Chapter Nine
VW
Harry was painfully aware of the fact that he was walking a razor-thin line when it came to Athena Lancaster. The time he spent in her company was to be the one consolation in all of his efforts to help her to a good match. And yet her company was proving fatal to his self-mastery.
She’d very nearly sent him into a state of panic when she had so innocently declared that holding hands with a gentleman in a darkened box at the theater could not possibly be an affecting experience.
There were far too many so-called gentlemen of the ton who would take advantage of her na?veté.
So, like the dunderhead he too often proved himself to be, Harry had offered a relatively tame demonstration.
Those brief moments managed to convince him just how affecting a touch of hands could truly be.
He was grateful that Persephone and Adam had been sufficiently distracted; a few minutes had been required for Harry to regain control of his countenance.
Portraying an avuncular acquaintance was growing more difficult with each attempt.
Harry knew his eyes followed Athena around every ballroom.
He was keenly aware of her location at any social function.
He had noted her arrival in Hyde Park just that afternoon probably even before she herself was aware of her location.
How Peterbrook could have disapproved of Athena’s carriage dress the day before was beyond Harry’s comprehension.
He could scarcely take his eyes off her the entire time he’d been beside the Handleys’ carriage today.
Athena would be stunning even dressed in rags.
Harry dropped into the lumpy leather armchair in his sitting room.
Adam was at Lords. Persephone was probably making morning calls.
And Athena, if Harry didn’t miss his guess, was most likely spitting mad.
He’d seen the flash of annoyance in her eyes as Mrs. Handley had spouted her self-righteous nonsense.
He’d known Handley’s mother to be something of a bossy dragon, but he hadn’t anticipated such a running stream of vitriol.
Athena needed to realize that she would be marrying a gentleman’s family as well as the man himself.
Having a mother-in-law who was selfish to the core and who led her son around by the nose, as it were, would be an unbearable situation.
Handley had been the perfect man to demonstrate that.
For that reason, Harry had offered to introduce him to the Little Season’s fair diamond. But Mrs. Handley had outdone herself.
Harry would give Athena some time to cool off.
Perhaps by the time they left for the Fitzpatricks’ musicale she would be in a more receptive mood.
He sincerely hoped so. There was someone attending the same function who was anticipating an introduction, an experience that was not likely to improve Athena’s mood.
Harry slouched down in the well-worn chair, his left elbow on the chair arm, head resting in his palm.
He pushed out a long breath, trying to expel the smell of violets that always lingered long after he’d left Athena’s side.
It didn’t help that he’d bought another posy on his way back to his rooms. Harry mentally shook his head at himself. How long had he been so infatuated?
With his eyes still closed, Harry could see her as she had looked the moment she had arrived at Falstone Castle that spring.
It had only been spring technically. The snow lasted far past winter in Northumberland.
Athena had stepped out of the traveling carriage, her cheeks pink from the cold.
She had walked up the front steps and through the enormous front doors of the castle with all the dignity and grace that was expected of a young lady of her station in life.
But her eyes had given her away, revealing a poignant mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
That was the moment. He realized it looking back.
He had seen far too many young society misses who had perfected the art of looking utterly bored with life.
Athena was refreshingly different. Constant detachment was expected of the ton.
Society’s upper echelon worked hard at appearing so unimpressed with life as to be on the verge of expiring from it.
Harry had never managed the act. And neither, he guessed, had or would Athena. He’d loved her ever since.
Harry opened his eyes. Literally and figuratively.
A quick glance around the room brought him back down to earth.
To say the room was shabby would have been a generous compliment.
Not a single painting adorned the walls.
The furniture had most certainly seen better days.
His valet was his one and only servant, if one didn’t count the maid who came in once a week, and no one in the ton would have counted her.
Society held itself to a very high standard even in matters of servants.
The only thing in the room that couldn’t be considered ragged was the violets.
And the irony of that realization was not lost on Harry.
He rose and walked slowly to the window, his characteristic smile completely missing.
The street below his window was busy, but he only vaguely noted the activity.
￡650. That was his yearly income. It was possible to support a wife on such an amount, if there were never any children to provide for and if she had no objections to living in a manner not unlike that in which Athena had lived before Adam’s fortune had saved them.
Except that Harry’s situation was worse than the Lancasters’ had been.
They’d had little by way of money—that much was true.
But the family had had a roof over their heads and a home in good repair.
Harry’s home and the estate upon which it sat were barely livable.
Thousands of pounds would be required to bring it to the point where it could be occupied.
And even with such a drastic level of investment, there would be no true prosperity.
That he needed Athena’s dowry was obvious. But he didn’t want her dowry. He wanted Athena. And he could never have her.
Time slipped by as he stood, blindly staring down at the street.
His mind was filled with memories of her.
He remembered her brave smile the day of Persephone and Adam’s wedding.
He thought back on the time he’d found her in the book room at Falstone Castle and the palpable relief she’d exuded upon realizing Adam hadn’t discovered her there.
And his mind relived the discussions and debates they’d had after that on any number of subjects.
Harry had retrieved the books she’d wanted from Adam’s sanctuary, and they’d talked over the things she’d read.
She hadn’t summoned the courage to learn to ride, but Harry had secretly intended to talk her into it when he had returned to Falstone Castle after the Season.
That wouldn’t happen after all. She would be married, and not to him.
A discreet throat clearing pulled Harry from his thoughts.
His long-suffering valet was standing in the doorway to Harry’s sitting room with a look of urgency on his face.
A quick glance at the tiny, dented clock on a heavily scratched end table told Harry he had very little time before he was expected for dinner at Falstone House.
Harry let out a tense breath. It was time to force himself to be happy when he was feeling less happy with each passing moment.
He would simply cling to the knowledge that introducing Athena to Sir Hubert Collington would, if all went according to his expectations, add another crucial characteristic to her list of future-spouse qualifications.
And this latest characteristic was, indeed, essential.
q
Athena sat in Adam’s most well-sprung carriage attempting to feel enthusiastic about the evening ahead.
She enjoyed music and, until her very long, torturous afternoon, had been looking forward to the Fitzpatrick musicale.
Mrs. Handley’s company had left Athena drained and out of sorts.
A brief nap had done little but make her head hurt.
How was it, she wondered to herself as each jostle brought a fresh ache to her forehead, that sleeping could make one feel less rested? It seemed terribly counterintuitive.
Harry handed Persephone down once they stopped in front of the Fitzpatrick house, before turning to offer his hand to Athena, still waiting in the carriage. She attempted a smile, knowing appearances were crucial in the ton. No matter how miserable she felt, she must appear content.
Harry’s fingers closed around hers. Athena took a fortifying breath.
Her headache, though not shattering, was simply unpleasant.
And if Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s reputation was anything to go by, the evening’s entertainment would never dip into the truly atrocious.
That would help. Screeching voices and ill-formed chords would quickly catapult her into a debilitating megrim.
“Athena?” Harry infused the single word with an entire inquiry. Her social mask had not, apparently, fooled him.
“I am a little tired this evening,” she admitted in hushed tones. “My day was wearying.”
He gave her a sympathetic look before stepping to where Persephone waited and offering his arm.
Duchesses took precedence over duchess’s sisters.
Harry would walk Persephone inside and Athena would follow behind.
The formality had never bothered her before.
But the instant Harry had released her fingers, she missed the contact.