Chapter 17
Seventeen
Finn would be escorting his mother down to supper, so now was the opportunity for Alec to find a way to be introduced to Lord and Lady Wentworth and request the pleasure of escorting Miss Hardcastle to dinner.
So, at the minute the last note died out, he unobtrusively excused himself from his row but was abruptly blocked by Lady Hinsdale.
He pulled himself up short to prevent his colliding with her.
“Lady Hinsdale,” he bowed.
“Your Grace,” she answered. “There is someone I would like you to meet.” She took his arm without giving him the opportunity to object and directed them both at a fairly rapid pace to the Wentworths.
“Lord Wentworth, Lady Wentworth,” she said, and they acknowledged one another.
“May I present to you Lord Raeburn, Duke of Selkirk?” and with that Lady Hinsdale seemingly vanished, like some type of fairy godmother.
A trifle stunned by the efficiency of the entire maneuver, Alec bowed. “Lord Wentworth, Lady Wentworth.”
Lord Wentworth bowed in return; Lady Wentworth curtsied.
“Your Grace,” said Lord Wentworth. “My wife, Lady Wentworth. My daughter, the Honorable Millicent Wentworth. And her companion, Miss Aurora Hardcastle.”
Millicent and Aurora both curtsied. Millicent ducked her head but allowed Alec to see the faintest hint of dimples. He found himself enchanted. He struggled to pull his eyes away from her mesmerizingly beautiful face and proceed with the business at hand.
* * *
Aurora’s heart was pounding too strongly for her to have any presence of mind at all. She stared determinedly down at her shoe and caught, as the roaring in her ears subsided, the end of Alec’s words.
“—have the pleasure of escorting Miss Hardcastle to supper?”
“With pleasure, Your Grace, with pleasure.” Lady Wentworth seconded her husband’s spoken words a slight nod.
Numbly, Aurora put her hand on the Duke of Selkirk’s arm and allowed him to lead her out of the room.
She knew she must make some sort of conversation, though for the life of her, she couldn’t think of what to say (though, ridiculously, Homer’s “All thou know’st speak, and be confident” kept rolling about in her head like some type of demented chant).
“Did you enjoy the music, Miss Hardcastle?”
“Oh, yes, entirely.” Then, realizing she had perhaps spoken with more vehemence than was called for in the moment, she continued, “The musicians were very fine, as was the soprano.”
“Are you an aficionado of Bach? I confess I am a great admirer of his work.”
At this she turned and looked directly at him, unable to stop the surprise from spilling across her face.
“Oh, yes. I have heard some of his pieces played before, but never with such polish. There is a cleanness to the construction of the phrases, the way they counterpoint each other, weave in and out. It is a beauty of mathematics. For mathematics and music are one and the same, I think, or at least, very close.”
* * *
It was Alec’s turn to look at her with surprise. This was turning into a far more interesting conversation than he had expected. “So, you see music and mathematics as connected?”
“Most definitely so. If you take a piece by Bach apart, you can see the formulae. The equations are not cold and unfeeling, however. Instead, they are precisely the opposite. They are music.”
“Indeed, Miss Hardcastle. This was most decidedly not a perception I had anticipated to find here this evening.”
“What did you expect, then?”
“Something along the nature of, ‘Oh, yes, it was fine music. I have not heard the like since Lady Y’s concert,’ or some such chitchat.”
“Oh, dear,” Aurora responded. “Then my reply was not entirely apropos.”
“Perhaps not. It was a musician’s reply. You obviously know music.”
“Yes, it is something I love. I have always wanted to learn to play the violin. I was dissuaded as it is not a lady’s instrument. I can play the pianoforte. I am indifferent on the harp.”
Alec couldn’t stop his smile. “Truth to tell, many are indifferent on the harp.” He paused. “I can play the violin.”
“You can? How wonderful.”
“It is many years since I played. I fear I have lost whatever skill I once possessed.”
“Then you must take it up again directly, Your Grace.”
“Yes, well,” and he settled into an uneasy silence.
* * *
Not sure what to do, Aurora said nothing further as they filed into the supper room and took their seats.
She found herself seated with the Duke of Selkirk on one side and the Duke of Galloway on the other.
