Chapter Seventeen
As she descended from the Lynchford landau, Ophelia regarded the row of identical white terrace homes rising three-stories before her.
They fronted almost directly on the street, each with a low stoop before the entrance door.
The Towneses lived in fashionable Mayfair, but at its least fashionable border.
According to Dessie, Lady Felicity Townes’ husband was a baronet, Sir George Townes, not Lord Townes, as if that explained all.
They had a country estate that Lynch said was quite fine, but this home was leased.
Overhead, the sky remained the color she had come to call London gray, and the air was tainted with the typical odor of London soot, a heavier, staler scent than New York soot.
Ophelia stood aside, then turned to watch Dessie climb down from the carriage with care, one hand on the coachman’s arm.
Dessie had wanted to pay calls yesterday, especially this one, but she hadn’t felt well in the morning, and Lynch refused to let her leave the house.
Ophelia had spent the day hoping her sister would forget her scheme, but she hadn’t.
The words we have to act quickly still reverberated between them, and this morning, Dessie was perfectly well.
Ophelia felt a frisson of nerves. She wasn’t bothered that they were visiting Trentham’s sister, but rather why they were. It was “step one.”
How did Dessie talk her into these things?
“This is the right place?”
“It is.” Dessie slipped her arm through Ophelia’s. “Now take that worried look off your face. It’s a social call. Remember, we like Lady Townes and she likes us.”
“And I don’t want to spoil that by gossiping about her brother.”
“Not gossip. Conversation.” She jostled Ophelia’s arm. “Leave the prying to me. Just play along.”
Ophelia groaned. Dredging up a bit of hopefulness, she said, “Maybe she’s not at home.”
“Stop that.” Dessie mounted the stoop and banged the knocker. When the butler answered, she presented their cards, and he showed them in. They waited in a large entrance hall paneled with dark wood and presided over by an ominous medieval suit of armor. A few minutes later, the butler returned.
“Lady Townes is receiving callers in the parlor.”
They followed him down a narrow hallway and up the stairs. There was a hushed quality to the home. The light brown walls held several paintings, muted in color and nondescript in subject. Carpets muffled their footsteps.
The butler stood in an open doorway and announced them.
“Lady Lynchford and Miss Delancey.” He stepped out of the way so that Ophelia and Dessie could go inside.
This room was cozy and well lived-in. The drapes were open to let in the early afternoon sunlight.
The walls were a warm caramel color, and several portraits graced them, including one of a younger Lady Townes with a baby in her arms and a boy on either side.
A sentimental twinge struck Ophelia, seeing a resemblance to Trentham in the smiling faces of the boys.
Lady Townes had risen and now stepped forward to greet them.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, taking both Dessie’s hands and squeezing them.
Then she turned to Ophelia and did the same.
“Come in. I’ll introduce you to my neighbors.
” She ushered them to a davenport where two older women were sitting.
“Lady Lynchford, Miss Delancey, may I present to you Mrs. Whyte and Mrs. Gorse?”
“We’re sisters,” Mrs. Gorse said with a smile. “As are you, I can see.”
“Indeed, we are,” Dessie said.
“Oh!” Both women exclaimed. Then Mrs. Whyte said, “You’re the Americans.”
The London gossips would have spread the word about the Earl of Lynchford’s wife, and Dessie’s accent clinched it.
The ladies seemed to glow with the realization they were meeting someone new and exciting.
An American countess. After a few more introductory exchanges, Lady Townes asked them to sit, and offered tea and biscuits.
Ophelia relaxed. Surely her sister wouldn’t attempt the “mission” in this company.
Since the dinner party, Dessie had been insisting they must rescue Trentham and Lady Elizabeth from a loveless marriage.
As a side benefit, that would free Trentham for Ophelia.
As if it was so simple. As if Ophelia would ever pursue a duke like a grasping title-hunter!
Yet it would be a lie to deny that she found him intriguing.
And…appealing. What would it feel like to melt in his arms the way women in novels did?
She was spending far too much time trying to imagine it.
But first, Dessie said, they needed to know what he’d done that had made him some sort of outcast, in case it was something truly terrible and not just ton scuttlebutt.
In that event, Ophelia would have to promise to steer clear.
As much as Dessie wanted her to marry an Englishman and thus, stay in England, she said she couldn’t ask Ophelia to tie herself to a rogue.
