Chapter 20
On the day of the auction, I was on a mission to tire out my son.
First, I took Tommy to the British Museum’s reading room, so he could read up on the latest paleontological developments.
After that, we wandered through the museum’s galleries.
When he had finally gotten his fill, we took the long way home through Hyde Park.
By suppertime, Tommy could barely hide his yawns, and he went to bed shortly afterwards without complaint.
Once I was certain he was asleep, I changed into the dark blue evening gown Delia had deemed not appropriate for the gallery opening, fixed my hair, and went to the parlor to wait.
By the time Mr. Dorian arrived, promptly at eight, I was strung as tightly as a piano wire and nearly shot out of my chair when Mrs. Ford came to announce him.
“Mr. Dorian is here, ma’am,” she said with a knowing look. Earlier, I had described him as an old friend from Corfu, but she had immediately assumed there was more between us. And my nervousness was not helping to dispel her misunderstanding.
“Very good,” I said in a strangled voice. “Send him in.”
Once she left, I wiped my damp palms on my skirt and hurried over to a mirror that hung on the wall. Somehow, I looked even more frazzled than I felt, and I did my best to smooth the curls that had sprung loose from their pins.
“Get a hold of yourself, Minnie,” I muttered. “He’s only a man, and you don’t even like him.”
But I knew what a horrible lie that was.
Speaking it aloud had only made me feel worse—and the truth that much harder to ignore.
It had been far easier to bury my feelings while on Corfu, when he was only a slowly fading memory.
Seeing him in the flesh, however, was making that task infinitely harder.
“Are you all right?”
I yelped and whirled around to find Mr. Dorian standing in the doorway with an amused expression on his face.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, which was not convincing in the least, and forced my arms to my sides.
Mr. Dorian strolled into the room, as calm as ever. His dark gaze quickly skimmed over me, and he gave an approving nod. “You look nice,” he said offhandedly, in the way one might compliment their favorite cousin or a hostess’s attempt at landscape painting. In other words, it was meaningless.
I would have rather he said nothing at all.
“Thank you. So do you,” I replied automatically. He raised an eyebrow, no doubt because I sounded even more awkward than I felt. Then I shook my head and hurried past him. “We should go.”
“If you’d like,” he said as he followed me out the door. “I had my driver park in the mews, in case you wanted to avoid any prying eyes.”
I nodded. “Good idea.”
Once I fetched my coat, we exited through the back of the house. Mr. Dorian helped me into his waiting coach and then climbed in after me.
“I mentioned your thought about disguises to Mrs. Langham,” he began.
I immediately stiffened at the mention of his mistress, but thankfully he didn’t seem to notice, as he was busy fiddling with a package on the seat beside him.
“While I don’t need one, she agreed it would be a good idea to conceal your identity to some extent.
So she lent me this.” Mr. Dorian then handed me the package, which turned out to be a hat box.
I cast him a curious look and opened it. Inside was a black velvet hat with a short veil. I gingerly took it out. “It’s beautiful.”
“As I recall, we employed a similar ruse on our journey to Paxos, and that seemed to work well enough.”
“Yes. It did,” I said. We had also posed as lovers on an illicit getaway, as well as a married couple, over the course of that short trip.
“Then you have no objection to using the same stratagem once again.”
I lifted my chin a little. “Not at all.” I could handle pretending to be Mr. Dorian’s mysterious paramour for the space of a few hours. After Paxos, it would feel like child’s play.
He held my gaze with an inscrutable look. “I just wanted to be sure,” he murmured.
As my mouth went dry, I turned away, telling myself I needed to try on the hat and not because he unnerved me. “We’re only going to be asking questions, anyway,” I said, more for myself than him, as I fixed the hat to my head.
I wondered how much he had told Mrs. Langham about our acquaintance. But then, the woman seemed all too happy to help. It was ridiculous to think she was jealous of me. What possible threat could I, a woman on the cusp of middle age with two children, pose to someone like her?
“Yes,” he replied after a moment, his voice sounding oddly strangled.
I pulled the lacy black veil over my face. The fabric’s design seemed to obscure my features enough to provide a degree of anonymity.
“How do I look?” I asked with a cheeky tilt of my head, hoping to break the tension that had begun to fill the space between us.
But Mr. Dorian remained serious. “Perfect,” he said softly. “You look perfect.”
