disjointed and scrambled. What if they meant nothing? What if they were just the delusions of a head wound?
He stopped at the edge of the garden and looked up at the great house. A bank of rooms was well lit. Apparently most of the guests were still up. Beck didn’t hurry to join the company. He liked it out here in the dark. He could hide here. He could think.
Beck was not pleased to have run into Violet. He’d learned a great deal about human nature, and about women, since those tender years of his youth. Violet had let him declare his love for her, approach her father... and all the while, she’d known that her father would never give permission for them to marry. She’dknown.
Love had been hard for Beck. He’d never experienced it until Violet. Part of his attraction to her was that she had a family. Families were both a mystery and the Holy Grail. He’d wanted to be included.
He wasn’t. Her father had made that clear. In spite of Beck’s commission, Danvers had referred to him as little better than a mongrel and not worthy of his daughter.
Beck had never met Lord Rabron, the man who had been chosen. Beck had been fighting the French in Portugal when he’d heard that Violet had married. He hadn’t been as devastated as he’d anticipated. Then again, he’d been rather busy.
However, Violet’s rejection had convinced him that life was easier spent alone. No one had ever wanted him; why should he want them?
He now walked around the house to the far wing, the East Wing, keeping in the shadows. His room was located in this section. He found a side door and the servants’ stairs. The stairway was lit with wall sconces, not ones as fine as in the hallway but serviceable. He climbed his way to the first floor and then cracked a door open, pausing to listen.
A woman was singing. She was a far cry from the glorious voice in his dreams—
He heard a step on the stairs above him. The person couldn’t be a servant. He moved like a child did, a step and a pause to bring feet together, then another step. The progress of the old, the crippled, or the anxious.
Beck waited. If it was a servant, he needn’t say anything. If it wasn’t a servant, he wanted to know who else had reason to take these back stairs. Beck turned as if occupied with looking out into the hall.
He could feel the person come up behind him. A hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Beck whirled around, grabbing the man’s wrist, only to find himself looking at Lord Middlebury.
The marquess’s eyes widened at how quickly Beck had moved. “I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he said. Beck didn’t answer at first. He couldn’t.
