Theo shifted in his seat and allowed his gaze to stray once more towards the Tolliver box. Hetty sat poised, scarcely moving save to incline her head at some sisterly observation. How extraordinary, hethought, that the wild little girl he had once raced through country orchards with should now sit so composed, every curl smoothed, every ribbon in its place. What, in the past two years, had contrived to transform her into such a lady? Marriage, he supposed. It must be expected of her, eldest daughter and all that – yet the vision of Hetty Tolliver as a wife was too absurd to credit. He could picture her correcting her husband’s Latin, baiting his tenants into rebellion, or training his hounds to sit up at table – but as a model spouse? Impossible. It would be a sad waste indeed to see her married off to some dull stick who could never appreciate the menace behind her composure. The world might demand a paragon, but Theo knew better.
At the interval, the house rose to its feet, abandoning music for the true object of the evening: display. The Grand Saloon filled at once with the crowd, footmen darting past with trays of wine and ices. Theo lingered at one of the marble columns as though he had nowhere particular to be, though he knew very well whom he meant to encounter. Fortune, obliging as ever, delivered her directly into his path.
Hetty glided past upon her mother’s arm, though Lady Tolliver was detained at once by another matron, and Hetty, seizing the moment, slipped free – only to find Theo planted firmly before her. “My lord,” she said with feigned surprise, dipping a curtsy. “How unexpected to see you here. I did not know you were so fond of Italian wailing.”
He bowed languidly. “Fond? I am positively devoted to it. Indeed, I have considered hiring a soprano to follow me about Town, so thatevery errand might be accompanied by shrieking in a foreign tongue.”
Her fan flicked open. “You have always thrived on spectacle.”
“Mm. And I see now why you desire one. You have grown terribly tame. How prettily you sit amongst your sisters.”
“Well. Times do change. One must occasionally appear respectable. Until the first ball, of course.”
“Ah. Thursday. I tremble already.”
“You ought,” she returned with a smile.
Before he could reply, a new voice cut across the saloon. “Lord Langley! How delightful to see you!”
Miss Artemisia Pomeroy, niece to the Duchess of Davenport, advanced upon them, her hair a blaze of copper beneath the chandeliers and at her throat a cluster of emeralds rather too fine to be her own. She sank into a curtsy, rising to lay one hand upon Theo’s sleeve. “My lord,” she said, her tone pitched to carry to every neighbouring ear, “returned to town for the Season at last? It is all over the rooms that you are determined to seek a wife.”
Theo inclined his head, his glance straying, in spite of himself, towards Hetty. “Indeed, Miss Pomeroy, thetonhas the right of it. I am resolved to surrender my liberty at the earliest opportunity, should any lady of uncommon patience and a very strong constitution be found willing to endure me.”
Hetty’s fan stirred the air. “Such a lady would be a paragon indeed.”
Miss Pomeroy’s laugh rang out. “Oh, Miss Tolliver, you jest! A paragon perhaps, but what lady of sense would decline a gentlemanof such consequence? And when joined to so very handsome a countenance – well! One might declare it the very height of folly to resist.”
Theo bowed his head. “Madam, you overwhelm me. I fear my poor looks can never sustain so generous a description.”
A blush touched Miss Pomeroy’s cheeks, though she rallied with spirit. “You will not condemn me, I hope, for speaking the truth where all must surely think it. A man of such stature and consequence may hardly be surprised to find himself admired. And – if I am bold enough, my lord – I should be gratified beyond measure if you would bestow upon me the honour of your first dance at my aunt’s upcoming ball.”
“The honour would be mine, Miss Pomeroy.”
Theo watched as Hetty’s fan dipped, her smile sweet as a summer breeze. “How very forward of you, Miss Pomeroy. And how very gallant of Lord Langley. One might almost imagine him engaged for every other dance already – such a trial it must be, to parcel out his attentions with fairness.”
Miss Pomeroy coloured more deeply. “Surely no lady present could object, Miss Tolliver, if I were to lay the smallest claim upon so old a friend of my aunt’s family.”
Theo, who had never been in the Duchess of Davenport’s company for more than a handful of hours, nearly laughed aloud.
“Old friends are such a treasure, are they not?” Hetty said, with a pointed glance to Theo. “They have a way of making the present feel… comfortably familiar. Almost as though one had shared a dozen Seasons already, even if one has not.”
Miss Pomeroy hesitated, uncertain whether she had been included in the circle of such intimacy or excluded from it entirely.
Theo inclined his head, though he could not for the life of him fathom what game Hetty played. “You put it most elegantly, Miss Tolliver. Natural friendships are, indeed, a rarity.”
Hetty’s lashes lowered. “Precisely. Some friendships appear so very natural, one could almost mistake them for something more. But perhaps I speak too freely.”
“No, no,” said Miss Pomeroy quickly, her laugh a little sharp. “How charmingly put. Friendship, after all, is the best foundation for any… future understanding.”
Hetty’s smile deepened, the very picture of innocence. “Indeed. At times, friendship runs so close to affection that Society – poor credulous creature – cannot tell the difference.”
Miss Pomeroy’s eyes widened and her lips parted.
“What devilry are you about now, Hetty Tolliver?”Theo wanted to ask. Instead, he offered a bow. “You must forgive me; I see an acquaintance to whom I am bound to pay my respects before the opera resumes. I trust you will excuse me.”
He took his leave with an expression that betrayed nothing, though inwardly he was caught between puzzlement and amusement, and no wiser than before. Was he to compromise Hetty, court her, or merely play jester while she toyed with Miss Pomeroy? He had the distinct suspicion that Hetty herself had not yet decided – an uncertainty which, far from dismaying him, he found thoroughly diverting. She was up to mischief, and he, fool that he was, could hardly wait to see how far she meant to carry it.
Chapter 3
