Lord Carthige held Tobias’s gaze in patient silence.
“Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Less talking. Indeed, that is for the best. I wonder if…” Tobias paused. “I’m still doing it, aren’t I?” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
Uncle Edmund patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Perhaps begin with silence. You will learn more from listening than speaking.”
Tobias opened his mouth to express his agreement, saw his uncle’s look of dismay, and closed it at once. He received a nod of approval as his reward.
In his newly wordless state, Tobias noticed Lord Howell pausing as the butler turned to show them in. He set his broad shoulders squarely, straightened to his full impressive height, and restored the bearing of Viscount Howell. To look at him, one would never guess how he dreaded entering those doors.
Tobias and his uncle planted themselves firmly behind him. It was an act of support, but also a reminder that his lordship’s escape route was now cut off. To his credit, the viscountstrode ahead into the home of the Grants with such convincing bravado, he seemed almost arrogant. Tobias would not have been surprised if people assumed he were. It would take a very special woman to peel away this outer layer without triggering his alter ego, the hapless suitor.
Uncle Edward had reverted to his perpetual discomfort in any space that did not surround him with books or art. The sound of many feminine voices rose up from a distant room. Tobias could have sworn he saw his uncle hitch in his step, as if there were a moment in which he had to persuade himself to keep moving forward.
All three of them slowed as they reached the doorway to a large reception room. The volume of chatter and sheer heat from a multitude of bodies so close together created a sort of barrier to be crossed upon entering.
They may have stood there indefinitely. Certainly, the viscount was in no hurry to proceed. Somewhere within the gathered throng, however, someone recognized him. News of his arrival passed from ear to ear, faces turning like dominoes toward the doorway. A body pushed forward—a man with hair so dark, it was almost black, tied back in a queue. His was not a friendly face, but his greeting was civil enough.
“Welcome, my lords.” Their host gave a stiff, almost military bow.”
Mr. Grant gave Tobias a fleeting scrutiny. However, being in the company of the viscount seemed to earn him instant approval. Tobias had his tongue under control, so that the opportunity for embarrassing himself was greatly diminished.
“My nephew,” Lord Carthige explained. “Mr. Tobias Mannerly. He stays with me at Newcliffe Hall and assists in the unenviable task of cataloging my extensive library. He has a great admiration for Miss Grant’s writing. In fact, it was he who brought it to my attention.”
Mr. Grant reached out his hand and Tobias did the same. They shook like equals, though Tobias was convinced his fingers had turned to jelly. So far, he saw nothing of concern. Just because Mr. Grant was not a chatty sort of fellow did not make him a villain. Goodness, that would make his uncle and the viscount the worst of the lot!
“I must apologize for the humidity,” said their host. “We cannot open the windows. There is a chill outside, which I must protect my daughter from. But I could offer you cold refreshment. And we have a well-aired parlor adjacent if you wish to have some relief.”
Lord Howell must have longed for the solitude of that parlor, but all eyes in the room were now upon him. “Thank you, Mr. Grant,” he said with a convincing smoothness. “I am most grateful that you agreed to play host in my stead. Your daughter’s health was the very reason I suggested it. It is right that you put her needs first. We will manage nicely.”
Mr. Grant bowed again. “Thank you for your understanding. Not everyone has been as…agreeable.”
“Ladies are more delicate,” the viscount explained, as if he had knowledge on the subject. “We must allow for their lack of durability.”
Tobias felt laughter gurgling to the surface. The viscount really was trying his best. Only, his best involved viewing women as some sort of engine, to be maintained rather than cherished. Tobias could only hope that, among the ladies present, they might find someone who didn’t mind.
“Fortunately,” Mr. Grant responded with absolute earnest, “we have several gentlemen present too, should our feminine company feel the need to faint. I do not think my footmen alone could deal with this muchdelicacy.”
“They do appear armed with fans,” the viscount noted.
“Will we be seated soon?” Lord Carthige asked. “The ladies should be much more comfortable when not exerting themselves.”
Tobias rolled his eyes inwardly. What was the matter with the members of his sex? Was he the only one who saw women as strong, fascinating beings who were as resilient as any man? Heaven help all the eligible young ladies here if this was what they had to put up with. His own parents had set a very different example. His sister had not been raised to think herself dainty or insufficient in any way. She was an accomplished woman, excellent at both needlework and horsemanship. He, in turn, had been taught to expect such qualities in his choice of wife. Sophia might not be able to ride, but—by gum!—she was by no means weak. Anyone who could survive her losses and limitations—and flourish in spite of them—was made of strong stuff.
He took stock of his host. Mr. Grant did not appear particularly cruel. There was no hardness to his features, save for the absence of any mirth. In fact, his eyes were those of a man with deep feeling. There was something familiar about his manner. A sense of tight control over self. As though it were necessary to survive. The way a mountain gripped the earth when it felt the magma shift below. It was like…yes, like the way his uncle projected peace onto his person, without necessarily feeling it. Tobias had always assumed it was because people made Uncle Edmund uncomfortable. Was it something from his childhood? Tobias did not know, but it saddened him to think that his beloved uncle should carry an injury in the way Mr. Grant did.
Mr. Grant, meanwhile, had cast his gaze over the room, as if performing an informal census. “We are waiting for one or two more guests before we begin. I am sorry I cannot introduce my sons to you. Henry has returned to his studies at Cambridge,and George was called away on a business matter. They are very disappointed to miss their sister’s debut, but needs must. Perhaps you will allow me to introduce my daughter to you in the meantime? She has already been settled in readiness for the reading.”
“It would be an honor to finally meet the talented young lady,” Lord Howell answered. “I am certain my companions are equally as eager to do so.”
He followed his host and companions obediently across the room. The conversation among the other guests had resumed, but at a lower pitch, as each person tried to hear what Lord Howell was saying over their own pretense at chatter.
At last, they reached the small dais that had been erected to face the chairs so that the audience might see Sophia clearly, since she was seated too. Tobias could only imagine how such focused attention horrified her. Indeed, she was clearly relieved to see him approach. Her pinched expression relaxed at once, a warm smile easing onto her features.
“Lord Howell,” her father began, “my eldest daughter, Miss Sophia Grant.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he replied. “Thank you for being willing to share your work with us.”
Sophia lowered her head by way of a curtsey. Then her eyes flicked up and she brought her hand to her heart. “It is a privilege, sir.”
