Chapter 2 #2
“Adeline will be looking for you, I suppose.” James tried to smile.
The closeness between Lord and Lady Thornewood had never brought him anything but joy, but, oddly, seeing them together hurt him suddenly in a way it never had before.
Seeing their easy affection stirred a quiet ache within him—a longing for something similar.
Dash it, he told himself crossly. Is this because of those green eyes that I saw?
The young lady in the blue dress had somehow awakened those thoughts in him. It was unexpected, and he tried to dismiss it. After all, one glance ought not to have such an effect. And yet, somehow, it lingered.
Beside him, Edward spoke. “I promised her that I would go in fifteen minutes before dinnertime, so that I can help her organise things.”
“Of course. Of course, old chap,” James murmured.
Edward inclined his head in farewell and wandered off toward the large doorway. James remained where he was, hesitating to go inside. After ten minutes, the chill in the air prompted him to return indoors.
The heat of the ballroom struck him at once, the noise and bright lights pressing in, almost suffocating. A lively waltz was playing, and he sighed in relief as the music finally softened and the guests began filing toward the doors.
Though Edward never insisted on strict adherence to precedence, the guests nonetheless tended to follow custom, departing in order of rank—the highest titled, a duke if present, leading the way.
The tall, broad-shouldered man was approaching one of the doors, and James raised a brow in mild surprise. He must be at least an earl to be leaving so early in the order, and yet James couldn’t recall a single detail about him.
Lady Langley followed a short distance behind.
Behind her stood another man, one with thick dark hair with a slightly reddish glint.
He was around Lady Langley’s own height, perhaps an inch taller, and he wore a fashionable coat in a dark sombre blue.
Lady Langley still looked tense as she talked to him, but differently tense.
James was still musing on how it might be different when a realisation struck him.
He was almost alone in the ballroom. He hurried to the door, walking behind the remaining guests.
The dining room was even noisier than the ballroom, and he went rigid as he entered the space. It was smaller, the press of bodies and conversation louder in the confined space. He went rigid as he stepped inside, fighting the urge to turn and leave.
He forced his focus toward the tables—two of them, each set for ten guests.
He made his way to the one furthest from the door.
Three seats remained—two near the top and one at the far end.
Choosing one of the upper seats, he sat down quickly, his cheeks warming as several heads turned to glance at him.
James glanced to his left. And kept on staring.
Beside him, her gaze demurely downcast, her auburn hair glowing softly in the light, was the young lady in the blue gown.
She was looking at her plate, her gaze slightly unfocused so that he guessed at once that her thoughts were elsewhere.
Her lovely reddish hair glinted in the candlelight, a beautiful contrast to the soft blue of her silk gown.
He watched her, unable to look away. As a footman approached, asking if he should pour her wine, she looked up dreamily and then her gaze caught on James’s own.
She stared at him, eyes wide with surprise.
“Good evening,” he murmured.
As soon as he had spoken, he winced inwardly, seeing her lips form a small moue of surprise. He was a fool. Perhaps she was scared—and he could imagine that she was, given how oddly he had behaved earlier.
He looked down at his plate. He expected that she would not return his greeting, but as he nodded to the footman to fill his glass, he heard something.
“Good evening.”
Her voice was low and melodious, and the sound of it seemed to reach somewhere deep within him. He swallowed, caught off guard by the unexpected effect.
“I...” He hesitated. Conversation was so difficult—after two years at war and another two spent avoiding every social engagement he could, he was badly out of practice. “I must apologise for my conduct earlier. It was remiss of me to behave as I did.”
He looked down, not wanting to see the amused scorn in her eyes. He had not always wanted to avoid people, following the war, but the few times that he had attended a ball and been met with sneers if he winced at loud music or if he suddenly went quiet had succeeded in putting him off completely.
The lady beside him did not reply, and he risked a glance upwards. She was looking at him in surprise. It was not scorn, and the novelty of it made him pause.
“I did not find it remiss,” she murmured. Her eyes were wide and round and surprised. “I wished to thank you. You helped me a great deal.”
James smiled, delight flooding him. He had not expected thanks. It was the last thing he had thought.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
In the dazzling candlelight, her smile was a brief, delicate brightness—beautiful, yet fleeting. He longed to say something, anything, that might bring it back.
But nothing came to mind. He searched his thoughts, grasping for a topic. As the footmen served the soup course, he stared down at the table, willing some subject to present itself. The sight of a nearby flower arrangement offered a small reprieve.
