CHAPTER 12 #2
She was still sitting as before. With her face half in light, half in shadow she looked very appealing. It was hard to remember his first impression of her when she had stepped inside the visitors’ parlor at her school, looking stern and humorless.
“Thank you,” he said. He reached out and covered her hands with one of his own. “You are very generous.”
“And perhaps very foolish,” she said. “How on earth can I offer any sort of an education to someone who cannot see? I have never thought of myself as a wonder worker.”
He had no answer for her. But he curled his fingers about one of her hands and raised it to his lips.
“Even for what you have done and are prepared to do I thank you,” he said.
“You have looked upon my daughter not just as an illegitimate child who has the additional disadvantage of being blind, but as a person worthy of a meaningful life. You have persuaded her to run and laugh and shout with glee just like any other child. Now you are prepared to give her a summer of fun that has surely always been beyond her wildest dreams—or mine.”
“I believe,” she said, “that if I were a Papist I would be eligible for sainthood, Lord Attingsborough.”
He loved her dry humor and chuckled softly.
“I believe the music has stopped,” he said, pausing for a moment to listen. “And it was the supper dance. May I escort you to the supper room and fill a plate for you?”
She took her time about answering. Her hand was still in his on his lap, he realized.
“We waltzed together,” she said, “and then left the ballroom together. Perhaps we would create the wrong impression if we sat at supper together too. Perhaps you ought to go and sit with Miss Hunt, Lord Attingsborough. I will remain here for a while. I am not hungry.”
To the devil with Miss Hunt, he almost said aloud. But he stopped himself in time. She had done absolutely nothing to deserve such open disrespect, and indeed it could be said that he had neglected her somewhat this evening. He had danced with her only once.
“You are afraid,” he said, “that people will think I am dallying with you?”
She turned her face, and he could see that she looked suddenly amused.
“I very much doubt anyone would think that,” she said. “But they might very well think that I am angling for you.”
“You belittle yourself,” he said.
“Have you looked at yourself in a glass lately?” she asked him.
“And have you?”
She smiled slowly.
“You are gallant,” she said, “and kind. I am not angling for you, you may be relieved to know.”
He raised her hand to his lips again and then, instead of releasing it, he laced their fingers together and rested their hands on the seat between them. She made no comment and did not try to snatch her hand away.
“If you are not hungry,” he said, “I will sit here with you until the dancing starts again. It is pleasant here.”
“Yes,” she said.
And they sat there for a long time just as they were, without speaking.
Almost everyone else must have gone for supper, including the orchestra.
Apart from a few stray voices coming from the direction of the balcony, they might have been all alone.
The lamplight beamed across the small pond, outlining a few lily pads.
A slight breeze caused the fronds of the willow tree to sway before them.
The air was cool—and then perhaps a little more than just cool. He felt her shiver.
He released her hand and removed his evening coat—not an easy thing to do when it had been made fashionably form-fitting. He set it about her shoulders and kept his hand there, to hold it in place. With his other hand he took hers again.
Neither of them spoke a word. She made no objection to his arm about her shoulders or her hand in his. Beneath his touch she was neither stiff nor yielding.
He relaxed.
The extraordinary notion occurred to him—not for the first time—that perhaps he was falling ever so slightly in love with Miss Claudia Martin.
But it was an absurd idea. He liked her.
He respected her. He was grateful to her.
There was even a touch of tenderness mingled in with the gratitude because she had shown so much kindness to Lizzie without demonstrating any moral outrage toward him for having begotten an illegitimate child.
He was comfortable with her.
Those feelings did not equate with love.
But there had been last evening.
If she had turned her head, perhaps he would have kissed her again. He was glad she did not—perhaps.
At last he could hear the orchestra tuning their instruments. And once again he thought about Miss Hunt, to whom he was honor-bound to make a marriage offer.
“The dancing will be resuming soon,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, and she got to her feet a moment before he did.
He struggled back into his coat. His valet would probably weep if he could see how his shirt wrinkled beneath it.
He offered his arm and she took it before they walked in the direction of the ballroom. He stopped after they had climbed the steps to the balcony.
“I will come for you tomorrow, then?” he asked her. “At the same time?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her eyes to his.
He could see them clearly in the light spilling from the ballroom. Wide and intelligent as always, they also looked something else now. Something he could not quite identify. They looked very deep, as if he could fall into them if he chose.
He nodded to her and indicated with one hand that she should precede him into the ballroom. He hung back for a moment or two after she had stepped inside. He hoped no one had noticed how long they had been together.
He would not willingly sully her reputation.
Or willingly humiliate Miss Hunt.
Lily Wyatt, Countess of Kilbourne, sat next to Lauren Butler, Viscountess Ravensberg, at supper, and the two of them engaged in a private conversation while the group with which they sat conversed more loudly with one another.
“Neville told me earlier,” Lily said, “that you have invited Miss Hunt to Alvesley for the anniversary celebrations.”
Lauren pulled a face. “Wilma brought her visiting,” she said, “and dropped hints so broad that even a person with no brain could not have failed to understand. And so I invited her. But it hardly signifies, does it? By then she and Joseph will surely be betrothed. It is no secret, is it, why Uncle Webster summoned him to Bath.”
“You do not like her either?” Lily asked.
“Oh, I do not,” Lauren admitted, “though I would be hard put to it to explain why. She is too—”
“Perfect?” Lily suggested, understanding that Lauren had not overheard Miss Hunt questioning her taste in inviting a mere schoolteacher to share the box at Vauxhall with her betters.
“Wilma has been scolding Joseph for allowing her to walk with the Duke of McLeith last evening while he played the gallant to Miss Martin. She is afraid that they fancy each other.”
“Miss Hunt and the duke?” Lauren said, her eyes widening with incredulity. “Surely not. He seems an amiable man.”
“A comment that says volumes,” Lily said. “But I cannot help but share your feelings, Lauren. Miss Hunt reminds me of Wilma but worse. At least Wilma dotes on her boys. I cannot imagine Miss Hunt doting upon anyone, can you? I thought perhaps you and I could—”
But a light had come into Lauren’s eyes and she interrupted.
“Lily,” she said, “you are not plotting to play matchmaker—and matchbreaker, are you? Can I play too?”
“You could invite the duke to Alvesley as well,” Lily said.
“To a family celebration?” Lauren raised her eyebrows. “Would it not seem odd?”
“Use your ingenuity,” Lily suggested.
“Oh, dear, do I have any?” Lauren laughed.
But then she brightened. “Christine told me earlier today that Miss Martin is going to Lindsey Hall for part of the summer—Christine’s sister is taking some girls from the school there for a holiday.
The Duke of McLeith and Miss Martin grew up in the same house like brother and sister and have just found each other again after years and years of separation.
He in particular is very delighted about it, and I daresay she is too.
Perhaps I could suggest that he might like to be close to her for a few weeks of the summer before he returns to Scotland and she goes back to Bath. ”
“Brilliant,” Lily said. “Oh, do it, Lauren, and then we will see what can be accomplished.”
“This is fiendish,” Lauren said. “And do you know what Susanna believes? She thinks Joseph might be a little sweet on Miss Martin. He has taken her driving several times and has spent time with her at several entertainments, including last evening at Vauxhall. They were waltzing together earlier. Where is he now, do you know? And where is she?”
“It is the most unlikely romance imaginable,” Lily said. But her eyes gleamed. “But oh, goodness, Lauren, she just might be perfect for him. No one else ever has been. Miss Hunt certainly is not.”
“Wilma would turn purple in the face,” Lauren added.
They grinned at each other, and Neville, Earl of Kilbourne, who was just out of earshot, pursed his lips and looked innocent.