Chapter Six
"The pearls or the garnets?"
Vanessa held up both necklaces, examining them in the mirror with far more intensity than the decision warranted. The pearls were elegant, understated and appropriate for a family dinner. The garnets were bolder and much deeper, the kind of jewelry that made a statement.
"The pearls," her mother said from the doorway. "The garnets are too dramatic for an intimate gathering. We do not want to appear as though we are trying too hard."
We are trying too hard, Vanessa thought. Or at least, you are trying too hard on my behalf.
But she clasped the pearls around her neck nonetheless, because arguing with Lady Wayworth about jewelry was a battle no one had ever won.
"Lord Deane will be seated to your right at dinner," her mother continued, sweeping into the room to inspect Vanessa's appearance with a critical eye. "I have arranged it specifically. You will have ample opportunity for conversation."
"How thoughtful."
"Do not take that tone with me, Vanessa. I am trying to help you." Lady Wayworth adjusted a curl that had dared to fall out of place, her fingers precise and practiced. "Lord Deane is an excellent prospect. Kind, wealthy, well-connected. He would make a fine husband."
"So you have mentioned. Several times. Daily, in fact."
"Because you seem determined to ignore perfectly good advice." Her mother stepped back, surveying the final result with something approaching satisfaction. "There. You look lovely. Not too lovely, we do not want to seem desperate, but lovely enough to remind Lord Deane why he is pursuing you."
"What a ringing endorsement of my charms."
"Your charms speak for themselves. I am merely ensuring they are properly displayed." Lady Wayworth smoothed an invisible wrinkle from Vanessa's sleeve. "Now. The Duke of Montehood will also be attending. I am fully aware that you find him irritating…"
"I do not find him…"
"…but he is Edward's closest friend and a duke besides. We must maintain cordial relations. So please, for one evening, try not to antagonise him."
Vanessa bit back the response that sprang to her lips.
If only her mother knew that antagonising Martin was the least of her concerns.
That she had spent the past week in a state of barely controlled panic, convinced that her deepest secrets had been exposed.
That she had only just begun to breathe again, reassured by Martin's completely normal behavior that her prayers had been answered and the letters remained unread.
"I shall be the very model of politeness," she promised.
"See that you are." Her mother swept toward the door, then paused. "Oh…and do try to be pleasant to Miss Crawford. I believe Edward is rather taken with her, though he has not said anything directly. It would not hurt to encourage the connection."
"Helena is my dearest friend. I hardly need to be told to be pleasant to her."
"One can never be too careful in matters of family alliances."
Lady Wayworth departed with that cryptic pronouncement, leaving Vanessa alone with her reflection and her churning thoughts.
She stared at herself in the mirror, the careful curls, the modest pearls and the dress of deep green that her mother had selected for its "appropriateness.
" She looked, she thought, like exactly what she was supposed to be: a respectable young lady of good family, preparing to entertain potential suitors and maintain social connections.
She did not look like a woman who had spent six years documenting the outpourings of her soul to a man who would be sitting at her dinner table in less than an hour.
He has not read them, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. He acted completely normal when he visited. He does not know.
Her reassurance was feeble but she had to believe that.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared to face the evening ahead.
You can do this, she told herself. You have been doing this for years. One more dinner is nothing.
But even as she thought it, she knew this dinner would be different.
Because everything felt different now.
Even if nothing had actually changed.
***
The guests began arriving at half after seven.
The Crawfords came first, Helena in a gown of soft blue that complemented her coloring beautifully, her parents trailing behind with the slightly bewildered air of people who were not entirely certain how they had ended up at a dinner party with a duke.
Mrs. Crawford kept smoothing her skirts and glancing around the entrance hall as though she expected to find fault with something but could not quite locate it.
Mr. Crawford simply looked as though he wished he were somewhere else, preferably somewhere with fewer social obligations and more opportunity to discuss shipping investments.
Helena caught Vanessa's eye across the entrance hall and gave her a small, questioning look.
