Chapter 15 Kitty #2
I frowned as I caught sight of where Edward had been directed—well away from our hosts, near the edge of the lawn.
He and Fredericka sat beneath a rose-draped arbor, almost as if they had been deliberately exiled.
A flicker of annoyance stirred in me. Edward deserved better than to be tucked away like an afterthought—clearly a casualty of the invisible social lines still drawn, even in a garden.
I, on the other hand, was seated near his lordship, while Mr. Sinclair sat farther down the table across from Lady Anne. It wasn’t surprising, given Lord Chudley’s title. Aunt, much to her delight, was given a seat closer to mine.
As we settled in, Lord Chudley leaned toward me. “Miss Grenville, your attire brings such delightful vibrancy. It’s as if you’ve brought spring itself to the table. I should like to show you my country estate one day—the roses are splendid in summer.”
I glanced at Sebastian, who seemed absorbed in Lady Anne’s chatter. Had he heard?
“A visit would be enchanting, if it rivals your conservatory,” I replied, keeping my tone light, though my eyes remained on Sebastian.
“You find Lady Anne’s conversation diverting?” A coolness touched the earl’s tone.
I swiveled back, caught in the act of staring at the one man I had determined I would never marry. “Only observing how agreeable the company is.”
“Then it is settled,” Lord Chudley said, though he sounded somewhat strained. “I shall arrange it. I prefer the countryside myself with its quiet follies over London’s noise.”
“A visit to your estate!” Aunt cried. “I’ve heard of the gardens at Chudley Manor.”
As he spoke to her of mazes and trellises and other secretive spots full of delight, I offered vague responses, but my thoughts stayed with Sebastian and his conversation with Lady Anne. Why must she look so interested in him?
I brushed aside the pesky questions to focus on the earl near me.
An invitation like this was no small thing—an earl’s estate, a seal of approval, perhaps even a path to security.
Why did it feel so hollow?
“I say—Miss Grenville—did you not hear a word I said?” Lord Chudley’s voice pulled me back to the present.
“Yes, of course,” I said too loudly as I turned to him.
He finally seemed pleased, like a cat with a bowl of cream. He launched into talk of The Marriage of Figaro, while I nodded politely.
The men discussed the orchestra and the crowd, neatly avoiding the opera’s actual themes.
“You ought to ask our Mr. Sinclair,” Lord Chudley whispered to me. “Quite the connoisseur of opera talent, eh?”
My mouth opened but no sound came out.
“They say Mr. Sinclair kept more than ledgers in Calcutta,” Lord Chudley added, swirling his wine. “Word is, a certain opera singer took up residence in his affections. Quite the scandal—if one believes the talk at White’s.”
“I wouldn’t put stock in club gossip, my lord,” I said coolly, though my pulse betrayed me.
The flicker of amusement—and something uglier—among the gentlemen told me all I needed. Sebastian didn’t meet my eyes, only reached for his goblet. The muscle in his jaw jumped again. A clear sign of distress, as I was learning.
“And you, Miss Grenville,” Viscount Strickland said, as if remembering I existed, “surely you adored the costumes of the opera.”
I had never been to an opera, but I would not admit that tidbit to my current audience.
Regardless, I enjoyed music, especially when Freddy played for me, and I had read enough about The Marriage of Figaro to know its premise.
“There’s far more to admire than costumes,” I replied. “Mozart holds a mirror to society. Figaro and Susanna outwit a man who believes he can take what he wishes. It’s revealing—about love and power.”
Silence. A spoon scraped a plate.
“Well, there you have it,” Lord Chudley muttered, his neck red. “Miss Grenville’s keen wit, for our benefit.”
Chuckles. Dismissal. I stared at my untouched paté.
“Are you one for the opera, Miss Grenville?” another man asked. “I wouldn’t have assumed it.”
“Truthfully, I prefer the sciences. Astronomy. Mathematics.”
Their amusement deepened. Lord Chudley cleared his throat. “A lady need not concern herself too much with such things. But it’s a credit to your mind, Miss Grenville.”
Was this the same man who angled for an invitation to the Herschel home?
“Hear, hear,” added Viscount Strickland, lifting his glass. “Leave science to the men. Logic is our domain.”
More laughter. And I felt plenty of roiling emotion—none of it fit for a polite garden party.
I sat in silence, a fixture among the hedges, while the conversation drifted on without me.
Miss Herschel’s voice echoed in my mind: We’ve much to offer, if we are bold enough to claim it.
I had felt like a colleague at the Herschels’. Here, I was merely a decoration.
