Chapter Eight
VW
Athena smiled at Mr. Handley as she entered the Falstone House drawing room.
He had remained in their box at the theater the night before for most of the first intermission, and Athena had found she liked him a great deal more than any of the other gentlemen Harry had introduced to her.
He had asked her to ride out with him the next afternoon, and Persephone had granted her permission.
It was a shame, really, that Harry hadn’t come across his more agreeable acquaintances first. That Mr. Howard and Mr. Peterbrook had attended the same events as they had certainly could not be laid at Harry’s door.
If only those gentlemen more like Mr. Handley had made appearances earlier in the Little Season, Athena might have been spared the ordeal of riding out with Mr. Peterbrook as well as the tedium of discussing trees each and every time Mr. Howard crossed her path.
Thankfully, neither gentleman was present at the moment.
“I hope I have not kept you waiting,” Athena said after the appropriate exchange of a bow and a curtsy.
“Not at all,” he replied with a smile.
He had a nice smile, Athena thought to herself.
It lacked some of the flash of Mr. Peterbrook’s, something for which she was grateful.
And it did not have that feeling of barely concealed, contagious laughter that Harry’s always contained, but Athena had never met another person, gentleman or lady, whose smiles quite equaled Harry’s.
He’d even managed to make her smile in those difficult hours after Persephone’s wedding.
Athena had been heartbroken to part with her sister and worried over the life Persephone had chosen in order to rescue her family from financial ruin.
Harry, however, had actually made her laugh at a time when she’d felt like her world was falling apart.
“Did you enjoy the remainder of the performance last evening?” Mr. Handley asked as they began their descent to the ground floor and toward the front door.
“I did,” Athena replied, thankful he had not spoken yet of trees nor of his collection of jackets, cravats, or footwear.
It seemed she had finally met a gentleman who could be given actual consideration as a potential suitor.
He possessed intellect beyond arboreal trivia, was not consumed with thoughts of himself; he was a gentleman, unmarried, and smiled enough to not be dismal company.
Mr. Handley appeared to be precisely what she was looking for.
A landau in a very regal shade of deepest green was waiting just at the curb in front of Falstone House, a pair of finely matched chestnuts waiting patiently, a liveried coachman atop his box, a tiger in matching livery holding the horses at a stand.
Some would consider a landau somewhat dated for a young, single gentleman—curricles being considered quite the thing amongst that group.
Athena was, in all actuality, relieved to see the stately vehicle.
Mr. Peterbrook had driven her out in his bright blue curricle, the color chosen to accentuate his eyes, or so he had more than once told her.
And he had driven altogether too fast and reckless.
His driving had left her fearing for her safety while his conversation had seriously threatened her sanity.
This drive, she was certain, would be far better.
A footman appeared to open the door of the landau and lower the steps. Mr. Handley handed her up, and Athena smiled before shifting to sit on the forward-facing bench.
“Mother prefers that seat, Miss Lancaster,” Mr. Handley told her, urgency in his voice.
“Mother?” Athena asked in confusion.
He motioned to the seat she was about to assume, and Athena glanced quickly behind her, realizing for the first time that the open carriage was not unoccupied.
A woman, swathed in several heavy shawls, and small enough that her head did not come much above the seat in which she was sitting, eyed Athena petulantly.
“Oh.” Athena was startled into a rather simpleminded response.
“The rear-facing seat is available, however,” Mr. Handley offered.
The rear-facing seat? To offer a young lady the rear-facing seat, when a place was available on the forward-facing seat, was not terribly civil.
Mrs. Handley sat precisely in the middle of her bench, not permitting a second occupant to sit there.
And, it seemed, Mr. Handley had no intention of rectifying the slight.
Athena settled herself opposite Mrs. Handley, but to one side of the bench, so Mr. Handley would have a place to sit.
She managed a smile, reminding herself that older women could be cantankerous.
She hadn’t been expecting Mr. Handley’s mother to be part of their afternoon drive, but such things were not entirely unheard of.
And it was to his credit that Mr. Handley saw to his mother’s comfort, was it not?
Mr. Handley stepped up and, to Athena’s surprise, sat next to his mother, she having made room for her son with a swiftness of movement that caught Athena entirely off guard.
