The carriages they’d seen arriving should have served as a clue. Still, Sebastian was taken aback when he and his brothers were escorted into the parlor to see such a mass of humanity.
“Good God,” Tristan murmured. “There must be at least fifty people here. I would hate to see what she considers a large dinner party.”
Sebastian supposed he should have anticipated that all conversation would cease and all eyes would turn toward the door when the lords of Pembrook entered. Damnation but he thought facing the Cossacks might have been a sight easier.
A woman of average height and build with hair that the passage of time had faded to a faint red bustled over. As she neared her green eyes sparkled, and it was that green that would have given her identity away if Mary hadn’t been following closely on her heels to give credence to his suspicions.
“Your Grace! My lords! I am so pleased you were able to join us this evening.” She held out her hand.
Taking it, Sebastian bowed over it. “Lady Ivers, it is indeed a pleasure to be invited.”
She winked at him. “Do not think I did not catch the exact meaning of your words. Yet I assure you that it shall be a pleasure to attend as well.”
“Your guests don’t seem to be quite as pleased as you with our arrival.”
“On the contrary, they are simply agape that I managed to be the first to lure you gentlemen to such an affair. Allow me the honor of introducing my daughter, Lady Alicia.”
The lady was slightly taller than her mother, considerably more slender. Her hair was a less vibrant red than Mary’s, and he wondered if he would be comparing all women he met to Mary. It was a ridiculous notion. It was only that he knew her so well—
Only he didn’t. Not really. He knew little of what her life had been like while he’d been away.
The girl curtsied. “Your Grace. My lords.”
“Lady Alicia.”
“She is quite accomplished on the pianoforte and will entertain us following dinner. And of course, you are acquainted with my dear niece Lady Mary,” the countess said.
He thought neither of the other two ladies held a candle to her in beauty, although they came close. “Yes. It is good to see you again, Lady Mary.”
“And you, Your Grace, my lords.”
“Allow me to introduce Viscount Fitzwilliam,” Lady Ivers continued.
Sebastian had a strong need to groan. The night would no doubt be filled with tedious introductions. “You are a fortunate man, my lord, to have won Lady Mary over.”
“I’d have not asked for her hand in marriage if I’d thought otherwise.”
Right then. So we’re not going to get along famously. He was actually glad. He hadn’t wanted to like the man, and he wasn’t certain why. It went without saying that he wanted Mary to be happy. He just wasn’t certain this was the man with whom he wanted her to be happy. He couldn’t explain his strange thoughts.
“Your Grace,” Lady Ivers began, “you will discover that I am most unconventional and known for being a bit eccentric. I have dispensed with formal seating this evening. If you will be so kind as to escort me into dinner when the time comes . . .”
Her pointed stare indicated that no was not an option as a response.
“I would be honored.”
“Splendid. Lord Rafe, my daughter shall be on your arm and, Lord Tristan, if you will be so kind as to escort Lady Mary. You don’t mind do you, Fitzwilliam?”
The viscount opened his mouth.
“Good. I thought not. Come along then, Fitzwilliam. I want to ensure that you are acquainted with the lady you’ll escort into dinner. Gentlemen, I shall see you shortly.”
She bustled off. Fitzwilliam bent down and whispered something to Mary. She nodded, said something in a low voice. The intimacy of their belonging together struck Sebastian like a blow to the chest. Which was ludicrous. He had no claim on her. He’d rarely thought of her over the years. Pembrook was always uppermost in his mind. As Fitzwilliam strode away, she turned back to them. “I do hope you’re not put off by my aunt’s manipulations. She can be quite . . . enthusiastic.”
“I would better describe her as a tempest at sea,” Tristan said.
Lady Alicia smiled. “I hope to have at least half her energy when I’m her age.”
“I haven’t half her energy now,” Mary said. “We are truly pleased that you accepted Aunt Sophie’s invitation. We thought this small affair might be a less overwhelming introduction back into Society. If you’ll come along, Lady Alicia and I will introduce you around.”
It was a ten-minute maze of nodding, bowing, and taking gloved hands. It was only as the bell was rung for dinner that it occurred to Sebastian that he should have been paying more attention to the young ladies to whom he was introduced, to determine if one might make a suitable wife. Then he realized that if he’d already forgotten their names that they probably weren’t for him. Shouldn’t he at least be attracted to them enough to want to remember their names?
