Nathaniel signaled a waiter. “What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey, thanks.”
When the waiter scurried off to fill their order, Horace ran a hand through his sandy hair. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Wolfram? Not much changes, Horace.”
“But it’s been two years. I would have thought…”
Nathaniel shook his head, not wishing to discuss it. “Nothing untoward has occurred since, but people have long memories.”
“Especially when they’re fed a lot of outrageous lies.”
Nathaniel accepted his drink from the waiter. He raised his glass to Horace. “I have made a decision, however.”
Horace’s brown eyes studied him. “Whatever it is pleases you at least.”
“I trust that it will. I plan to marry.”
“Well, that is one for the books, I must say. Very good news indeed!”
Nathaniel offered him a small smile. “Let us hope so.”
ChapterTwo
At breakfast the next morning, Laura’s mother tackled her in a purposeful manner. “Lord Lanyon sought permission from your father to take you to the opera.” She studied Laura. “You’ve made it plain that you’re not ready to give up your freedom, as you put it, to marry. May I ask why you’ve accepted his invitation?”
Laura finished buttering her toast and reached for the strawberry preserve. “Because I want to hear the pianist, Paderewski. He’s brilliant.”
Her mother added hot water to the teapot. “Lanyon is a very attractive man, although perhaps a little swarthy for my taste. Your father wasn’t the most handsome of men.”
“Didn’t you marry for love, Mother?”
Lady Parr poured milk into her cup. “What a question. Marriage isn’t about love.”
“Can’t it be?”
“A good marriage isn’t based on passion. It’s a business partnership, which can, if you choose wisely, become one of mutual satisfaction.”
She’d never witnessed real affection between her parents, but she still hoped to one day experience it herself. “Did you never want something more?”
Mother frowned. “I’m not the one we are discussing. You are twenty-two years old. If you manage to lead Lanyon to the altar, the whole of London society will be at your feet.” She topped up Laura’s teacup from the blue-and-white porcelain teapot. “The barony is an ancient one. It goes without saying that Lanyon is an excellent catch. His country seat is in Cornwall, once an abbey, I believe.”
Laura firmed her lips, refusing to revisit the old argument again. She planned to find employment soon and move into lodgings in Bloomsbury with some of the single women from the movement. She pushed away her half-eaten toast and touched a napkin to her lips. “It’s only a concert, Mother.”
“Must you always make things difficult, Laura? Your sister would have welcomed this,” she said with a clash of the silver teaspoon against the dainty floral china. “Eliza would have been pleased.”
Laura took a slow, deep breath. “I am not Eliza.”
“New shoes are definitely in order.” Lady Parr continued, her mind already ticking off an invisible list. “Robb shall drive us into London this afternoon. We’ll go to Worth for a pair of French kid opera slippers.”
Laura was so tired of her mother comparing her with Eliza she wanted to scream. But she’d learned to hold her tongue. Since her twin sister died of diphtheria, Laura had found it difficult to rise above the sadness that still hung over them like a pall. She seemed unable to assuage her own grief, let alone her mother’s. She urgently wanted to break free, to become an independent woman, aware she’d have to fight her parents as well as society’s expectations. But if she didn’t, she’d sink into abjectdespair.
“Lord Lanyon is a widower,” her mother continued, breaking into Laura’sthoughts.
“I know.”
“He told you?”
