Chapter Five #3
“People would be lost in a house that size,” Lady Montvale returned.
“It would be a pity if the person lost was your daughter” was Mrs. Pomfrey’s tart reply.
“That was unkind—,” Lady Montvale started, but her friend wagged a finger at her.
“This is competition for high stakes, my dear. Friendship can’t be considered.”
“Then perhaps it’s best I not invite you when Lord Lyon comes to Wavertree for my house party.”
“You needn’t worry, my dear. He’ll most certainly prefer being at mine.”
“And to think I valued your friendship,” Lady Montvale spit out, coming to her feet.
“As if you would show off my daughter under your roof,” Mrs. Pomfrey returned. “I know what you plan to do. It is what you do whenever a prettier girl is in the room with Cynthia. You scheme to shut her out.”
“I do not,” Lady Montvale said, very insulted, “because there isn’t a prettier young woman in London than Cynthia.”
“That’s not what people say behind your back—,” Mrs. Pomfrey returned. Thea had to cut in before they came to fisticuffs.
“Please,” she said, reaching out to come between the two women. “This isn’t necessary. Lord Lyon will make up his own mind.”
“Then our daughters are to meet him?” Mrs. Pomfrey said.
“Yes,” Thea said. “I believe he should.” If the daughters were anything like the bickering, haughty mothers, then she couldn’t imagine Lyon in danger of falling in love with either of them.
Certainly they knew how to give their children every advantage, something that would be passed down to the grandchildren as well. Lyon wanted his children doted upon.
“However,” Mirabel said, setting down her teacup and commanding everyone’s attention, “the house party will be at my estate, Bennington Abbey. Neutral ground,” she explained to the arguing friends.
For a second, Mrs. Pomfrey appeared ready to protest, but then seemed to change her mind. “That seems fair. Is it fair to you, Lady Montvale?”
Lady Montvale made a great show of considering the matter. Her eyes scanned the ceiling for a moment, as if she’d been searching for an answer there. Her chin came down. “Fair enough.”
“Good,” Thea said. “Lady Palmer, when will you be ready to receive guests?”
“We could plan for Thursday next?” Mirabel suggested.
Thea looked to the Lady Montvale and Mrs. Pomfrey for confirmation. They both nodded their assent.
“Very well,” Thea said. “We shall make plans for that date.”
Mirabel clapped her hands. “I adore house parties, and this one should prove to be very interesting.”
“Are our daughters to be the only ones there?” Mrs. Pomfrey asked.
“Oh, now,” Thea said, “that wouldn’t be very sporting.”
Neither lady appeared happy with her answer, but Mirabel was. She could now claim to have hostessed London’s most hoity-toity society mavens, and Thea could tell by the grin on her friend’s face she was going to enjoy every moment of it.
After Lady Montvale and Mrs. Pomfrey left, Thea penned a note to Lady Lila Corkindale inviting her to the house party. She did not mention the purpose behind the event. Mirabel had it sent off to be hand delivered by a servant, which was very kind of her.
But what was interesting was that even before Thea could gather up the boys to go home, the servant had returned with Lady Lila’s acceptance and a hastily penned note.
I am looking forward to meeting Lord Lyon.
“See? Everyone knows,” Mirabel said. “There are no secrets in London.”
“Which is a bit unnerving,” Thea said.
“Except when it works to your benefit,” Mirabel answered. “Meanwhile, I shall be hosting a house party that will be the talk of the season because everyone will be anxious to discover who the Lyon chooses.”
“As I will be,” Thea threw out, becoming more preoccupied with collecting her things and her children than Mirabel’s social success.
It was a good evening for a walk. The summer air was clear and velvety soft without heavy humidity.
Tonight, after spending a good portion of the day chasing each other around Mirabel’s garden, the boys didn’t need a trip to a park. They were happy to return to their new home.
“I like it here,” Jonathan announced as Thea opened their front door.
“I like it here,” Christopher echoed.
“I like it here, too,” Thea agreed stoutly. “Now let us wash up and prepare for bed. I believe there is still water upstairs in the bowl. I’ll read a story to you if you are speedy.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Her sons liked a good tale, and they dashed up the stairs like rabbits, each trying to reach the top before the other, even if that meant some good-natured jostling.
Thea watched them, her heart filled with love.
If she stopped too long and thought about their futures, she’d be frightened.
They lived on an edge, where a misstep one way or the other could throw them into the streets .
. . but so far she’d managed—and she would keep going.
She loved her boys with a fierce passion.
She understood why Neal would want children.
Thea turned to close the door and was startled to realize they had a visitor.
A statuesque, raven-haired woman stood on her step.
Her features could have been chiseled from marble, they were so even and perfect.
Her dress was of the very finest stuff, a muslin lawn so light and well woven it seemed to float around her, and it boasted an ivory lace inset around her neckline that was a work of art.
She had to be of Thea’s age, or perhaps a few years younger, given the smoothness of her skin.
She also seemed somewhat familiar to Thea.
“May I help you?” Thea said.
“Yes, you may help me, Mrs. Martin. I’m Lady Margaret Chattan. Lord Lyon is my brother. I’m here to ask you to leave him alone.”