Naturally, Ophelia was curious about his secret…secret what? Sin? But at the same time, she didn’t want to know. What if she couldn’t steer clear? The more she allowed him to invade her thoughts, the more room in them he claimed.
Talk in the parlor turned to what must have been the topic of conversation before they arrived: Lady Townes’ children.
“Yes, the boys are doing well. And Julia will be coming down on the train with her governess tomorrow. Sir George wants to see her, and he is too busy to get away from London just now.”
Ophelia noted the way the two neighbors lowered their eyes and murmured pleasantries. Dessie wore an uncomfortable expression. There was an undercurrent of something they all knew that Ophelia did not.
“How old is Julia?” Dessie asked.
“She is twelve,” Lady Townes said with a smile. “The same age as Foster. And quite eager to come to London. Her last visit was two years ago. She has seen all the sights, but she feels quite grown up now and wants to see them all again from her new perspective.”
They all smiled back. Ophelia sipped her tea. Mrs. Gorse asked what sights she and Dessie had seen. After listing a few—the British Museum, Bond Street shops, the theater—they discussed what they liked best about each.
At a lull in the conversation, Mrs. Whyte said, “It was lovely to visit with you all, but we really must be going.” She stood, and her sister followed suit.
Lady Townes saw them to the door where a footman waited to show them out.
Ophelia’s stomach fluttered. She nudged Dessie’s foot with her own, and shook her head aggressively.
Let’s not do this! But Dessie merely rolled her eyes and moved her foot away.
When Lady Townes returned to her seat, Dessie said, “We have some news. Marvelous news, I think. Mr. Cameron is not going to Prussia, and he has agreed to be Ophelia’s music tutor!” Her voice was a little too bright, and she put on a strained grin. How well she acted sisterly concern.
Ophelia didn’t have to “put on” a smile. One bloomed automatically—the promise of lessons was real. “It’s rather a dream of mine come true.”
They both watched for Lady Townes’ reaction. Would there be any hint of the disapproval Trentham had shown?
There was not. Lady Townes’ smile was wide and genuine. “How wonderful. Mr. Cameron has a remarkable talent. I’m sure it will be a rewarding experience for you. Robin has said you’re a harpist. You play the piano too?”
“Yes. The harp is my true love, but I started with piano, and I’m afraid any skill I once possessed with it has faded.
Mr. Cameron and I will concentrate on piano, but since he plays both as well, he will help me to improve on both.
” Ophelia’s excitement bubbled up again, nearly sweeping aside her anxiousness, until she caught the troubled look on Dessie’s face.
Feigned, of course, but very convincing.
Ophelia remembered she had to play her own role.
A puzzled frown broke across Lady Townes’ brow. “Is there a problem with the lessons?”
“Nooo,” Dessie said, drawing out the word to make it unconvincing. She wrinkled her nose. “Well, maybe. Robin seemed displeased. He implied… No, he didn’t imply. He said quite frankly that Mr. Cameron’s reputation might be disadvantageous to Ophelia’s.”
“But Mr. Cameron reassured us,” Ophelia said, raising the timbre of her voice to a whine. Dessie hoped to get to Trentham’s reputation in a roundabout fashion, by way of Mr. Cameron’s. Ophelia doubted it would work, but Dessie was determined. “You said you’d pay that no mind.”
“I know. And I like Mr. Cameron. Truly. But Daddy will be upset with me if—”
“No one needs to tell him! It’s just silly gossip. Daddy always says not to listen to rumors.” She glowered at her sister. “And certainly not to spread them.”
Dessie shifted position on the davenport to turn imploring eyes to Lady Townes.
“Is his reputation so—so louche? Lynch says no, but then, he also said either I or my maid should stay to chaperone when they practice. And I don’t know why Robin would have said something like that about a friend, unless there was some truth to it. ”
“Oh, Robin.” Lady Townes sniffed. “He’s turning into a stuffy old bore. Mr. Cameron’s reputation is no worse than one expects of a man in his profession. He has performed all over the Continent! But he’s never been accused of seducing young, unmarried students.”
“That’s what he said.” Dessie sighed with what looked like relief and smiled.
But the words twisted something around in Ophelia’s brain. “Has he been accused of seducing married students?”