“The garden at Thornewood Manor is very beautiful,” he began, seizing on the topic. “I hope that you have an opportunity to peruse it.”
Beside him, the green-eyed young lady beamed. “I love gardens,” she said shyly. “I love plants a great deal. Are you familiar with the greenhouse here at Thornewood?” Her voice was hushed, speaking with quiet respect for Edward’s collection.
“I am.” He could not help feeling a little proud as her eyes widened. “The earl is my cousin,” he added. “I have been fortunate in having seen the collection of plants here many times.”
“Oh!” The young lady’s eyes were sparkling. “I would love to see it!” she sighed, her expression rapturous. “Forgive me. Perhaps I should explain—I have a particular interest in plants,” she added, her voice prim. She looked tense, almost as if she expected to be mocked for this information.
“I am pleased to hear that somebody does,” James said with a smile. “Edward will be delighted. The rest of us find his enthusiasm for the subject rather mystifying.”
The young lady giggled. Beside her, her brother turned around, shooting her a concerned look. She straightened up, sitting primly, her grin turning into a more serious expression.
“Apologies,” she said quickly. “I only found your remark amusing because my own interest in plants is so great. It is difficult to imagine anyone not being interested in them.”
James grinned. “I quite understand. I suspect Edward feels much the same way when faced with my indifference.” He chuckled lightly. “May I ask what you find so very captivating about them?”
She nodded. The soup had arrived, and she swallowed a mouthful, then dabbed her lips with the napkin.
“Yes, of course. But how can I even begin to answer that question?” she asked, her eyes wide and dreamy again.
“I find absolutely everything about plants rather fascinating. Though perhaps the most interesting thing—for me at the current time, at least—is the properties of medicinal plants. My brother and I investigate and catalogue them together. I paint,” she added swiftly.
“Oh?” James frowned. It seemed an odd comment, but she explained hastily.
“I paint pictures of plants. The ones we catalogue. We are trying to make an inventory of new tropical plants that may have healing properties. Thomas is studying medicine,” she added, before diving into an awkward silence as though afraid she had talked too much.
“Oh?” James repeated. He stared at her in awe.
That was interesting. After having seen war injuries and infections, medicinal plants held a certain fascination for him as well.
He had tried to learn a little from those he knew who had some knowledge, but he was always pleased to know more.
“Have you discovered any interesting ones?” he asked her.
“Oh, yes!” The young lady sighed dreamily.
“So many. What I find most interesting, if I may say so, is how plants that are actually poisonous may carry healing properties—taken in small doses, of course.” She leaned closer, clearly involved in the discussion.
“There are many plants from the Americas that we have catalogued which, if misused, are powerful poisons, but when administered in the correct doses, may offer remarkable healing properties for certain conditions.”
“That is very interesting,” James admitted.
She was leaning quite close to him; close enough for him to smell the floral scent of her perfume.
It was sweet and light, and he wondered briefly what was in it.
His cheeks flushed redly as he realised how close he must be to her, and he straightened up.
“I thank you for telling me. I am remiss—I should introduce myself,” he added, looking to his left and wishing that Edward was sitting at their table.
He might be prevailed upon to make the introductions.
“I am James Ridley, Viscount Redfield.” He swallowed, cheeks heating.
He had never felt comfortable introducing himself.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord,” the young lady said politely. “And I am likewise remiss.” She smiled, reaching to tuck a strand of reddish hair behind one ear. “I am Penelope Ainsworth, the daughter of Baron Albury.”
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Ainsworth,” James said sincerely.
He sat silently, unsure of what to say, his gaze drifting across the table while he tried to think of something.
He caught sight of an older woman who appeared to be watching him sternly, and he straightened up.
She looked sufficiently like Miss Ainsworth’s brother for him to assume they were related, and he flushed, embarrassed lest she think his attention inappropriate.
It occurred to him to ask her something more about the plants that she and her brother had catalogued, but when he turned towards her, she was engaged in conversation with her brother.
“...and tomorrow, I believe, a ride is planned. I do not know if you wish to attend it?” her brother was saying.
“I will consider it. I am not averse to riding,” Miss Ainsworth said, though she sounded sufficiently hesitant for him to think that she was possibly afraid of riding.
He listened a little longer, but it seemed as though her brother was purposely keeping her attention elsewhere, and he sighed and turned away. Perhaps her family already considered him too strange, and they would not allow her to talk to him anymore.
He lifted his soup spoon from its place among the silver cutlery and began to eat, feeling oddly downcast and wishing that he might have another chance to talk to her again.