I was grateful that the fierce blush I felt heating my cheeks was undetectable under the veil. I cleared my throat before I could manage a reply. “Thank you.”
He gave a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to look out the window. I couldn’t begin to understand his behavior just now, so instead I sat back in my seat and went over everything I hoped to learn tonight.
We arrived a short time later at the opulent redbrick home of Sir Armstrong-Hughes.
“What do you know about him?” I asked, as I looked out the window.
Mr. Dorian immediately knew who I meant and let out a sigh. “Not much. He spent many years abroad in Egypt with the army. Apparently that was how he earned his knighthood.”
I glanced at him. “He must have done something more than that. One doesn’t just hand out knighthoods for a job well done.”
“You’ll have to ask Victoria Regina about the particulars,” he drawled.
I rolled my eyes at his insouciant answer. “Mrs. Langham didn’t know?” I deeply regretted the question as soon as I asked it.
But Mr. Dorian didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm. “No.”
Unfortunately, this only emboldened me. “How did they happen to meet?”
“The theater, I suppose. She meets lots of people that way,” he added, entirely unconcerned by the thought of his mistress forming acquaintances with any number of wealthy gentlemen.
Reluctantly, I had to admit it was a point in Mr. Dorian’s favor that he didn’t seem overly possessive of her.
Granted, my understanding of such arrangements was limited, having mostly been gleaned from gossip I heard when I was still married.
But as I understood it, protectors usually expected their mistresses to remain cosseted away somewhere and ready to fulfill their duties at any time.
Yet Mrs. Langham appeared to enjoy a healthy independence.
“She told him I developed an interest in Italianate glassware when I was abroad and wanted to start collecting pieces of my own.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Even though you were in Corfu?”
He smiled. “It was the first thing she could think of. I should have better prepared her. Luckily, Sir Armstrong-Hughes was charmed enough by her tale that he deigned to admit me and a guest.”
“Then, who will he think I am?” I asked slowly. For surely the man would have assumed a personal connection between Mr. Dorian and Mrs. Langham.
“I’m sure he will make the obvious assumption,” Mr. Dorian drawled. “And I trust he is a gentleman and thus will not ask directly.”
Fair enough.
By then, the coachman had opened the door, and Mr. Dorian climbed out of the carriage. As he handed me down to the pavement, he pressed his lips close to my ear, and I sucked in a startled breath.
“Just stay close and let me do the talking, all right?”
I bristled a little at this directive, but we didn’t have time to argue. Other attendees were already heading inside, and the auction would start soon. “Fine.”
Mr. Dorian then held out his arm, and I took it. “Now, remember,” he began as we ascended the front steps, “you are supposed to find me irresistible.”
“I’ll try,” I said dryly and pressed a little closer to him.
He glanced at me. “I wish I could see your face clearly right now.”
“I’m frowning,” I snapped. “An expression you are quite familiar with.”
Mr. Dorian chuckled. “I believe I could paint that very image even if I was blindfolded.”
My grip on his arm tightened, and I pointedly turned away from him.
Something about our exchange made me uncomfortable, which was the exact opposite of the image I needed to project.
As we reached the front door, I could still feel Mr. Dorian’s eyes lingering on my profile, but I kept my gaze firmly ahead, determined to stay focused on the task at hand.
Mr. Dorian gave his name to the footman manning the door, and we were quickly ushered inside.
The entryway reminded me of Lord Linden’s home, with its black-and-white marble checkered floor, high ceiling, and walls covered with treasures.
I was so distracted by the space that I stopped in my tracks.
“Are you coming, darling?”
That immediately got my attention, and my head snapped to Mr. Dorian. He gave me a beseeching look, and I managed a nod.
Darling.
My stomach had somersaulted at the sound of the pet name, and a wave of shame quickly followed. I should have told him not to call me that, but other guests were close by milling about. Besides, I knew perfectly well he meant nothing by it. My reaction was my own issue.
Another footman directed us towards the ballroom, where the auction was to take place, and as we made our way down the hall, I was stunned by the number of items on display. It seemed like every available surface contained some priceless treasure from every era of civilization.
Even Mr. Dorian was awestruck. “Good lord,” he murmured. “Is that a Ming vase?”
We stopped to inspect the vase more closely. I was no expert, but it certainly looked genuine to me. We then glanced at each other with mutual expressions of surprise.