Chapter 9
Lavender’s chest swelled, an involuntary reaction to the lovely pianoforte piece being played at the front of the room.
Miriam had brought her to this musical soiree, and it was heaven.
For one, Lavender was able to be a part of the evening without the pressure of talking to dozens of people she’d only met a handful of times.
But more than that, she loved the way the music opened a trail from her heart to her head, allowing her to take stock of her feelings.
After her late night in the garden with Tom, Lavender was feeling .
. . seen. It was a rare feeling for her, as her mother trained her to blend in.
Servants too, were supposed to be invisible—but Tom wasn’t that way.
She’d made him a little uncomfortable with her praise a few nights ago.
She supposed it was natural. Most people she knew didn’t take their servants into their confidence.
But just because Tom was a servant didn’t mean he didn’t deserve compliments.
She’d complimented Henry over the years. They too had spoken about important things together. There was nothing she’d felt the need to hide from the elder gardener. But in truth, she enjoyed speaking with Tom because he—just like Henry—saw her.
There was a connection between Tom and herself that she couldn’t quite explain.
She found him excessively handsome and kind, and a bit like a fish out of water.
He didn’t fit in with the rest of the staff, almost how she didn’t feel like she fit in with the duke’s family.
But where Lavender felt like her personality was small and meek compared to Miriam, Tom’s presence was more robust, and impossible to ignore.
Perhaps it had been the kiss he’d bestowed upon her hand upon their meeting, his slip as a servant that called her attention to him.
But she knew when he was nearby, like the birds knew when a storm was coming.
The difference was, the birds found shelter, and Lavender had been choosing to run head on into the storm.
Tonight, the music was transporting her back to the garden, wishing she was sitting with him instead of the accomplished ladies of the ton.
Their skill was impressive, but no one compared with Rose’s abilities.
It was a shame she was not in attendance.
Lavender realized a little more just how accomplished her eldest sister had become while she and Bluebell pursued far different goals.
Bluebell was a storyteller who wove whimsy into the dullest of things, and Lavender was consumed in her books.
She learned other things, of course, she could sing, but she would be mortified to do so in front of a crowd like this one.
There was an intermission, and Lavender found a spot against the wall, where she was taught to stand. The dowager duchess joined her at the edge of the room, both of them content with standing there together in quiet companionship, much like how they spent time together in the library.
Miss Dalrymple and Lord Chilcott stood not far from them, conversing about the lost Duke of Fenleigh.
She eyed the baron for longer than she meant to.
He’d completely forgotten about their ride in Hyde Park.
It had been a long morning awaiting his arrival, only to have wasted her time.
It was a good thing she had a book to keep her company.
Their conversation floated over to her.
“Do you think he has run off to France?” Miss Dalrymple asked.
Lord Chilcott looked down, considering. “I would not doubt that course of action. If he were truly involved in hiding enemies to the crown, it would make sense for him to flee somewhere they would welcome him safely.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to betray anyone. To be honest, he doesn’t seem like the type of man that cares enough to get involved at all, let alone risk his reputation,” Miss Dalrymple answered.
“His reputation,” Lord Chilcott practically spat the word. “His reputation for what, precisely? Holding down his weight in spirits?”
Miss Dalrymple stifled a giggle. “Be careful, you sound like you don’t like Fenleigh.”
“Have I ever given an indication otherwise? Let me be clear: I hate Fenleigh.”
“What wrong has he done you?” Miss Dalrymple asked.
“Breathing,” was all Lord Chilcott answered. “Excuse me, Miss Dalrymple, I am being summoned by Mr. Cain.” He left Miss Dalrymple with a bow.
Well. That was interesting, to say the least. Lavender made eye contact with the dowager, and they both shrugged their shoulders, obviously having overheard the same conversation.
Lavender didn’t know what to make of it.
The Duke of Fenleigh was apparently known for his drunken state and was being accused of treason against the crown.
Lavender pulled her white gloves a little higher on her arm, not wanting too much of her grotesque scar to show.
Something about the interaction between Lord Chilcott and Miss Dalrymple didn’t sit right with her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Though she agreed with Miss Dalrymple. Someone inebriated would not care enough to help a warring country unless there was an obvious motive, would they?
