Chapter Eighteen
VW
“If he were still in London, I’d kill him,” Adam grumbled. He’d uttered myriad variations on that threat over the week since Harry had left London.
There were moments when Athena wholeheartedly agreed.
Those moments, however, were invariably followed by the realization that she missed Harry almost desperately despite the fact that she was hurt and angry with him.
Mr. Howard had launched into one of his rambling discourses on trees of northern England only the evening before at a soiree.
Athena had, out of habit, turned to smile at Harry, but he hadn’t been beside her as he’d once always been.
A moment before she’d been entirely downtrodden with wishing Harry hadn’t left, Athena had reminded herself that Harry had introduced her to Mr. Howard in the first place.
“Harry is certainly entitled to visit his sister, Adam,” Persephone said.
“He has a ridiculous sense of timing,” Adam said, his eyes turned to the dark street outside their moving carriage. “A few more weeks and this abysmal Little Season will be over with. The man couldn’t have waited that long?”
“He probably wanted to make the journey before the roads up north are all but impassable,” Persephone pointed out.
“We are going to have to leave in a fortnight or so as it is,” Adam agreed, “or we’ll never make it to Falstone Castle.”
“Can you endure another two weeks of society?” Persephone asked, an obvious smile in her tone, though the carriage interior was too dark for Athena to see her clearly.
“Barely.” He sounded like he was holding back a laugh.
The rest of the ride was silent. It was not the most promising beginning to the night’s festivities.
Adam tolerated the theater more than any other activity, probably owing to the fact that there was little, if any, need to interact with anyone beyond his own group.
Persephone had begun to look a bit pulled over the past week, no doubt the constant activity of the months she’d spent in London having worn her to a thread.
Athena, for her part, felt mostly anxious. She had known the Little Season was nearly at a close. Until Adam had declared they would remain in London for not more than another fortnight, she had been planning on another month. How could she possibly fall in love in two weeks?
In her mind, it had all seemed so simple.
The gentleman of her dreams would find her, and she would know he was exactly the companion she had been waiting for.
She spent most of the opening act of whichever performance they were watching reflecting on her expectations.
The scenario had replayed in her mind so many times over the course of her life that she had it memorized.
But every ball came and went without the heart-pounding moment of seeing her heart’s desire across the ballroom, without watching him slowly make his way to where she stood, without the tingling touch of hands.
She was running out of time. Adam would not wish to spend another Season sponsoring her, and she had no wish to be alone all her life. Without Harry to help her . . . But Athena didn’t allow the thought to continue. Harry, apparently, had not helped her.
“You appear to be rather deep in thought.” Mr. Dalforth’s voice snapped Athena from her state of reflection.
Around her, the audience was loudly conversing—even more loudly than they generally did during the performance—indicating that Athena’s inattention had been so complete she had not even noticed the start of the first intermission.
“I suppose I was wool gathering,” Athena acknowledged, trying to keep her tone light.
“You have seemed a bit distracted the last few days.” His words were hesitant and his look a little wary, almost as if he was unsure he wanted to hear her reasons.
Had Harry been asking, Athena would have told him everything.
Confiding in Harry came easily, naturally.
There was never any worry of censure or dismissal from him.
Not that Mr. Dalforth was ever unkind. He simply didn’t inspire the same level of trust that Harry did, or had.
She was so confused. Trust had always been the feeling she’d associated most with Harry, and he had betrayed her, had deceived her for weeks.
But—drat the man—despite it all, she wished he was there.
“The general consensus seems to be that it will snow by morning,” Mr. Dalforth said as if he were continuing some previous thread of conversation. Athena realized she hadn’t really been listening and devoted herself to paying closer attention. “So perhaps tea would be the better option after all.”
Her confusion must have shown. Mr. Dalforth smiled at her, perhaps a little chagrined. “As the weather is likely to be uncooperative tomorrow, I was suggesting we forgo our scheduled ride in the park and remain at Falstone House to take tea with your sister, should she agree.”
