Chapter 5
Once Charles had retrieved our coats and expertly maneuvered us outside, I looked around for our parents’ coach. But it was not among the long line waiting in front of the gallery.
“Over here, Minnie!” Delia called out. I turned around and spotted her and Charles at the corner, where a hansom cab waited. I clutched my coat tighter as a burst of wind whipped around me, and hurried over to them.
Delia climbed inside first, and Charles helped me in after her.
“Where is our coach?” I asked as I settled into the seat beside her.
“I sent Warwick home,” she replied blithely. “No use having him wait for us all evening.”
I gave her skeptical look. “That is his job.”
But Delia only waved a hand. “It’s nice to have a little privacy, don’t you think? Besides, I wouldn’t want him reporting anything back to Mother.”
“Reporting what back?”
She tilted her head, as if I was being willfully obtuse. “Well, you can’t imagine she would approve of our going to this party. A gallery opening in Soho is nearly too scandalous for her.”
I thought of the conversation I had had with our mother just yesterday. “I’m not sure you are being as discreet as you think, as she seems to have a fair idea of what you get up to anyway.”
“Not everything,” she replied, with an eyebrow waggle.
But before I could form a response to this, Charles joined us. I kept the rest of my thoughts to myself and let the two of them carry the conversation as the cab took us not far away to a tony street in Mayfair.
Once we stopped, Charles got out first and helped Delia and then myself down.
I stepped onto the pavement and took in the elegant, Georgian-style mansion looming up ahead.
Every window in the entire place was lit up, and the silhouettes of dozens of people moving within could be seen from the street, while more still were ascending the front steps.
“Quite the place, isn’t it?” Charles said.
“It looks even more crowded than the gallery,” I admitted a little warily as we approached.
He chuckled. “Not to worry. Lord Linden is an impeccable host. I’d wager it’s just a hair short of a crush inside.”
This wasn’t exactly reassuring, but I kept the thought to myself as Delia slipped her arm through mine. “Come. I haven’t met Lord Linden before, and I confess, I’m terribly curious.”
“He’s a first-rate scoundrel,” Charles drawled, but his mouth tightened ever so slightly, and I suspected he was a bit jealous of my sister’s undisguised interest.
“That is a large part of the appeal,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve heard he always invites the most eclectic crowd, too,” she continued on, tugging me up the front steps. “Everyone from writers to inventors and actors. Even Ellen Terry has been rumored to attend!”
I feigned a hum of interest as she began to rattle off a list of other names, but, in truth, I had not kept up with the latest theater news since I had left England.
The door was manned by a bald-headed butler so large and intimidating that he made Morris look as gentle as a kitten.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Pearson,” he said in a dour tone that seemed to indicate the exact opposite, though he immediately stepped aside.
“Thank you, Thompkins,” Charles replied cheerily as we crossed the threshold.
“You must be a frequent guest here,” I began, “for the butler to recognize you on sight.”
“Yes,” he replied idly. “But not just from these little parties. I’ve known Linden for years.”
I glanced back and caught the butler watching him with a sharp gaze, until he noticed me and looked away.
We then left our coats with a footman and crossed the spacious, marble-floored entryway. I looked up at the vaulted ceiling high above our heads, where a paned glass dome let in slivers of moonlight. Gold stars danced along the rest of the ceiling in a surprising touch of whimsy.
“Our host is a lord, you said?” I asked as my gaze wandered over the heavily decorated walls boasting the usual accoutrements of the aristocracy: a lavish coat of arms, a few portraits of stern, disapproving relatives, and a landscape that looked to be a genuine Constable.
“A baron, to be exact,” Charlie explained. “As I recall, the family fell out of favor during the reign of George IV and lived in a kind of genteel poverty for many years until his grandfather invested in an ammunitions factory and made an awful lot of money during the Crimean War.”
My lips pursed in disapproval. So, this house was built on blood. I kept that thought to myself and nodded in reply. “It’s a stunning property,” I admitted.
“It was designed by Robert Hooke,” a deep voice said from behind me.
I turned around and found myself face-to-face with a striking man. His chestnut hair nearly brushed his shoulders, while his green eyes were fixed upon me quite intently.
“Truly?”
In addition to being Christopher Wren’s assistant, Robert Hooke was a polymath who was credited with a number of scientific discoveries.
