“You and Phoebe practically grew up together, on neighboring estates. I can well understand if her death has left a hole in your heart. But that doesn’t mean you should go through life alone.”
Lizzie made him uncomfortable, forcing him to take a close look at himself. She was one of a few who could. He fought to distract her, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not a monk.”
“Bah! What of mistresses, they care little for their patrons, beyond what they can get from them.”
“They have to make their way in this hazardous world too. But I refuse to discuss the merits or otherwise of mistresses. I believe I know what is best for me.” He pushed away his plate. “Think very carefully about what you want for yourself. A man such as Bianchi may be personable, more demonstrative than an English woman is used to, perhaps. But finding yourself alone in Florence may not be so charming if the baron isn’t quite what he appears.”
With a scowl, she leaned back in her chair. “I believe we’ve had this conversation. Are you making inquiries about him, Jas?”
“It’s my responsibility as head of the family.” He wanted to say more, that he acted out of love and concern for her, but before he could explain, she’d thrown back her chair and left the room.
Sighing, he slowly followed in her wake. He had expected it to come to this.
***
The ball gowns had been delivered. Diana insisted Helen come to their bedchamber to try them on.
“Oh, they’re exquisite!” Helen gasped with pleasure as Mary assisted her into her gown. While Mary tugged at the hooks, Helen studied herself in the cheval mirror. It was quite the prettiest gown she’d ever worn. Of white lace over a lilac satin slip, the tight-fitting bodice featured a deep square neckline decorated with a narrow rouleau, the skirt embroidered with a broad pattern of flowers and leaves and a matching rouleau puffed and corded around the hem.
Mary turned her attentions to Diana. The simple but artfully designed white muslin was perfect. Flowers embroidered in silk thread decorated the deep, square neckline, stiffened hem, and puff sleeves.
“We each have a beaded reticule to complement our gowns.” Diana’s eyes sparkled. “And satin shoes. Mine are white, and yours are lilac.” She removed everything from the boxes, silver paper strewn around.
Helen was caught by her reflection. She frowned and placed a hand on her chest. “Perhaps this needs more lace.”
Diana stood beside her. “Goose. It is perfectly presentable, or Mama would have told Madame Fabre to alter it.”
“I suppose so,” Helen said. “I must remember not to take a deep breath.”
Diana giggled. “You do look quite lovely; the color makes your skin glow.”
“I never liked myself in white.”
“White doesn’t suit everyone,” Diana said, turning to view the back of her gown in the mirror. “I think it’s unkind to insist girls wear white when they wish to make a good first impression. I shall wear pastels after the ball, but I look my best in a more dramatic color, such as bright yellow or crimson.”
Helen grinned. “Oh, no, not crimson! Not until you’re an old married lady.”
Mama opened the door. “You look beautiful, both of you, but take them off, please, and allow Mary to put the gowns away. It wouldn’t do to have them look shabby before you even have a chance to wear them.”
Shame-faced, Diana hurried over to Mary. “Yes, Mama.”
Mama perched on the bed, her eyes on Helen. “We are expecting a visitor tomorrow. Lord Peyton is to call.”
“Oh, good,” Diana said in a muffled voice as the maid carefully pulled the gown over her head. “I hoped to see him again.”
“But not tomorrow, Diana. This is not a social call,” Mama said. “I would like you to attend, Helen. He may have questions only you can answer.”
Diana emerged from the gown with a grimace and stood in her chemise, corset, and drawers. “What more can be said about poor Bart now he is in his grave?”
“We shall see. Shall I ask your father to invite Peyton to the ball?” Mama’s eyes twinkled. “I consider him more than capable of wrestling the other gentlemen away for a dance with you.”
Apparently mollified, Diana kissed their mother’s cheek.
Helen turned her back for Mary to undo her gown, trying to ignore the little skip in the region of her heart. Should Peyton come to the ball, would he ask her to dance? It surprised her how much she wanted him to. After all, one dance could hardly matter to anyone but her. Or would she be relegated to the corner where the wallflowers gathered, some of who had become friends over the years? She no longer feared such a thing. It had become a refuge of sorts. After the gossip of her first Season had died down, and she’d rejected two suitors who made it plain they were taking her on sufferance, there were only the fortune hunters or widowed gentlemen in need of a governess for their children who exhibited any interested in her, and they were given short shrift by her father.
Chapter Nine
Jason increased his pace as dark clouds clustered overhead and the early torrential rain threatened to return. Water dripped down the brick walls and formed pools in the narrow lanes of Whitechapel. The dank smell of mold, blended with the stink of cats and human detritus, intensified, strong enough to make his eyes sting.