To reassure herself that her friend was well.
Vanessa nodded, hoping her expression conveyed more confidence than she felt.
"You look lovely," Helena murmured when they had a moment alone. "That green brings out your eyes."
"My mother chose it. She has opinions about which colors are appropriate for attracting potential husbands."
"Ah. So this is a husband-attracting ensemble?"
"According to her, everything I wear should be a husband-attracting ensemble. I am beginning to think she would have me attend balls in nothing but a sign that reads 'available and desperate.'"
Helena laughed, a soft, surprised sound that drew an approving glance from Lady Wayworth. "You are hardly desperate. You have Lord Deane quite under your spell.”
"Lord Deane is interested. That is not the same as his being captivated by me.”
“He looked upon you as though you were the very sun in his skies, Vanessa. If he is not utterly captivated by your charms, I do not know what is.”
Before Vanessa could respond, the front door opened again, admitting Lord Deane himself.
He arrived punctual as was customary, bearing a small bouquet of hothouse flowers that he presented to Lady Wayworth with a graceful bow.
"For the hostess," he said. "A small token of appreciation for including me in this evening's gathering."
"How thoughtful, Lord Deane." Lady Wayworth accepted the flowers with evident pleasure, shooting Vanessa a meaningful look that clearly said this is the kind of man you should be encouraging.
"Lady Vanessa." Lord Deane turned to her, and something in his demeanor shifted and became warmer, more relaxed. "You look lovely this evening. That shade of green suits you admirably."
"Thank you, Lord Deane. You are too kind."
"I am merely observant." His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that suggested he actually meant the compliment. "I have been looking forward to this evening. A smaller gathering allows for more meaningful conversation, do you not agree?"
"I do," she replied, surprised to find that she meant it. There was something different about Lord Deane tonight, a confidence that had been absent in their previous encounters. Without the pressure of a crowded ballroom or the need to perform for society, he seemed more... himself.
"I have been thinking about our discussion of agricultural reform," he continued, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm with easy familiarity as they moved toward the drawing room. "I have some new ideas I would very much like to share with you, if you are willing to indulge me."
"I would be happy to hear them."
"Excellent. I have been corresponding with a gentleman in Norfolk who has developed a rather ingenious system for…
" He stopped himself, laughing. "But I am getting ahead of myself.
There will be time enough for that over dinner.
For now, tell me, how have you been occupying yourself since we last spoke? "
It was such a simple question, asked with such genuine interest, that Vanessa felt a pang of something almost like guilt. Lord Deane was kind. He was attentive and actually wanted to know about her life, her thoughts and her interests. He deserved someone who could give him their whole heart.
Not someone whose heart had been claimed years ago by a man who did not even know it.
"I have been reading, mostly," she said, which was true enough. She had spent most of the past week hiding in her room with books she did not actually read, staring at pages while her mind spun in frantic circles. "And writing correspondence."
That last part was also technically true, though the correspondence in question had been a single letter to Martin that she had immediately hidden away, terrified of making the same mistake twice.
"Anything interesting?"
"Nothing worth mentioning."
They had reached the drawing room, where her mother was already holding court with Mrs. Crawford, discussing the upcoming social events with the intensity of generals planning a military campaign.
Lord Wayworth and Mr. Crawford had retreated to the far corner, no doubt discussing something infinitely more boring and infinitely more comfortable.
"I have been reading as well," Lord Deane offered, settling beside her on the settee. "Though I confess my reading material has been rather dry. Economic treatises, mostly and rather dense volume on soil composition that I am still trying to make my way through."
"Soil composition?"
"I know, I know. It sounds dreadfully dull. But there is something fascinating about understanding how the earth works…what makes things grow, what depletes the land, how we might…" He caught himself again, laughing self-consciously. "There I go again. You must think me terribly boring."
"I do not think you boring at all." And she meant it. There was something endearing about Lord Deane's enthusiasm, his genuine passion for subjects that most people considered beneath their notice. "I think you care about things that matter."