The man raised one auburn brow. “You’re familiar with him?”
The skepticism in his voice needled me, and I lifted my chin a little. “Of course. I had a professor at school who claimed he was as brilliant as da Vinci.”
This seemed to intrigue the man, and he took a step closer, which I thought rather impertinent. “And what school would that be?”
Though I was growing uncomfortable with his attention, I refused to show it. “Girton.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a slow smile, though his eyes never left mine. “You brought a bluestocking to my party, Pearson?”
When Charles laughed, I blinked. I had completely forgotten about him and Delia. “Ladies, allow me to introduce our host: Lord Linden. This is Miss Delia Everly and her sister, Mrs. Minerva Harper.”
His lordship stared at me for another moment before he turned to my sister. “Miss Everly, a pleasure. I’ve heard great things about your work.”
Delia dipped a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”
Then he turned back to me, and his eyes glinted with a distinct air of mischief. “And I suppose that makes you Mrs. Minerva Harper.”
Given what Charles had said about the man, I had no doubt that he was used to women finding his insouciant manner supremely charming, but I would not give him the satisfaction. “I suppose it does,” I replied dryly.
He held my gaze for longer than was polite before addressing my companions. “There’s a buffet in the dining room, dancing in the ballroom, and Madame Fontaine will tell your fortune in the drawing room. Enjoy yourselves,” he said and cast me another look before strolling off down the hall.
Delia grasped my arm excitedly. “Let’s see Madame Fontaine. She’s very popular.”
I rolled my eyes. “Really, Delia. That’s all such nonsense.”
“Come on. It will be fun,” she said, already pulling me down the hallway. “And we can ask if you have a future as a baroness,” Delia added with a teasing look.
“Oh please,” I scoffed.
“Don’t try to deny anything,” Delia insisted. “I saw him flirting with you with my own two eyes.”
“Might I remind you that Charles described him as a known scoundrel?” I pointed out. “That is how scoundrels act.”
Delia immediately turned to Charles for support, but he just shrugged. “It’s true. That’s not to say the baron wouldn’t flirt with you out of genuine interest,” he added quickly.
“Thank you,” I said on a laugh. “Rest assured, I have reached the age where I am quite immune to shallow flattery from rogues.”
Charles looked relieved to see I hadn’t taken offense, but Delia still frowned. “I don’t see why it’s so difficult for you to believe he would be interested in you.”
I let out a sigh, but was saved from having to respond further as we entered the drawing room.
Delia immediately came to a halt. “There she is,” she murmured as she gestured across the room, where presumably Madame Fontaine sat behind a small table draped in black cloth.
The woman also wore black, which created a striking contrast with her ghostly pale face and dark brown hair.
“Well, she certainly fits the image of a fortune teller,” I said. “Although she’s missing a crystal ball.”
“She doesn’t need one,” Delia replied defensively. “She simply holds your hands. Isn’t that right?” she asked Charles.
He gave her an indulgent smile. “That is what I’ve heard. But you go on ahead. I believe I spotted a business associate in the hall just now and should speak to him. I’ll join you in a bit.”
“All right.” Delia nodded, unconcerned, and pulled me across the room. Madame Fontaine immediately took notice of us and tracked our approach with her dark eyes.
“What kind of business does Mr. Pearson do?” I asked.
Delia glanced back at me and shrugged. “Something in antiques. But it’s really more of a lark for him. I don’t think he makes much money off it.”
I very much wanted to ask how exactly he did make money then, but we had reached the table. Delia released my hand and sat down on the open seat.
“Good evening. I’d like a reading, please.”
Madame Fontaine stared at her for a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet mine. “I’d prefer to read your sister first, if you don’t mind,” she said softly, in a low voice with an indecipherable accent that seemed to waver between French and Russian pronunciations.
Delia gasped, and I will admit that I was equally shocked, though I managed to hide it behind a smile. “I’m not interested in a reading,” I said politely.
The woman arched one dark brow. “No? Not even after you came all this way?”
I frowned at her intentionally vague response, but Delia was enthralled. She turned around in her chair and grasped my hand. “You must.”
“Very well,” I relented. “But only for fun,” I added, shooting Madame Fontaine a stern look while Delia practically leapt to her feet.
“Of course,” she said with a sage nod and gestured to the now-empty chair. “Please, sit.”