After the refreshments, Lady Anne invited me to tour the rose garden. A flicker of dread at the thought of being alone with her passed through me, but Freddy, ever the faithful companion, remained at my side.
“Your roses are lovely,” I commented, admiring the crimson blooms as we walked.
“Our gardener does a fine job,” Lady Anne answered before abruptly pivoting toward me.
The sunlight framed her perfect golden hair.
Surely Lord Chudley had exaggerated when he said I was the season’s incomparable.
His sister was everything a true Englishwoman ought to be with her fair complexion and golden hair.
She planted her feet in the path, forcing me to stop. “Is it true that you are to wed Mr. Sinclair?”
I stumbled at the blunt question. Lady Anne continued to stare at me with disconcertingly blue eyes. Freddy sent me a questioning glance, as though waiting for my response.
I forced what I hoped was a blank expression. “Lord Sinclair and my grandfather made their plans long before I was born.”
“Plans,” Lady Anne repeated, almost as if tasting the word. “And you’ve agreed to them, then?”
I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing to formulate an answer that would avoid her probing. “I haven’t been given the luxury of choice.”
Her polite smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Ah, yes. Family obligations.” She fingered a petal before tearing it free of the near-perfect rose. “My brother believes Mr. Sinclair will sit on the board of directors for the East India Company one day. Perhaps even be governor if he so chooses.”
I squinted against the bright sun as its light warmed my skin. A wave of discomfort crested as I searched for Sebastian. He stood on the lawn in serious discussion with Lord Chudley, while the other men surrounded them.
“What did you say?” floated across the lawn. Sebastian sounded anything but pleased.
Ire swept through me. Had the earl made further rude insinuations to Sebastian?
“He is a talented man, no doubt,” I mumbled as I squinted to better study the men. Sebastian seemed to tense as Lord Chudley leaned into him, saying something I could not hear from this distance.
Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and locked his eyes with mine. His face was thunderous. He shrugged out of his jacket and the earl followed suit, both men holding out their coats for others to take. Guests obliged, and Sebastian rolled his shoulders.
“Why has Lord Chudley taken off his coat?” Freddy asked, her calm presence tempering my rising irritation. “Good heavens, so has Mr. Sinclair!”
Oblivious to my friend’s declaration, Lady Anne stepped closer to secure my attention, her jasmine scent nearly overwhelming.
“He needs only the right push, don’t you think, Miss Grenville? You noted that your bluestocking women are more than ornaments, but I prefer a subtler method when dealing with the other sex. With the right wife, Mr. Sinclair could climb to dizzying heights.”
No doubt the fact that Sebastian had already met the Duke of Wellington had sent her cold, shriveled heart into ecstatic pitter-patters.
“I don’t think he needs a woman to handle him,” I snapped before I could help myself.
Both men were standing nearly nose to nose now. Veins popped out from Sebastian’s forehead.
Oh . . .
Lady Anne followed my gaze, the color draining from her face as the murmur of masculine voices reached us.
We moved forward as one with Freddy close behind in our rush to rejoin the men. Aunt was nowhere to be seen, perhaps having retired to the shade of a drawing room.
Lord Chudley had one hand on his hip as he pointed toward Sebastian. “Surely the protégé who took on Napoleon’s masters and Mr. Angelo isn’t afraid of a friendly match a second time?”
With exaggerated care, Lord Chudley unbuttoned his cuffs, then rolled his billowing sleeves over his muscular forearms. He stood taller than Sebastian.
“Perhaps Mr. Sinclair learned the cowardly ways of the French who flee at the first sign of trouble,” laughed another gentleman.
I glanced at Edward, who stood nearby watching the scene unfold, his arms crossed, brows drawn. Murmuring an excuse to Lady Anne, I hurried to him with Freddy attempting to match my stride.
“Do something, Edward. Surely fencing in the garden midafternoon is absurd.”
“Quiet, Kit,” Edward warned me in a low voice. “This has been building for days. Let it play out as it must. Better a public bout than an actual duel at dawn with pistols where anything could happen.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I demanded.
He cast me a sideways glance. “I’ll not elaborate. You’ll have to ask Mr. Sinclair yourself.”
Such cryptic answers. Lord Chudley’s piercing gaze slid to mine and held for the barest moment. I saw no humor in those brilliant blue eyes.
Sebastian, however, did not look at me again.
Edward stepped forward, cupping a hand around his mouth. “Go on, Mr. Sinclair! Show him what you’ve got—give him a proper dusting!”
I had heard plenty about Sebastian’s prowess with the blade, but my pulse raced as a servant brought two gleaming sabres into the garden. It was almost as if Lord Chudley had planned the entire thing beforehand.