Quietly he made his way through the back of the building and up to the room where he’d first met with Jensen and the others. Without light, the room seemed much larger, like a cave beckoning. Fielding searched the space, looking for the club’s records book, but found no trace of the log.
Perhaps it was kept behind the closed door at the opposite end of the room. Fielding found the door unlocked. He had taken two steps into the room when a light flickered on.
“Good evening, Mr. Grey. I’ve been wondering when you’d come for a visit.”
Esme knew that Fielding was behind tonight’s impromptu dinner party. He was trying to keep her occupied while he went off on an adventure, blast him. But as the guest of honor she could do nothing about it. His underhanded way of keeping her home was vexing, but she supposed he was only trying to protect her. Yet what use had she for dinner parties and social engagements? Such things had never interested her, even before the debacle with the Duke of Devonshire. Attending one now, when she was the victim of a curse and it seemed as though the fate of the world hung in the balance, seemed even more futile.
Still, she had to attend, so she’d donned her new gown and Annette had styled her hair. Though the girl had tried her best to convince Esme to wear her curls up, Esme had won; a proper dinner party was no place to showcase her tattoos, temporary though they were. She had allowed the girl to weave in a hairpin with two plumes that perfectly matched the blue in her gown.
Thea met her on the staircase as they made their way down to the dining room.
“This is a lovely surprise,” Thea said. “And you look beautiful, Esme. Simply stunning.”
Esme had to admit she did feel particularly lovely this evening. She didn’t think she’d ever owned a prettier dress. The marquess had seen to it that she and Thea both had new gowns for the evening, including all the matching accoutrements. The cerulean satin of Esme’s gown matched with white netting looked perfect with her skin tone. Beading lined the scooped neckline and was further accented by a string of tiny blue flowers that just covered the inscription on her left breast. The tightly cinched waist and full skirt accentuated her best features, and she’d finished everything off with elbow-length white satin gloves.
“Thank you,” Esme said as they descended the staircase.
The parlor attached to the dining room was abuzz with servants and early arriving guests. It was not a room Esme had visited since her arrival at Lord Lindberg’s townhome. Lovely green wallpaper covered the room, accented by the cream-colored molding and two large columns. But the true showcase was the great, swooping chandelier. Crystals draped together like lovely necklaces hanging from a woman’s neck.
Despite the circumstances—despite herself—something deep inside Esme awoke. The sight stirred those girlish dreams of beautiful ballrooms and darkly dressed suitors whisking her away while romantic music swelled in the background. Fantasies she’d long since forgotten until Fielding had awoken that part of her and made her yearn for more.
She couldn’t have more, she reminded herself. Especially with the man she wanted. He thought her a dreamer, and he’d never see her as anything but.
“There you are,” Max said, jarring her thoughts. He approached with an older gentleman beside him. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
“Albert?” Thea whispered. Her eyes brimmed with tears as the tall, gray-haired man approached. She looked over at Esme. “How?”
Esme said nothing, merely watched the older couple embrace after what must have been twenty long years. Her own heart stumbled clumsily as she witnessed the reunion.
“My sweet Thea,” Albert murmured. “You look as lovely as ever.”
Thea’s burgundy gown was accented with cream- colored lace that not only flowed out of the neckline in two lovely swags, but adorned the three-quarter-length sleeves and peeked between the split skirt in four ruffled layers. Annette had even done Thea’s hair up in an elaborate confection of curls that took at least ten years off Thea’s face.
But none of that enhanced her appearance the way her beaming smile did.
“Thank you,” Esme whispered to Max.
He shook his head. “I’m not responsible for this.” With one last look at Thea and Albert, Max held his arm out to Esme. “May I escort you to dinner?”
“I’d like that.” Esme never took her eyes off her aunt. Even as Max introduced her to several people, she couldn’t help but be distracted.
Fielding had done this for her. He’d paid attention to her concerns about Thea’s safety and had taken it upon himself to find Albert Moore. Perhaps this was his peace offering for going to see her sister.
Now as Thea listened to Albert’s every word and giggled like a young schoolgirl, Esme wanted more than anything to thank him. Yet Fielding was not here.
Max led Esme into the dining room and seated her at his end of the table, but between two gentlemen she did not know. She smiled warmly at each of them, but made no attempt to converse. Their first course was served, and Esme was tempted with the rich aroma of fish stew. She took a bite with a nice plump piece of cod.
“Miss Worthington,” the young man next to her said. “Lord Lindberg tells me you and your aunt are visiting for a short while. How are you enjoying London?”
Esme caught Max’s wink before she answered the man to her right. Evidently the marquess had been kind enough to weave a story explaining her presence. “I find it quite exhilarating, actually. I’ve barely been able to catch my breath from all the activities.” She didn’t even have to lie. “It seems to have been ages ago that I was last outdoors.”
“Being a champion croquet player, I find myself outdoors quite often,” the young man replied. He was a bland-looking fellow with sand-colored hair and a pale countenance. Esme seriously doubted the man had ever been outdoors.
She smiled politely and went back to her soup. She’d barely swallowed a spoonful before the man across from her gave her a toothy grin.
“Ever heard of Darwin’s Origin of Species, Miss Worthington?” he asked. The portly man looked to be about her age, with ruddy, freckled cheeks and muddy-brown hair. He wore a purplish-blue coat with a wide velvet collar, looking very much like a portrait she’d seen of the newly popular writer Oscar Wilde.
“Of course,” she said. “I’m rather well-read.”
