Chapter 8
Estella sat across from the most agreeable man in London.
Well, at least, the most agreeable she’d met thus far, and a great deal more talkative than a certain glowering marquess she’d sat next to in the parlor earlier that evening.
With a quick glance she could see Sebastian listening to a story the duchess was telling. Silent, as usual. She supposed it ought to reassure her that the marquess was not only terse and grim around her. It seemed to be his default demeanor.
Meanwhile, the rest of the duchess’s guests buzzed with conversation and laughter around the dining room table. But Estella’s focus was on Lord Alderton, who’d proven to be the world’s most agreeable dinner companion during this, the duchess’s first event in which Estella was on full display.
Lord Alderton was a viscount of considerable means, and a widower, she'd been told.
His wife had died of a fever two years prior, leaving behind Alderton and a daughter.
Since her death, he'd spent most of his time at his country estate before returning to London this Season. It was surmised that he’d come to town to find a wife and a stepmother for his child.
More importantly, he was, by all accounts—a very good prospect.
The duchess certainly thought so, and Estella could hardly argue. He was a little over thirty, with thick light brown hair, kind eyes, and a manner that was warm without being presumptuous.
He asked thoughtful questions and appeared genuinely interested in her answers.
And when she'd accidentally mentioned her interest in estate management—a topic she normally kept firmly to herself, having learned that most gentlemen found it alarming in a young woman—he leaned forward with keen interest.
"You manage the accounts yourself?" There was something in his expression that looked remarkably like respect.
"Out of necessity rather than ambition, I'm afraid," she said, and immediately wished she hadn't. The admission revealed far too much.
But Lord Alderton didn't press. He simply nodded and said, "My late wife managed ours. She was far better at it than I was. I still haven't got the hang of the tenant ledgers."
In that moment she’d felt an immediate affinity for the man. Their situations were nothing at all alike, and yet she recognized a fellow survivor. The one left behind to pick up all the pieces.
Truly, that statement alone put her at ease.
But then she thought of the duchess's words. “The ones who make it easy are worth examining more closely.”
But Lord Alderton didn't feel easy in the way Mr. Fairchild had. Fairchild's charm had been effortless. In hindsight she could see that perhaps it had been too effortless. A practiced effortless.
She winced now to recall how eagerly she’d soaked it in. The perfect willing audience for his polished performance.
But Alderton's warmth was quieter and… Well, slightly awkward. He stumbled once over a compliment about the evening's roast and seemed genuinely embarrassed. It was rather endearing, really.
She permitted herself a small flutter of hope.
From nearby she felt Sebastian's gaze. She'd developed, over the past few days, an unsettling awareness of exactly where the Marquess of Blackwood was at any given moment and precisely how intently he was watching her.
His stares—or glares, as the case may be—brought an odd warmth, as if he were not just looking at her, but searing her with a hot iron.
He'd been civil this evening, though. More than civil, actually. Since their promenade in the park, something had changed. The wall was still there, but there were cracks in it now, and occasionally she caught glimpses of the person on the other side.
He'd greeted her tonight with something that almost resembled warmth.
Almost.
He'd held out her chair. And he'd even managed a response of more than two syllables when she'd asked about his day.
But now Lord Alderton was asking her about Langley Park, and she was telling him about the gardens, and she could feel Sebastian's attention sharpening on her.
She risked a glance.
Sebastian was in conversation with an elderly dowager on his left, but his dark eyes kept cutting back to Estella and Alderton. His expression was perfectly composed. But his left hand, resting beside his plate, was clenched into a fist.
Estella looked away, confused. Was he concerned about Lord Alderton? The man was a viscount, for heaven’s sake. Hardly a bad prospect. And he was perfectly respectable, even the duchess said so.
He was exactly the sort of match Sebastian and the duchess had said they wanted for her. Sebastian should be pleased. But…
He did not look pleased. Not one bit.
Then again, there were many ways in which Sebastian Vane seemed a conundrum. The man was a walking contradiction. Hot then cold, gentle then firm.
She turned back to Lord Alderton, who was asking whether the gardens at Langley Park included a folly.
"Not a folly, precisely," she said. "More of a crumbling stone wall that my brother once claimed was a ruined castle. He was very convincing about it until one realized the castle was approximately four feet tall."
Lord Alderton’s laughter was warm and genuine, and not at all performative. "My sister did something similar with a drainage ditch. Insisted it was a moat and charged a ha'penny toll for crossing."
