Chapter Nine #2
There was something so reassuring about Harry.
Even when she was worn down or tired or unhappy, he had a talent for lightening her mind and heart.
Her own father had not been one for reassurances and support.
He had all too often been lost in his studies, rather oblivious to his children’s needs.
He’d never been unkind, simply neglectful.
Athena supposed she ought to add that to her list. She would very much prefer a husband who did not forget her existence for weeks on end.
Being in company with a duchess had certain benefits.
The other guests parted as they stepped inside the Fitzpatricks’ home, allowing Harry to lead Persephone, and Athena in their wake, directly to their seats without the necessity of waiting in a jostling crowd.
That would certainly not have done her headache any good.
Harry sat between Persephone and Athena. Around them the remaining guests were beginning to find seats, conversing as they did. Athena took several long, slow breaths, silently pleading with her head to not punish her too harshly as the evening wore on.
“I understand Adam’s mother will be in Town for your come-out ball,” Harry said quietly, leaning closer to Athena so as to be heard.
He smelled musky. Why had she never noticed that before?
It was a pleasant, clean sort of smell—not cloying, the way some gentlemen smelled.
Mr. Peterbrook came to mind—his scent generally lingered long after he did and was every bit as unwelcome.
“She will most likely make a great fuss over you. I thought I would drop a friendly warning in your ear, so you are not caught off guard.”
Athena smiled up at Harry, the first genuine smile she had produced all evening. The smile he gave her in return was different from his usual. It was softer somehow. Not that his smiles were ever harsh or unpleasant.
“Windover,” a voice said from Athena’s other side, pulling her eyes away from Harry’s intriguing smile to a gentleman impeccably dressed in a deep green, well-tailored coat, black breeches, and a perfectly executed mathematical about his neck.
Harry rose to make introductions, and Athena automatically followed suit.
She endured the usual moment of stomach knotting.
She had discovered this strange phenomenon very early on during her first evenings amongst the ton.
Every time she was introduced to, or about to be introduced to, a gentleman, her insides seemed to momentarily rearrange themselves while her mind echoed the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, the gentleman in question was the illusive gentleman she had been waiting all her life to meet.
Despite Harry’s expressions of doubt, Athena was still convinced that she would know when she had found the man she ought to marry.
Perhaps not love at first sight, but love at second or third sight did not seem unreasonable.
As she came to know said gentleman better, she would feel it—whatever it happened to be.
Every time she came face-to-face with the possibility of discovering it, she felt a little nervous.
Her mind focused on the introductions Harry was conducting barely in time to register the fact that the gentleman offering his bows was Sir Hubert Collington.
Athena did not know anything of him, specifically, but had heard his name in passing.
He was a baronet, as was obvious by his title, and Sir Hubert owned a tidy estate somewhere, though she could not recall its location.
She also could not recall seeing him amongst any of the clusters of gentlemen who seemed to hover about the fringes of the room at each and every society gathering.
Ladies attended balls and soirees and musicales with the obvious intent of enjoying the festivities.
The gentlemen always seemed to be present under duress.
Adam simply did not come. Athena could not picture him hovering.
He would most certainly be scowling and, most likely, vocally denouncing the entire event.
It was probably best that he didn’t attend, which was presumably the reason Persephone did not press him to join her.
Sir Hubert took the seat on Athena’s right side, Harry sitting on her left, just as Mrs. Fitzpatrick ushered the evening’s first performer to the pianoforte placed in front of the gathering.
Athena rested her hands on her lap, acutely aware of Sir Hubert’s presence.
He did not smell as nice as Harry, she noted, feeling unaccountably annoyed.
And he was not smiling. Sir Hubert wore an expression of undisguised cynical boredom.
Such looks were normal amongst the ton, but Athena had always preferred individuals who looked at least passingly pleased with life.
The young lady at the pianoforte was executing a fairly skilled rendition of a sonata Athena recognized but could not name.
There were no noticeably wrong notes, and the music was not overly loud.
Perhaps she would survive the evening after all.
No doubt Mrs. Fitzpatrick was saving her best performers for last, which meant if this quite acceptable performance was to be the worst of the evening, there would be nothing truly horrible about the night.
By the time Mrs. Fitzpatrick invited her guests to partake of a very light selection of edibles, Athena had regained a degree of her optimism. Her head still ached somewhat vaguely but did not threaten to undo her.
Sir Hubert sat at the table where Harry had led Athena and Persephone.
While she had not exchanged a single word with the gentleman beyond the compulsory comments during their initial introduction, Athena did not find herself anxious to deepen the acquaintance.
Perhaps she had simply grown wary of Harry’s selection of friends.
There was not, thus far, a decent sort of gentleman among them.
“Might I join you as well?” a familiar voice asked.
Athena smiled up at Mr. Dalforth, though it was for Persephone to answer his request. Permission was granted, and Athena found herself in the happy circumstance of having Mr. Dalforth seated beside her.
He was perhaps the only gentleman she had met since her arrival in London whose company did not quickly become unwelcome.
So why, she silently asked herself, did Harry seem suddenly very unwelcoming of Mr. Dalforth?