“That is probably wise,” Athena acknowledged.
Mr. Dalforth had driven her out thrice since Harry had left London and a handful of times before then.
He danced with her at each ball, though never more than once.
As he was at that moment, Mr. Dalforth was also certain to pay his respects whenever they were in attendance at the same function.
“Pointed” she had overheard a dowager refer to the attention Athena was receiving from Mr. Dalforth.
“Promising” was another descriptor used.
Based on the evaluation of curious onlookers, there was a very real possibility that Mr. Dalforth was courting her.
Indeed, the more she thought on it, the more certain Athena became.
Shouldn’t a young lady who is being courted realize as much?
It certainly ought not to come as an epiphanic insight several weeks after the fact.
Athena looked more closely at Mr. Dalforth as he consulted Persephone on the change of plans for the next afternoon.
Somehow she had imagined a far more noticeable reaction to a gentleman who was courting her.
She had fully believed that her heart would warm at the sight of her would-be suitor, that she would be inexplicably pleased to have him nearby, would perhaps even feel a flip of her heart upon seeing him after even a short separation.
She hadn’t even noticed when he’d come into their box.
And, at the moment, she had absolutely no idea what he was saying.
Athena paid more attention the rest of the evening.
Mr. Dalforth remained in their box until the second intermission.
Her heart did not misbehave, and she found she was not overly disappointed when he took his leave.
Mr. Dalforth was a very kind, intelligent, and conversant gentleman.
He was not ridiculously conceited nor did he possess a dragon of a mother.
He had all the qualities she had already decided she desired in a future husband, including those she had added after Harry’s eventually disastrous involvement in her Little Season.
But it did not feel like enough. There was no spark, no rush of emotion between them.
A gentleman did not pay a lady so much obvious and public attention as she had been receiving from Mr. Dalforth unless he was either a relative or intending to marry her.
When she had made her bows to society, Athena had hoped she would receive an offer before her Season was over.
That outcome suddenly seemed imminent. But rather than feeling relieved or excited or happy, Athena felt very nearly panicked.
q
“Hiding in the rhododendrons, Harry?” Jane was laughing, probably at him.
Harry looked up from his seat on a bench in the garden and smiled at his sister.
She had the same blue eyes he did, eyes that, at that moment, appeared to be full of amusement.
“I was hoping to avoid my gossip-loving sister,” Harry answered, shifting his look into one of feigned worry.
“I have feared for my constitution from the moment I arrived, knowing she would harangue me for all the latest on dits and that the undertaking would require several hours at the least. I am not certain I have the stamina.” Harry managed an exaggerated sigh.
“That sister will catch up with you eventually,” Jane replied.
“And which sister has cornered me just now?” Harry asked, laughing a little.
“The one who is wondering what brought her usually cheerful brother up from Town when the Duke of Kielder is still in London,” Jane answered. “That has not happened since Claudius was born.”
“Well, the rest of your children had the decency to make their debut when I was at Falstone Castle,” Harry answered. “Perhaps I came in anticipation of this one,” Harry motioned slightly with his head toward the very obvious roundness of his sister’s figure.
Jane shook her head, still smiling in amusement.
“You know very well this child will not arrive until the new year. No, it is not that which has brought you to Lincolnshire.” She looked at him speculatively.
Harry attempted to look entirely at his ease.
“Has His Grace finally decided to do away with you?”
Harry had to laugh, just as Jane did. She had been frightened beyond bearing when she’d first met Adam.
He had been ten years old at the time. Jane had been twelve.
Adam had already gained a reputation for being fearsome, and he had long since perfected his ducal air.
Adam had spent the Christmas holiday with Harry’s aunt and uncle in Scotland.
By the end of the visit, Jane was referring to Adam—though not in his presence—as a “tortured soul,” and while she was certainly not unintimidated by him, she had decided Adam was not on the verge of murdering her brother.
After a few more years passed without word of Harry’s untimely death, Jane became less concerned, even joking about the potential for a violent end to Harry and Adam’s unexpected friendship.