“Our host is a lord, you said?” I asked as my gaze wandered over the heavily decorated walls boasting the usual accoutrements of the aristocracy: a lavish coat of arms, a few portraits of stern, disapproving relatives, and a landscape that looked to be a genuine Constable.
“A baron, to be exact,” Charlie explained. “As I recall, the family fell out of favor during the reign of George IV and lived in a kind of genteel poverty for many years until his grandfather invested in an ammunitions factory and made an awful lot of money during the Crimean War.”
My lips pursed in disapproval. So, this house was built on blood. I kept that thought to myself and nodded in reply. “It’s a stunning property,” I admitted.
“It was designed by Robert Hooke,” a deep voice said from behind me.
I turned around and found myself face-to-face with a striking man. His chestnut hair nearly brushed his shoulders, while his green eyes were fixed upon me quite intently.
“Truly?”
In addition to being Christopher Wren’s assistant, Robert Hooke was a polymath who was credited with a number of scientific discoveries.
The man raised one auburn brow. “You’re familiar with him?”
The skepticism in his voice needled me, and I lifted my chin a little. “Of course. I had a professor at school who claimed he was as brilliant as da Vinci.”
This seemed to intrigue the man, and he took a step closer, which I thought rather impertinent. “And what school would that be?”
Though I was growing uncomfortable with his attention, I refused to show it. “Girton.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a slow smile, though his eyes never left mine. “You brought a bluestocking to my party, Pearson?”
When Charles laughed, I blinked. I had completely forgotten about him and Delia. “Ladies, allow me to introduce our host: Lord Linden. This is Miss Delia Everly and her sister, Mrs. Minerva Harper.”
His lordship stared at me for another moment before he turned to my sister. “Miss Everly, a pleasure. I’ve heard great things about your work.”
Delia dipped a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”
Then he turned back to me, and his eyes glinted with a distinct air of mischief. “And I suppose that makes you Mrs. Minerva Harper.”
Given what Charles had said about the man, I had no doubt that he was used to women finding his insouciant manner supremely charming, but I would not give him the satisfaction. “I suppose it does,” I replied dryly.
He held my gaze for longer than was polite before addressing my companions. “There’s a buffet in the dining room, dancing in the ballroom, and Madame Fontaine will tell your fortune in the drawing room. Enjoy yourselves,” he said and cast me another look before strolling off down the hall.
Delia grasped my arm excitedly. “Let’s see Madame Fontaine. She’s very popular.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really, Delia. That’s all such nonsense.”
“Come on. It will befun,” she said, already pulling me down the hallway. “And we can ask if you have a future as a baroness,” Delia added with a teasing look.
“Oh please,” I scoffed.
“Don’t try to deny anything,” Delia insisted. “I saw him flirting with you with my own two eyes.”
“Might I remind you that Charles described him as a known scoundrel?” I pointed out. “That is how scoundrels act.”
Delia immediately turned to Charles for support, but he just shrugged. “It’s true. That’s not to say the baronwouldn’tflirt with you out of genuine interest,” he added quickly.
“Thank you,” I said on a laugh. “Rest assured, I have reached the age where I am quite immune to shallow flattery from rogues.”
Charles looked relieved to see I hadn’t taken offense, but Delia still frowned. “I don’t see why it’s so difficult for you to believe he would be interested in you.”
I let out a sigh, but was saved from having to respond further as we entered the drawing room. Delia immediately came to a halt. “There she is,” she murmured as she gestured across the room, where presumably Madame Fontaine sat behind a small table draped in black cloth. The woman also wore black, which created a striking contrast with her ghostly pale face and dark brown hair.
“Well, she certainly fits the image of a fortune teller,” I said. “Although she’s missing a crystal ball.”
“She doesn’t need one,” Delia replied defensively. “She simply holds your hands. Isn’t that right?” she asked Charles.