And no one—it seemed—had discovered one.
“Lady Lavender,” Miss Dalrymple spotted her. “How are you this evening?”
“I am quite well, and you?”
Miss Dalrymple glanced around as if to make certain they were not overheard. Seeing the dowager duchess, she folded her hands primly at her waist. “Lady Gilfordshire, how are you this evening?”
The dowager cupped her ear. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Lavender hid a smile behind her hand. The woman was an incredible play actor. She’d heard the conversation, and yet, she pretended not to have heard a thing. But why the act?
Miss Dalrymple spoke louder. “How are you this evening?”
Lady Gilfordshire smiled. “Oh, I’m fine dear. I do wish I could hear the music a little better, but I take joy in what I can.” She waved at Miriam. “If you two would excuse me, I would like to sit down again.” She took slow steps toward Miriam and Samuel.
Miss Dalrymple sighed after she left. “To be honest, Lady Lavender, I am a little put out. I have been trying in vain to decipher the reason the Duke of Fenleigh has disappeared, but Lord Chilcott is less than helpful.”
Lavender nodded. “Do you believe Lord Chilcott knows more than anyone else about his disappearance? I admit to overhearing your conversation with him. If anyone has a motivation to make the duke disappear, it seems to be Lord Chilcott.”
Miss Dalrymple gave Lavender a scrutinized stare.
“That is what I think. Those two have never gotten along. But it is far more than that: they are cousins. It is Lord Chilcott who is first in line for the dukedom if Fenleigh doesn’t appear; Lord Chilcott would take his place if the duke was declared dead.
I think he’s hoping for that.” Miss Dalrymple turned so that her back was also up against the wall.
They watched people milling about around them.
“This is a wonderful place to spy on people.”
“Spy?” Lavender whipped her head toward Miss Dalrymple.
Still trying to process the fact that Lord Chilcott was the duke’s cousin.
“I assure you, I do not intend to spy. I am not hiding. People just don’t seem to notice that I am close by when they have their conversations. It has been like that my entire life.”
Miss Dalrymple smiled. “I must admit a good helping of jealousy. I can only imagine the things I would learn if people spoke uncensored around me. But almost everything I see is a facade of people’s true feelings. There are few who are genuine.”
Lavender agreed. “It is difficult to know what is an act and what is not.” Lord Chilcott’s most recent interaction included.
“I’ve found that consistency is usually where the truth lies. If I hear about something that is consistent with the character of a person, I am more prone to trust it. People that change in different company are the ones I watch out for.”
“That makes sense.” Though it was a heavy subject to discuss at a soiree. Even more, Miss Dalrymple was an entirely different woman without her mother beside her; she was more open and friendly.
“You are consistent, though.” Miss Dalrymple smiled at Lavender. “It is why I have decided we ought to put our mothers’ spat behind us and become friends.”
“I am flattered.”
Miss Dalrymple looked out once more amongst the guests gathering again to hear the music. “You’ve always been consistent, you know? You are always present, but you don’t draw attention to yourself. You are here to find a husband—don’t take offense, we all are—but you are not desperate.”
Lavender felt a sliver of guilt. “Actually, I am quite desperate. I do not have the comfort of time on my side.”
Miss Dalrymple’s face transformed into one of great concern. “Is it because of your father’s health?”
“It is,” Lavender dropped her voice. “He wants me to wed before the consumption. . .”
Miss Dalrymple put a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear, I am so sorry. I always liked your father. But then, it makes sense that he wouldn’t want you to wait for the mourning period to be over before you find the security you need with a husband.”
“I have no concerns about my immediate security. Ash would take care of me. It is more a concern of my marriageability. I am not getting any younger.”
Miss Dalrymple put a hand on Lavender’s gloved arm. “You are not on the shelf yet. I am two years your senior and still looking for my own match.”
“Yet being the operative word.”
“Allow me to give you a bit of advice. Your likelihood of finding a husband while you hold up the walls of the room are not very high.”
Lavender grimaced a little. “Yes, Her Grace has told me as much. It does not come natural for me to change my habits.”