Thank goodness he was rescued by his formidable hostess and escorted her into dinner. He had been dreading the seating but with her at the foot of the table and he to her right, only she, the wall, Tristan, and Mary—both of whom sat across from him—had to endure his scars. Lady Alicia was to his right. In spite of the number of people in attendance, Lady Ivers had managed to arrange the seating so dinner was more intimate. After he quickly downed two glasses of wine, he also found it more relaxed.
Fitzwilliam was on the other side of Mary, so while he’d not accompanied her into dinner, he was no doubt somewhat mollified to find himself sitting beside his betrothed. The poor chit he’d escorted into dinner was ignored as the viscount sought to engage Mary in conversation. Once he had her attention, Tristan began cleverly luring her back to him. Sebastian suspected she’d have a stiff neck before the night was done.
However, he couldn’t deny he appreciated the view he had of her. From beneath her lashes, she met his gaze and damned if it wasn’t as though she’d reached across the table and touched him. He lifted his wineglass in a silent salute, which she returned with a soft smile. His gaze followed the slope of her throat to her bared décolletage. Her skin was a creamy white that drew the eye, but then everything about her commanded attention.
She turned away as Fitzwilliam diverted her once again. He wondered if the viscount was an exceptional conversationalist or if he was as boring as his clothing. Black and white. Not a single thread of color.
“Amazing, isn’t she?” Lady Ivers said so quietly that no one else heard, and the heat burned his cheeks at being caught staring at Mary. “One can hardly countenance that she had no formal preparation for her own Season. But then what do nuns know of etiquette outside of the church?”
All Sebastian’s personal discomforts in this situation vanished, and he studied the countess as though she’d just spoken in a foreign language. “Nuns?”
“Quite.” She blinked, offered a slight smile, then appeared flummoxed. “Oh, my word.” Her voice went even lower. “Did I let the cat out of the bag? I would have thought she told you, but then I suppose in reflection that it is not something about which one boasts—even to an old friend. But yes, her father sent her to a nunnery when she was little more than twelve. In spite of my earnest objections. She was already ensconced behind those walls by the time I found out. One of those orders that doesn’t allow visitors. I wanted to bring her to our home, but my husband insisted it was not my concern. The nerve. My sister’s daughter not my concern. I can tell you it was some months before he again found his bed warm.”
If Sebastian weren’t still shocked and seething by this revelation he might have smiled at her acerbic tone.
“Can you imagine a girl of her spirit being confined to such a restrained world?” she asked.
Asking why the Earl of Winslow would do such a thing to his only daughter was on the tip of his tongue but he feared he knew. Surely not, but he couldn’t quiet his suspicions. The man was fortunate that Sebastian hadn’t known of this when he’d visited. He could hardly imagine a crueler fate for the girl who had once raced wildly over the moors with him.
“I finally had enough of it. Put my foot down this year I tell you. Told Winslow to his face that if I was bringing my daughter to London for the Season that I was good and well bringing my dear sister’s daughter with me. Her dear mother would have wanted her to have a proper suitor.”
“And is he? A proper suitor. Fitzwilliam.”
She drew herself up as though she were responsible for the arrangement. “Oh, quite. He is the heir to Glenchester.”
He tried to place the name—
“Marquess,” she said as though she could see that he struggled.
“It seems I am far less prepared than Lady Mary for a night such as this.”
“Don’t concern yourself. You’ll get the hang of everything quickly enough. I suspect your father taught you a great deal that you’ve merely locked away.”
He remembered the few times she and her family had visited. “Your husband. He’s not here tonight,” Sebastian said. “Are condolences in order?”
“Oh, my dear, that would be quite premature. Unfortunately, some wretched problem with his tenants called him away to the estate for a few days. Quite honestly he prefers the country.”
“I can relate to his preference.”
She smiled. “I suspect most men do, but they must tolerate what women prefer from time to time. Makes for a more pleasant marriage.”
Her words had him glancing back over to Mary, and wondering what her husband would tolerate from her. Would he give her the freedom she needed? And if he didn’t what recourse did Sebastian have to ensure she was happy? None at all, he supposed.