Missie was on the opposite side of the table, facing Selkirk, and, as the evening progressed and Missie exchanged conversations with the gentlemen on either side of her, she would occasionally give a quiet, barely detectible smile as she turned her attention from one to the other.
Aurora watched, fascinated. For the gentlemen surrounding her friend were, within the ritual of the meal which called on a lady to switch her conversation from the companion on one side to the companion on the other with each new dish, completely taken with her.
As was the Duke of Galloway. As was the Duke of Selkirk.
“‘All thou know’st speak, and be confident,’” Aurora murmured, a little louder than she intended, and for the second time that evening. She blushed crimson as she heard herself. Oh, I am making the most complete cake of myself that ever was this evening.
“I beg your pardon,” said a startled Duke of Galloway, whose polite soliloquy on the wild beauties of the Scottish countryside was decidedly thrown off track by her comment.
“I, oh, goodness, I said that out loud.”
“Yes, I am rather afraid you did. That sounds like, well, Homer?”
“Yes.”
* * *
“And you read him in Greek or in translation?” Finn asked, amusement at the sudden novelty of the conversation he was having with the young heiress breaking through his initial surprise.
“In Greek and then translation. Chapman.”
He peered at her to see if she was pulling his leg, but her large blue eyes were very solemn as she said this. Good Lord—a bluestocking! A bluestocking heiress!
Before he had the chance to reply, it was time to switch partners again, and Miss Hardcastle was back attempting to smile politely at Alec while he rambled on about something.
* * *
Aurora knew she had grossly mis-stepped, as young ladies of breeding would not know Greek, would certainly not quote Homer, and would especially not do either at the supper table.
The sensation of utter failure sank to the bottom of her stomach and curdled whatever food she had already eaten.
From that point on, she only pretended to eat in a desperate attempt to avoid further notice.
The excruciating meal finally ended and, on their return to the ballroom, which had now been cleared for dancing, Missie came up close enough to say very quietly—but most distinctly—in Aurora’s ear, “I heard the word Greek. Rorie, how could you be such a fool? Smile. Laugh. Say general nothings. You will be a disaster if you go on about knowing Greek.” And then Missie glided on by, on the arm of the marquess whose father was a frequent gaming companion of her own father’s and who had escorted her to dinner (as Aurora would hear all about the next day).
Crestfallen, Aurora vowed not to say another word.
The Duke of Selkirk returned her to the Wentworths and, with a bow, said, “I hope I may have the pleasure of Miss Hardcastle’s company in one of the dances?”
“You may,” returned Lady Wentworth, mellowed by the meal and her glasses of wine, a mellowness which Aurora knew would be completely dispelled if she had heard of Aurora’s gaffes—mathematics and Greek (luckily, Missie had missed the mathematics discussion).
Lord Wentworth excused himself and went off to find a card game somewhere to help carry him through the ordeal of the remainder of the evening.
* * *
People had begun to pair up and form lines in the center of the room.
Millicent’s marquess came up to claim her for a partner, and then a curly-headed youth of about her own age came up to claim Aurora.
Lady Wentworth watched from the sidelines, gracefully bobbing her head in greeting to friends around the room.
During a pause in the dancing, while she waited at her chaperone’s side for her next partner to claim her, Aurora watched as Lady Hinsdale stopped for a moment during her perambulations as hostess and patted Lady W.
on the arm. “Very good, Portia. Very good,” Aurora heard her say, accompanied by a small smile in Aurora’s direction.
Their hostess continued on her way before Lady Wentworth had the chance to open her mouth in reply.
* * *
The next dance was claimed by the Duke of Selkirk (for Aurora), and the Duke of Galloway (for Missie).
And the next by two officers. And on and on the evening went until the final dance was danced and the musicians began to pack away their instruments.
Aurora had found herself often tongue-tied, yet the longer the dancing went on, the more she began to relax and enjoy herself.
In fact, by the time of the final dance (again, with the Duke, an instance not lost upon her chaperone—twice in one evening!) her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks flushed.
With a final bow, he left Aurora with Lady Wentworth, after requesting the pleasure of calling upon them.
“Please do, Your Grace. You will find us at home,” that worthy party answered him.