Chapter Three #2
“Shall we?” He offered his mother an elbow, a well-practiced gesture, before taking three steps towards the front stairs. Before they even reached the edge of the gravel drive, the door opened and his mirror image stepped out.
“Tim.” Oliver’s mother let go of his elbow and reached out to take her younger son’s hands. “What brings you out here?”
“Am I not allowed to greet my mother?” Tim asked with a familiar glint in his eyes.
Oliver narrowed his eyes as he studied his brother. “You are up to something.”
“Isn’t he always?” their mother observed dryly as she retook Oliver’s arm, and they continued up to the front door.
“I merely wanted to warn you that Lady Sampson brought a friend from London,” Tim explained as he followed them through the open door.
Was that all? Lady Sampson had countless friends, mostly women of similar age and status in society. She had even brought one or two to the neighborhood on previous visits. No, there had to be something else. A visiting society matron would not inspire such an impish look in his twin’s eyes.
When they reached the drawing room, Tim walked straight in without waiting for an introduction. After a moment’s pause, Oliver and his mother followed. Lady Sampson’s note had promised an informal evening.
The room was already half full of familiar figures. Oliver’s brothers-in-law, Nat Towne and Grant Warner, stood near the fireplace conversing with Mr. Bailey, Tim’s father-in-law. Mrs. Bailey sat on the sofa next to her daughter, with Oliver’s older sister, Sarah, across from them.
A soft laughter sounded from the side of the room, and Oliver turned to find his younger sister, Marianne, conversing with a vaguely familiar young woman with dark curls. After taking two steps towards the gentlemen, Oliver froze and then turned to confirm his suspicions.
The dark curls belonged to none other than Miss Catherine Childs.
What in the world was she doing in Hampshire, of all places?
His stomach sank. He glanced at his mother, who had taken a seat next to Sarah.
Was someone playing matchmaker? He couldn’t think who, or why.
As far as he was aware, there wasn’t a soul in the neighborhood who knew he and Miss Childs were already acquainted.
Though that might be the scheme. They thought they were bringing an unfamiliar young woman for him to meet.
He watched Miss Childs for a moment as she smiled at something Marianne said. Perhaps he would get to meet the woman behind the pot, rather than the indifferent debutante. The thought brought a soft smile to his lips, but it vanished the moment he turned away and found Tim watching him.
His brother raised his brows in question and then returned to his conversation with the other men. He knew. Oliver wasn’t sure exactly what Tim knew, but clearly something. At the very least, he knew Oliver had met Miss Childs. But how?
Actually, that was not much of a mystery. She had likely recognized Tim, or thought she had. But how did Tim know Oliver would care about the identity of Lady Sampson’s guest?
Something must have drawn her attention because Miss Childs looked up. When she met Oliver’s eye, the perfect mask had returned. After an unreasonable pang of disappointment, Oliver donned his own.
“Miss Childs, so nice to see you again,” Oliver said before offering a shallow bow.
“And you, Mr. Linfield,” came the practiced response.
After a moment’s pause, he turned slightly towards the sofas. “Would you allow me to introduce you to my mother?” Someone would need to introduce them, and performing the duty himself would save him from needing to find another topic of conversation.
“Of course,” Miss Childs replied before following him the five steps to where his mother sat.
As was expected, Lady Diana stood at their arrival.
“Mother, may I introduce Miss Catherine Childs?” At his mother’s nod, he turned to Lady Sampson’s guest, “Miss Childs, this is my mother, Lady Diana Linfield.”
After exchanging greetings, Lady Diana gestured to a chair that sat near her own seat on the sofa.
Oliver stepped closer to the gentlemen, but he could still hear Miss Childs chatting with his mother.
The younger woman was personable and friendly, if very proper.
Exactly how a young woman of society would be trained to speak to someone of far higher rank.
Her appropriate behavior made him even more curious about why she hid behind a pot at the home of a countess.
Lady Sampson stepped into the room. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. There was an issue with my gown and it took time to sort it out.”
Lady Diana stood and greeted her friend. “So good to see you, Harriet.”
“And you, Diana.”
As the two women shared a quick embrace, Oliver noted that Miss Childs’ eyes went wide with surprise for a moment before her expression returned to a polite mask.
The exchange reminded Oliver that they were not in London anymore.
Such familiarity would be frowned upon at a dinner party on Grosvenor Square.
But would Lady Sampson’s guest shed her London persona?
He glanced at the young woman as he half-listened to the baroness explain their casual dinner arrangements. Likely not.