Her light laughter floated toward him, the sound as pleasing as crystal glasses tapped gently with a silver fork. Tristan had said something to elicit her response. It seemed his brother was quite the flirtatious devil.
He wished when he returned to Pembrook that she would be there. Where the deuce was Fitzwilliam’s estate anyway? He knew so little of the man, knew so little of most of these people. But then they knew nothing of him.
“Did you enjoy your time in the army, Your Grace?” Lady Alicia asked.
He felt Mary’s gaze light on him like a caress, could sense her holding her breath, anticipating his answer, and he wondered if she was as aware of him as he of her. Even when he didn’t hear the words, he heard her voice. The succulent aromas of the feast wafted around him, and yet he was acutely conscious of the scent of orchids—when not a single blossom graced the room. The scent was hers, all hers. Of that he was certain. Lady Alicia and her mother carried the fragrance of roses. “It provided interesting . . . experiences,” he finally answered curtly, far too curtly.
The girl blushed such a violent hue of red that he wished he could take back the tone if not the words. He simply hated being dissected as though he were the latest species of insect discovered.
“Did you serve in the Crimea, Your Grace?” Fitzwilliam asked, emphasizing the address as though it were undeserved, a challenge in his voice that indicated he might doubt Sebastian’s claims.
He had no intention of revealing that he’d lied about his age. One need be only sixteen to serve, but he’d felt a desire to lose himself in military life. He’d forged a letter from a fictitious father and never revealed that he was of the aristocracy. He’d been treated as a common man and that had given him a perspective many of his peers would never experience. He began his career as an ensign, serving as a captain’s assistant. “I did. Balaclava. Tennyson immortalized the battle.”
“The Charge of the Light Brigade,” Lady Alicia said in wonder. “You were there?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Nasty business that,” Fitzwilliam said.
“All war is nasty business, my lord.”
Tension radiated between them.
“I believe all our soldiers are to be commended for their duty to our country,” Mary said.
Sebastian lifted his glass. “I shall drink to that.”
“I think we all should,” Tristan said. “Hear! Hear! To our soldiers who keep the devil from our shores.”
Everyone at the table joined in the toast, even Fitzwilliam. Sebastian wasn’t certain why a gauntlet had been thrown down but he was fairly certain one had been.
Pray I don’t pick it up, Fitzwilliam, he thought. Based on the smiles he’d witnessed, Mary fancied the fellow. Considering her feelings and his desire to make amends to her, he would leave the gauntlet where it lay. For now.
In the piano room, as Lady Alicia’s fingers tripped merrily over the keyboard, Mary cast a surreptitious glance over to where Sebastian stood with his brothers. Her aunt had hoped to enfold them into the aristocracy, but they continued to remain apart. She didn’t think they were uncomfortable with their surroundings. They simply didn’t see themselves as belonging within it.
She could understand the feeling. When she’d first come to London, she’d felt as though everyone watched and remarked on her every move. Without a proper introduction into Society, she’d been an object of curiosity. She knew she’d managed to win many over, but some still weren’t quite sure what to make of her.
She glanced around. Fitzwilliam had slipped out, no doubt to puff on a cheroot with one of his friends. She was surprised he left her. He’d been hovering all night as though he expected her to do something inappropriate. Silly man. She’d do nothing to bring embarrassment to her aunt when she had been so kind.
She knew he wouldn’t be pleased with what she was about to do, but she couldn’t leave the brothers so isolated. She skirted around the edge of the room until she was standing beside Sebastian. She caught a whiff of his strong, masculine scent. So much earthier than Fitzwilliam’s, as though a bit of Pembrook flowed through his veins. A silly thought, but she had always associated him with the land, the wildness of nature. Fitzwilliam was the city. Gaslights and piano recitals.
“There are some empty chairs on the other side of the room,” she said quietly.
“I’m at ease here.”
“If this is you at ease, I would hardly care to see you when you are not.”
It brought her pleasure to catch the slightest twitch of his mouth. “I see the years didn’t diminish your feistiness.”
It had somewhat but with him she could be herself as she couldn’t with others. She was no longer Lady Mary, but simply Mary. If she didn’t behave quite properly he was more likely than others to forgive her.
