Chapter Twenty-One
P
Mater’s health recovered fully by the final evening of the house party. Her sons who lived near enough to attend the closing ball did so, even Harold, whose devotion to his clerical duties had, thus far, kept him from participating in all but one of the fortnight’s activities.
The ballroom was exquisitely decorated. The planned supper would meet the expectations of even the most finicky of guests.
The sparkle of candlelight on gemstones and the swirl of colorful gowns gave the space a dream-like quality.
Though more guests could have been included on the list, the Lampton Park ballroom being quite extensive and the neighborhood boasting a significant number of fine families, Mater possessed that crucial ability in any hostess to compile a guest list based on considerations beyond mere size and space.
She had honed her list to those who would, in one another’s company, be most pleased and pleasant, and to a number which was at once impressive and somewhat exclusive.
She had, in short, planned the perfect final event to mark the end of her time as mistress of Lampton Park.
Arabella watched Mater move about the room. Her expression showed nothing but pleasure and enjoyment, though there had been more than a hint of sadness in her eyes as she had prepared to greet her guests. Endings were always difficult.
His Grace sat near Arabella, apparently not caring to dance.
Her Grace had accompanied Miss Artemis from the ballroom some minutes earlier, and the errand had not appeared to be a fully pleasant one.
Arabella was not privy to the particulars of that family relationship, but she sensed a growing strain between them all.
Lady Lampton arrived in the seconds before Philip sauntered over, chest a bit puffed out, shirt points so high he could not turn his head independent of his shoulders. “Quite the crush, isn’t it?”
“Your mother invited the perfect number of people,” Lady Lampton replied. “Not a crush but a pleasant gathering.”
“Do you not know, my dear, that if one is to have a successful party, it simply must be described as a crush.” Philip cast wide eyes on them all. “Any other word would indicate failure.”
“Your wardrobe indicates failure,” His Grace drawled.
“Nonsense, my man.” Philip motioned at his very colorful attire. He was the only one of the gentlemen not dressed in somber blacks and very dark colors. Philip wore brighter colors than many of the women. “My valet is a man of many talents. He gave his approval.”
“Your valet needs spectacles,” the duke countered.
“On the contrary.” Philip smoothed his impeccable jacket sleeves. “The man deserves a knighthood.”
“For enduring you?” His Grace tossed back. “That, Lampton, ought to earn him sainthood. Everyone in this household ought to.”
“Your Grace, that brings us to my reason for coming to this corner of the room,” Lady Lampton said, her dignity palpable.
Arabella glanced at Philip, knowing his goal was to rally his wife from her recent doldrums by earning the duke’s ire. Philip did not let his mask slip even a moment.
The duke clearly expected a complaint of some kind and felt himself equal to enduring it. He was the Dangerous Duke, after all.
“While I applaud your willingness to defend those you feel are being mistreated,” Lady Lampton said, “I want it made perfectly clear that no one is permitted to question my happiness in my marriage. Not you.” She pointed a finger directly at the duke, then turned and pointed at Philip.
“And not you. And if I ever hear that either of you have cast yourselves once more in the role of ‘declarer of my happiness,’ I swear, I will make the thrashing you gave one another at the river look like a child’s quarrel. ”
A look of such deep relief crossed Philip’s features that it nearly broke Arabella’s heart. He kept his worries so carefully hidden, but his current expression spoke of a deeper pain than she had realized lingered there.
Philip held his hand out to her. “Will you join me for the next set?”
“I may walk better than I once did, but you know perfectly well that I cannot dance.” Her feelings had been injured, that much was obvious.
His expression softened. “I hadn’t meant for you to dance with me, dearest, only to be with me.”
Some of her fight fled. She wove one arm through his, the other utilizing her ever-present walking stick. They walked slowly away from the small gathering of chairs.
“I like her,” the duke said.
“She is a little frightening,” Arabella admitted.
The duke nodded crisply. “That’s why I like her.”
And Arabella was finding she very nearly liked the duke.
“Have you been enjoying yourself, Miss Hampton?” Dr. Scorseby asked upon reaching the gathering of chairs where she had sat all evening.
“I have, actually.”
He sat beside her. “Why ‘actually’? Were you not expecting to be pleased this evening?”
“I wasn’t certain if I had recovered enough of my energy to enjoy myself this evening,” she said. “I am simply grateful to be feeling equal to the undertaking.”
“Are you recovered enough to stand up with me for the next set?”
She was at a ball being asked to dance. Such a thing would have seemed impossible a few short weeks earlier.
She had imagined it the evening of her aunt and uncle’s attendance, when the other guests had undertaken a few impromptu sets.
Her hopes had soared every time Linus had passed anywhere near her.
He, however, had never asked. And when whispers had begun linking their names together, he’d grown distant.
She understood the necessity, but it had still hurt.
Did he miss her, as a friend at least? Had he regretted his departure as much as she had?
“I can see that you are still fatigued,” Dr. Scorseby said. “I will sit beside you instead and allow you to continue to rest.”
He didn’t have Linus’s sense of humor nor his ability to lighten her worries with his presence, and he did not make her heart flip about whenever he was nearby, but Dr. Scorseby was an amiable gentleman. She appreciated that about him.
“Have you been terribly busy?” she asked. “I know the fever we’ve had here has been running the gamut of the neighborhood.”
“I have hardly slept the past five days. While the illness is not a dangerous one, it is tenacious. I think the only person busier than I of late is the apothecary.”
He did look tired.
“I hope you are taking care of yourself as well,” she said.
“That is a difficult thing for a man alone. But I am making every effort.”
“You will be pleased to know the dowager is taking her powders,” she said.
“Excellent.”
“And though Lady Lampton has not shared with me the particulars of her visit to your home, she does seem in better spirits.”
He nodded firmly. “I hope she will choose to speak to her husband about the things that concern her. There can be such strength in a marriage.” He looked at her then, his gaze warm and intent.
He was not making a general observation, not with such a pointed expression as he wore just then. With all the attention he showed her, it was only a matter of time before the whispers Linus had worked so hard to silence began to speculate about Dr. Scorseby. He, however, would likely not object.
A woman of her status, of her situation, had few options. She ought to have been elated, encouraged. Her hopes ought to have been soaring. In reality, she simply felt . . . disappointed.