“Waiting for you, of course.”
I glanced past him at the steady stream of people entering the church and frowned. More than a few had already shot curious looks in our direction. “We can’t be seen entering together.”
“Why not?”
I huffed at his innocent expression. Was the man being purposefully dense? “Because it might causetalk.”
I did not wish to be identified in the gossip columns as yet another one of his female companions. But of course I couldn’t say that, for then he would know that I had been reading about him. Luckily, Mr. Dorian seemed to accept this answer and extended his arm towards the church entrance. “Then you go on ahead, and I will enter after a few moments. Unless we cannot even be in the same vicinity without creating a scandal?” he added wryly, arching a dark brow.
For a moment, I was tempted to agree to this ridiculous notion simply to see that smug look wiped from his face. But the triumph would be fleeting indeed. And, though I would never admit it, I was feeling rather apprehensive. “I think it is perfectly acceptable for us to acknowledge one another once we are both inside,” I said in measured tones.
Mr. Dorian nodded, but the wry look remained as I walked past him and into the church. The last time I had attended a funeral had been on Corfu, and in the company of the very same man. However, that was where the similarities ended. For that funeral had taken place in a humble GreekOrthodox chapel, while St. Mark’s was one of the finest churches in Mayfair, with its imposing columned entrance, towering Gothic ceiling, and trio of stained-glass windows. A church organ bleated out the notes of “Nearer My God to Thee,” as some guests mulled around the vestibule waiting for the service to begin, while others had taken their seats. The crowd was larger than I had expected, especially for a private funeral. As I scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces, I noticed Lord Linden just up ahead, greeting people as they entered the nave. He stood next to a woman in full mourning who I assumed was Charles Pearson’s sister. Beside her stood a thin man with a large, drooping mustache who must have been her husband.
“Is it safe for us to acknowledge one another now?” whispered a familiar voice by my ear, completely interrupting my thoughts.
I shot a frown at Mr. Dorian. “Yes,” I hissed, then turned my attention back to the baron and company.
“Hmm,” Mr. Dorian said, following my gaze. “I didn’t realize Linden was so close with Pearson’s sister.”
I bristled at his skeptical tone. “She doesn’t live in London, so he has helped her arrange the funeral. I’m sure at his own expense,” I added in an offhand way.
“What makes you say that?”
I cast a look around, but there was no one behind us at the moment. “I have come to suspect that Charles Pearson was rather short of funds,” I murmured. “And I’m sure a funeral like this does not come cheaply.”
“Well, you are right on that point, at least,” Mr. Dorian replied dismissively as he gazed up at our surroundings. “Time will tell about your other assumptions.”
I frowned at his profile, but before I could respond, it was our turn to greet the family. Lord Linden gave me a warm smile. “Mrs. Harper. How good of you to come. And Mr. Dorian.” His gaze turned curious, and I could tell hewas trying to determine our relationship. “This is Mrs. Pembrooke, the sister of our dear departed friend,” he explained. “And her husband.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said to Mrs. Pembrooke. Up close, I could see she was significantly older than Charles. And I wondered how much she knew about his life in London.
“Thank you,” she sniffled, while her husband gave a stiff nod.
“He was a fine man,” Mr. Dorian added.
“Allow me to escort you to your seat, Mrs. Harper,” the baron said, then looked to Mr. Dorian. “Unless I am intruding …”
But Mr. Dorian quickly waved a hand, as if the very idea was absurd. “Not at all. Lead the way.”
“I will be right back, Jenny,” he said to Mrs. Pembrooke. She nodded while still managing to look absolutely petrified. Then I took the baron’s proffered arm, and he led me into the nave, with Mr. Dorian trailing behind.
“This has been a difficult time for her,” the baron explained once we were out of earshot.
“I can imagine,” I replied as I looked around the church pews. Only the last few rows in the back were open.
“She feels responsible,” he continued. “Though I can’t understand why.”
“He was her younger brother,” I said. “It can be hard to let go of a relationship established in childhood.”
The baron cast me a surprised look. “How insightful.”
I blushed at his praise. “I try.”
He stopped at an empty pew only a few rows away from the back. I wondered why he had taken it upon himself to escort me here. We certainly could have found our seats without him. “I suppose it is terribly inappropriate to say given the occasion, but you look very nice,” he said. “I like your hat.”
I touched the brim. “Thank you. It’s new,” I added, thenfelt like an idiot for even mentioning it. But the baron only smiled.
A throat cleared behind us, and I glanced over at Mr. Dorian. “I think we can manage it from here, Linden,” he said blandly.
