Chapter Three
Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood politely welcomed Peter when he arrived in their family box.
They gave every indication of being pleased to have him there, yet an odd tension permeated the box.
Had Mr. Sherwood neglected to inform his wife of the invitation he had extended?
Perhaps she didn’t approve of the intrusion on their privacy.
Before Peter could formulate an admittedly confused apology, Mr. Sherwood motioned him farther inside.
“Havensham, may I introduce you to my daughter.” Mr. Sherwood indicated a shadowed corner of the box. Someone stood there, though Peter had not before noted her.
“Eleanor,” Mr. Sherwood continued, “Mr. Havensham.”
Peter bowed. Miss Sherwood curtsied. She remained tucked in the dimly lit edges of the small space, neither stepping closer nor asserting herself.
Nearly all of the young ladies with whom he had interacted managed to latch on to a gentleman within moments of an introduction.
Either she was more subtle in her approach or disinterested.
Either way, his enthusiasm for the evening grew. He might truly be able to relax.
“I thank you for the invitation.” He directed his gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood. “I have not been to the theater since returning to London.”
“You are very welcome.” Mrs. Sherwood’s tight smile contradicted her words. Her husband’s posture did as well.
Peter glanced in Miss Sherwood’s direction, hoping for some indication of the truth of the situation. She had not yet emerged from her quiet corner.
Was she bashful? That would explain her parents’ hesitation. They were likely nervous, not knowing if he would be patient and understanding, not knowing if she would spend the entire night in awkward silence.
Peter had known many people in his life who were quiet and reserved, some of whom were painfully shy.
He’d found those with more reserved dispositions were often the very best of company if one was willing to make the effort to know them.
Miss Sherwood, he hoped, would prove to be a similarly agreeable acquaintance.
“Do you attend the theater often?” He kept his tone light and gentle so as not to give the impression that she was required to respond if she was not yet comfortable doing so.
She surprised him. “We do come fairly often. Personally, I prefer the opera, though I do enjoy the theater as well.”
Hers was not an overly boisterous nor loud voice, but neither had she proven too bashful to answer his question. What, then, kept her to the shadows?
“What is your opinion on musicales?” he asked.
“That depends entirely upon the music, does it not?”
His lips turned up in genuine amusement, something that had not happened often during his recent years of loss and loneliness. “You speak as one who has attended a few too many painful musical evenings.”
“As do you, Mr. Havensham.”
Mrs. Sherwood inserted herself into the discussion. “Eleanor, do allow the poor gentleman to be seated. We must not keep him standing all night.”
The reprimand was offered in more harsh a tone than necessary.
“Forgive me, Mr. Havensham,” Miss Sherwood said. “Do be seated.”
He accepted the offered chair, one directly in front of him. Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood sat to his left. The only seat yet unclaimed was to his right. Miss Sherwood took a single step closer, no doubt meaning to sit. The movement brought her, for the first time, into the light.
She did not appear to be so young as most misses making their bows to Society.
That, alone, would be a welcome change from much of what he’d experienced in Town.
He’d been given few opportunities to converse with ladies closer to his own age.
Having passed through so much that was difficult and soul-aching these past three years, he’d returned to London to find he now had nothing in common with misses of seventeen or even eighteen with very little experience of the world.
Conversations with them tended to be painfully inane.
“Have you been to London often?” he asked.
Her smile was subtle and the tiniest bit impish. “Is that your indirect way of asking how old I am?”
Not only had this unexpectedly intriguing lady managed to bring a smile to his face, she’d now made him laugh. “I was attempting to be delicate.”
“Then allow me to be delicate in return. I have come to Town enough times to be considered a failure but not so many as to have been placed permanently upon the shelf with the old maids.” Her dancing gaze remained on him but a moment longer before slowly shifting to the stage.
“That was your version of delicate?” He was enjoying this conversation.
“Perhaps I missed my mark.” She folded her hands in her lap and assumed an extremely prim posture. With her next words, she adopted a demure tone. “Why, Mr. Havensham, we mustn’t discuss such things. Please, let us speak instead of the weather or the latest fashions.”
Peter nodded solemnly. “Much better, Miss Sherwood. Much.”
Her smile slipped a little. “Do you ever grow weary of it, the constant requirement to speak of a hundred little nothings? The purpose of the Season is to allow people to meet one another, to forge friendships. Yet, no one is ever permitted to speak of anything even bordering on important. How is anyone to ever know another person if not allowed at least some personal discourse?”
“Eleanor, please.” Mrs. Sherwood once more employed a harsh tone of rebuke.
Miss Sherwood set her attention on the stage, though it was yet empty.
She sat with no slump to her shoulders, and not even the first hints of defeat in her expression.
A quick glance at Mrs. Sherwood told Peter that she was convinced that her daughter had conceded. He didn’t believe that in the least.
He began to understand a bit of the puzzle this family presented. Mrs. Sherwood was a touch dictatorial. He suspected her husband was as well. And Miss Sherwood was not one to be so easily subordinated.
He had stepped into a quiet, polite feud.
“Tell me, Mr. Havensham,” Miss Sherwood said, as innocent as anything. “What are your thoughts on the weather?”
His grin returned on the instant. Miss Sherwood would be the victor in her family’s battle of wills, he had no doubt.
“I have often found the weather to be an unavoidable difficulty. One might be enjoying a lovely conversation, for example, and quite without warning, the weather casts a chill over the experience.”
He saw her bite her lips closed. With obvious effort she held back a smile. Not only did she have backbone, the lady was quick-witted, having realized his veiled reference to her mother’s interruptions of their discussion.
The remainder of the evening passed much as the beginning had, with witty and enjoyable conversation. He learned a little more of Miss Sherwood’s likes and dislikes and gained small insights into her character.
What he knew of her after only a few hours’ acquaintance, he liked. Indeed, he liked her enough to feel a strong inclination to know her better.
As he prepared to leave at the end of the performance, he turned to Mr. Sherwood. “Might I be permitted to take your daughter for a drive in Hyde Park tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Mr. Sherwood answered.
Peter dipped his head in a show of gratitude, then once more faced Miss Sherwood. “Until tomorrow.”
She offered the expected curtsy and even favored him with a smile. She was delightful. And witty. And fiery.
Too many in Society were not what they seemed. Too many put on a front as a means of gaining an advantage. How he hoped that did not once again prove the case.