“Are you quite comfortable, Mother?” Mr. Handley asked. “Do you wish for another carriage blanket?”
“No, dear.” Mrs. Handley patted her son’s hand, smiling sweetly at him.
He was solicitous of his mother’s welfare—Athena could certainly say that of Mr. Handley. Mrs. Handley had the prior claim on her son’s attention, not to mention a far greater claim. And they made such a touching picture of maternal affection and filial loyalty.
Athena smiled across the carriage at them just as Mrs. Handley’s eyes shifted from her son’s face to Athena’s.
The woman’s smile was instantly replaced by a narrow-eyed look of evaluation.
Her long, pointed noise and rather piercing dark eyes put Athena firmly in mind of the hunting dogs a neighbor in Shropshire had kept when she was a little girl.
“Who’s the gel?” Mrs. Handley asked, her voice nasally and stringent.
“This is Miss Athena Lancaster, Mother,” Mr. Handley replied.
“Lancaster?” Mrs. Handley’s forehead wrinkled up like a wad of fabric. “Never heard of any Lancasters worth knowing.”
Athena was too taken aback to do more than stare mutely.
“Her sister is the Duchess of Kielder,” Mr. Handley answered.
“Hmmph.” It wasn’t a very flattering response. “I suppose she’s considered something of a beauty.” There was enough doubt in Mrs. Handley’s tone to take any hint of a compliment out of her words.
“I—” The single word was all that Mr. Handley managed before his mother’s gaze shifted to him. “Er—she does not, of course, hold a candle to your own handsomeness.”
Mrs. Handley was suddenly all tender smiles. Another hand pat clearly communicated her approval of her son’s evaluation. “I have always been thought to be a handsome woman,” she said. “Though I am certain the years have diminished my looks.”
“Not at all, Mother.”
Another hand pat preceded a look of undisguised triumph shot in Athena’s direction.
Athena was certain she looked like the greatest simpleton in all the world, sitting as she was with her mouth slightly agape, unable to formulate a thought, let alone a response.
Mrs. Handley was as shriveled as a prune.
And her wrinkles were not the sort borne of a lifetime of laughter.
She had the appearance of one who spent hours on end sucking on lemons.
Mr. Handley continued fussing over his mother as they approached the entrance to Hyde Park, not a glance or word spared for Athena’s benefit.
“Do you require many hours in curling papers to create such a riotous amount of curls, Miss Lancaster?” Mrs. Handley asked.
“No,” Athena answered, dumbfounded.
“No doubt, your impatience leaves you with flat hair before the end of an evening.” Mrs. Handley sniffed.
“My curls are not created with curling papers,” Athena answered, realizing she’d been misunderstood. “They are natural.”
“Of course they are.” The comment was not merely dripping with sarcasm, it was saturated with it. “Your father. Who are his people? What sort of family connections does he have?”
Athena clasped her hands in her lap, doing her best to maintain a calm and civil demeanor. “His grandfather was Lord Henley, though the title now belongs to a somewhat distant cousin of mine.”
“That is not a barony of great significance,” Mrs. Handley said with another audible sniff.
“The baronies in your family are, then, I assume,” Athena shot back.
Mrs. Handley’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t reply.
Athena strongly suspected there were no titles, significant or otherwise, in Mrs. Handley’s family.
Only a moment passed before Mrs. Handley continued her picking.
“And what kind of person is your mother?” she asked, her tone indicating she expected to hear something to disapprove of.
Athena gave her a very direct look. She would not endure insults to her beloved, departed mother. So Athena selected a response she knew would close the subject. “The dead kind,” she answered, turning her face away, gazing as if mesmerized by the passing view.
The landau slowed to nearly a stop as they converged upon the congestion of Hyde Park.
All around them was the noise and commotion of the fashionable hour, but amongst the passengers of the Handley carriage there was only tense silence.
Mrs. Handley managed to look both indignant and frail, depending upon which of her fellow travelers she was looking at.
Mr. Handley had grown felicitous to the point of being almost frantic.
Athena was simply annoyed. From the moment they’d entered the carriage, Mr. Handley had essentially forgotten her existence. If only his mother had as well.