Chapter 8 #2
“I am assuming nothing,” George said. “I am providing an opportunity. She may do with it as she pleases.”
Philippa glanced between them, sensing the friction.
“I, for one, like her,” she said suddenly.
It was not the best thing for her to say, but before their grandmother could say anything a footman appeared in the doorway.
“Your Grace, the steward wishes to confirm the arrangements for the opening dinner.”
“Tell him to proceed as discussed,” George said.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
When the door closed again, the Dowager Duchess spoke softly.
“You are building a stage for that girl. She is going to come here and she will refuse to play her part no matter what you do.”
“I think she will surprise you,” Philippa said carefully.
George tried in vain to conceal his smile, knowing that Lady Cassandra had already surprised him enough.
By the time the first carriages appeared on the drive the following day, George had already adopted the expression expected of him. He stood at the bottom of the steps as guests were announced, acknowledging each arrival.
“Lord and Lady Harcourt,” the footman announced.
George nodded, thinking of how his sister would be delighted and his grandmother would be furious.
“You are most welcome to Sherton.”
They smiled, impressed as he anticipated. The rhythm settled quickly. He smiled politely, but nothing more, for a duke was not meant to appear eager for approval.
Then Lady Cassandra arrived. He felt it before he saw her, some subtle disturbance. She descended from the carriage with more grace than she usually possessed. She did not look toward him immediately, and so George waited.
When she finally met his gaze, there was no softness there, and when he offered his arm she took it.
As they ascended the steps together, he was acutely conscious of how close she was to him.
She was light on his arm, warm beneath her gown.
He wished that he had not noticed it, for it was more of a distraction than he ever could have anticipated.
He released her the moment etiquette allowed.
Inside, the house filled quickly. Philippa hovered near the doorway of the drawing room, hands clasped, clearly uncertain where to stand. George had expected it, for though she was excited, her nerves always got the best of her.
Lady Cassandra noticed at once, and she crossed the room without hesitation.
“You must be Lady Philippa,” she said.
Philippa startled, then smiled.
“Yes. And you are Lady Cassandra. Or I suppose I should say– oh, I–”
“Cassandra,” she said quickly. “If you do not mind.”
Philippa’s eyes lit up. It was all of the acceptance she needed.
“I should like that very much.”
George watched from across the room, glass untouched in his hand.
“I am very glad you are here,” Philippa continued. “I was afraid you might find all this overwhelming.”
Cassandra laughed softly.
“I assure you, I am very familiar with that sensation.”
“I am not very good with crowds.”
“Neither am I,” Cassandra replied. “People expect things when they are watching.”
“Exactly! My brother says that there is nothing to worry about, but we ladies know better than that.”
George frowned. He moved closer in order to greet another guest, but his attention remained fixed on them.
“You play the violin, do you not?” Philippa asked shyly.
“I do,” Cassandra said. “Only, I prefer not to perform.”
“Oh! I did not mean to suggest–”
“It is quite all right,” Cassandra said gently. “Once, I fainted in the middle of a performance. Another time, I played the same passage three times before realizing I had lost my place. Once that happens enough times, one prefers to keep her talents to herself.”
“Did that truly happen?”
“It truly did,” Cassandra said. “And everyone pretended not to notice, which was far worse.”
“That sounds dreadful.”
“It was,” Cassandra agreed. “It made me not want to practice at all for the longest time, but it also taught me something useful.”
“What is that?”
“That the audience is almost never as invested in your failure as you imagine. We think that because of gossip and rumors we are always being judged, but then someone else does something worse and your transgressions are forgotten in the end.”
Philippa considered this, as did George.
“I had not thought of it that way.”
“You should,” Cassandra said. “You are allowed to exist without performing. If there is one thing that I could have known as a debutante, it is that.”
George turned away before he was caught staring.
He wondered just what she was doing. She had made no effort with him beyond what was required.
She resisted his decisions, challenged his authority, and yet with Philippa, she was warmth itself.
He watched as Philippa relaxed, her shoulders loosening, her voice growing more confident.
Lady Cassandra had seen her, truly seen her, and that was all that she had wanted. The realization unsettled him.
He crossed the room and joined them.
“Are you both enjoying yourselves?” he asked.
“Yes,” Philippa said at once. “Cassandra was just telling me that it is acceptable not to be perfect.”
George raised a brow, pretending that he had not been listening.
“A radical notion, indeed.”
“An accurate one, I would wager,” Lady Cassandra replied.
There it was again, that subtle defiance that she seemed to reserve for him alone.
“You will dine shortly,” he said. “I trust you will find the arrangements suitable.”
“I am sure I shall,” Cassandra replied.
She did not thank him. He excused himself, retreating into the distance that had always served him well.
And yet, as the evening progressed, he became increasingly aware of her presence. His control, so carefully maintained, seemed to slip whenever she was near. It irritated him, it intrigued him, and, most dangerously of all, it made him ask a question he did not wish to answer.
Why did he care so much?
He took a measured sip of his drink and reminded himself that the party was the most important event of his life thus far. Even so, his gaze found Lady Cassandra once again.
And it lingered.