“I’m a bit more circumspect with others,” she confessed. With Fitzwilliam especially, she realized, and was suddenly struck with the thought that it should not be so.
She wondered if Sebastian would be offended if she pointed out that he was keeping himself apart from everyone else. Years ago, she’d never given any thought at all to anything she said to him. Whether he laughed, scolded, or argued—she’d always felt free to speak her mind. She’d felt the tension at the table and knew that Sebastian did take offense at words spoken.
“You didn’t tell me you were sent to a nunnery,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear him.
Her smile withered. “Bless Aunt Sophie. I assume she’s the one who told you as it’s not common knowledge around here.”
“She thought I knew, that you would have told me. Why didn’t you?”
“What could you do about it except perhaps feel guilty?”
“We’re the reason you were sent.”
He hadn’t posed a question. His words held conviction. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he managed to decipher why her life had taken such an unpleasant turn. He’d always had a talent for figuring out puzzles. Still she did not want him to bear the burden for her foolishness. “Not really, no. It was my fault. You cautioned me to tell no one. When have I ever heeded someone else’s counsel?”
Her question enticed him into twitching his lips. Before he could interrogate her, she continued. “I went to Father, believing he could put matters to right, would confront Lord David on your behalf. Instead, I discovered he believes the answers to life’s difficulties rest at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.”
She saw understanding and sadness in his pale blue gaze. And regret.
“I’m sorry, Mary. Was your time with the nuns difficult?”
“As getting blood from a turnip. Does that make you feel better?”
“No, it makes me want to pummel your father into the ground.”
“Which is why I saw no reason in telling you. It’s in the past. Aunt Sophie declared I would have a Season and took me through my paces. Hired tutors to teach me etiquette and dancing, so here I am.”
She tilted her head so she could see him clearly, wished she hadn’t. He watched her with an intensity that was unsettling.
“Then I owe your aunt a debt of gratitude,” he said. “It’s easier facing London, knowing you are here.”
She could have sworn a blush crept up beneath his bronzed skin before he looked away. “Even if I convinced my aunt to lure you out of hiding?” she teased.
“Even then.”
“I’m glad you came,” she said. Before he could respond, she wandered away. She wondered why issuing a compliment embarrassed him. She didn’t want to contemplate how harsh his life might have been that a kind gesture—a sensitive one—was cause for embarrassment. But more she walked away before she was sorely tempted to invite him to take a turn about the garden with her, so they could truly talk, could once again become comfortable with each other. Although she was fairly certain that would only lead to disaster.
Stopping beside her aunt, she squeezed her hand. “Thank you for inviting them.”
“It is not as though the dinner party was not already planned, although I daresay your father will not be pleased when he discovers that I included them.”
Mary knew that Ladies Hermione and Victoria would not be pleased that they’d not been invited, but she suspected their enthusiasm for the lords would overwhelm them.
“He informed me this afternoon,” her aunt continued, “that I am to keep a close watch over you and ensure that you do not speak with them overmuch.”
“He fears Fitzwilliam will not tolerate my renewing an old friendship.”
“He is no doubt correct on that score.”
Their conversation was interrupted as the final chords resounded and Alicia stood. Polite applause quickly followed.
Alicia curtsied. “Thank you so much. Now if the young people will join me in the parlor for some games.”
Charades no doubt. Mary absolutely abhorred the game. She’d avoid it if she could. Unfortunately, Fitzwilliam adored it. He returned from the terrace, smelling pleasantly of tobacco and offered her his arm.
“One moment,” she said to him, and walked over to where Sebastian and his brothers remained standing. She smiled at them. “The invitation to the parlor was meant for you as well. You are, after all, young people.”
“Funny, I don’t feel young,” Rafe said.
She understood his emotion. He was two years her junior, but she didn’t feel young either. “But you are. Come along. It’ll be fun.”
“We should probably thank your aunt for her hospitality and take our leave,” Sebastian said.
“Not yet. My cousin will be so disappointed.” She would be disappointed. And Mary wasn’t certain why she herself so desperately wished them to stay. “Just a while longer.”
“I suppose no harm can come of it,” Tristan said.
“None whatsoever,” she assured him.