She smiled. She liked this man. Not with that sense of desperate relief she'd felt with Fairchild, but something much calmer. This man could be…a friend.
And that was how good marriages started, did they not? With understanding and friendship?
She looked down quickly. Was she really thinking about marriage after one conversation over dinner? She was getting ahead of herself.
She blinked down at her plate. The second course had just been served when she’d been distracted by conversation. Estella picked at her food.
It was difficult to understand how anyone could truly enjoy a meal such as this one when they were constantly trying to make conversation and appear to their best advantage. One might as well ask her to juggle knives while reciting Shakespeare.
But she dutifully took a small bite of her food and hurried to swallow, lest she be called upon to speak with her mouth full.
There was a slight commotion at the head of the table, as a servant appeared at the duchess's elbow, looking flustered. Whatever the servant said, it had the duchess's eyebrows rising. Not in displeasure, Estella noted, but in amusement.
And then a high-pitched, familiar voice came from the hallway. "I was told I was welcome anytime. She said so."
Estella's blood went cold. She pushed back her chair before propriety could stop her, her napkin sliding to the floor. "Charlotte?"
Her little sister appeared in the dining room doorway. Her hair was damp from the evening drizzle, and her dress was mud-splattered at the hem.
"Charlotte." Estella was on her feet, crossing the room, her heart hammering. "What's happened? Is Papa hurt? Are you hurt? How did you—"
"I'm fine," Charlotte said. Her tone was one of exasperated impatience, as it so often was when Estella fretted over her. "Nothing happened. I was lonely."
"You were—" Estella drew in a breath and reminded herself that throttling one's younger sister at a duchess's dinner party was, by any social standard, frowned upon. But her newfound calm disappeared as a new thought occurred. "You walked here? Alone? In the dark?"
"It's not dark. The sun hasn't properly set. And it's only four streets." Charlotte peered around Estella at the dining room. "Is that pheasant? I haven't had pheasant in ages."
The table had gone quiet. Fourteen pairs of eyes were fixed on the spectacle of a mud-spattered eight-year-old.
Estella's cheeks burned. This was a catastrophe.
She'd been making progress—actual, genuine progress with a viable suitor—and now her little sister had appeared like a small blonde hurricane to remind everyone present that the Hale family was not, in fact, the sort of well-ordered household that produced marriageable young ladies.
"I'm so sorry," she said, turning to the duchess. "I'll take her home immediately."
"Nonsense." The duchess rose from her chair and crossed to them with a small smile that surprised Estella. She looked down at Charlotte. "I did tell you that you were welcome anytime, Miss Charlotte. And I meant it."
Charlotte's chin lifted and she turned to Estella. "See? She said I could come."
"Perhaps," the duchess said, glancing around the table, "Miss Charlotte might join us for dessert. And Lord Blackwood, would you be so good as to escort her home afterward? It's growing late, and I wouldn't want her walking back unaccompanied."
Sebastian straightened. His gaze moved from Charlotte to the duchess to Estella, and for a moment Estella wished with all her might that she had the capacity to read a man’s thoughts.
His expression gave nothing away, and for the life of her she could not tell if he was angry, amused, or mortified that he was associated with the Hale family.
"Of course," he said.
His tone was just as unreadable as his expression.
Estella feared her sister might argue. She’d had that stubborn look on her face from the moment she’d entered.
But Estella supposed the offer of dessert was enough to quell even her sister’s feisty temper because Charlotte merely looked to the food on the table and gave a little nod of assent. "After dessert."
A ripple of laughter ran through the table. Charlotte was installed in a hastily procured chair between the duchess and a baroness who seemed charmed beyond measure by “the adorable child,” and the dinner resumed.
Estella returned to her seat, her cheeks still warm. Lord Alderton caught her eye and smiled. "Your sister is quite something."
"She is." Estella smoothed her napkin in her lap and tried to recapture the composure Charlotte had shattered. "I apologize for the disruption."
"Don't." He said it simply, without fuss. "She reminds me of my own sister at that age. Absolutely convinced the rules didn't apply to her. She was usually right. Now my daughter, on the other hand…"
His eyes lit with unabashed adoration as he went on about his daughter, who he feared was too timid for her own good. But despite his fears, she could hear the pride and love when he spoke of her.
Estella smiled. She had no doubt he was an excellent father. And he’d no doubt be a good husband as well.
She could be happy with a man like this. Estella blinked in surprise. The thought arrived quietly, without fanfare…but it was startling nonetheless.