Chapter Nineteen #2
They hadn’t been introduced, so they could not have addressed each other.
Yet it felt rude to nearly crash into someone on a friend’s stoop and not say anything.
Besides, he was obviously a gentleman and quite handsome to boot.
He walked with the loose-limbed gait of youth, but he wasn’t a schoolboy. He was dressed as impeccably as a peer.
Turning back to the open door, they were left facing the butler, and behind him, Lady Townes.
Ophelia thought she looked anxious. She was frowning and pale.
But perhaps that was an illusion brought on by Dessie’s gossip, because in the next moment, she smiled welcomingly.
“How lovely to see you. Do come inside. You can meet Julia.”
Lady Townes led them back upstairs to the parlor. There, on the davenport, sat the lady’s daughter. She stood when they walked into the room.
“Julia, this is Lady Lynchford. And her sister, Miss Delancey.”
Julia had remarkable, wide blue eyes that she must have gotten from her father’s side. In short skirts and neat braids, with a shy smile, she appeared charmingly girlish. She curtsied prettily, and they all exchanged “good afternoons.”
They took their seats, with Dessie joining Julia on the davenport. Ophelia, unfortunately, was directed to an armchair, which required her to perch on the edge a bit sideways in order to squash her bustle and voluminous skirts into the chair.
Dessie said, “This is such a delight, Miss Julia. Your mother has been so anxious for your arrival. She told us just yesterday that you were coming down today on the train. How was the ride?”
Julia looked to her mother first. When Lady Townes nodded, Julia said, “I liked it. Miss Colyer says it’s too loud and dirty, but Lord Hayworth brought cards and we played piquet.”
Ophelia noticed Lady Townes’ smile falter. For a moment, she looked vexed. Then her brow smoothed and she smiled again. But it was definitely false.
“Lord Hayworth?” Dessie asked. She turned to Lady Townes.
“The viscount. You passed by him in the entrance.” She shifted in her chair. “He is one of our Dainswick neighbors.”
“I’m not familiar with the name.”
“That’s not surprising. His grandfather was something of a recluse.
And Lord Hayworth has been traveling these past few years.
He returned after his grandfather died. That was about four or five months ago.
” Lady Townes paused, tapping her chin. “I believe it might be worthwhile for Lynch to make his acquaintance. We’ve talked a bit, and his political opinions are not yet set in stone. ”
“Good!” Dessie cheered. “I’ll let him know.”
Lady Townes turned her focus to Ophelia. “I imagine you enjoyed the opera last night. The three of you looked rapt.”
“Trentham looked asleep.”
His sister’s practiced smile turned to genuine laughter. “No. He was jiggling his foot to the music. He always closes his eyes during an opera.”
“Does he?” Dessie snorted. “I can’t believe that.”
“And I can’t believe this is still such a source of fascination.” An unmistakable male voice harumphed from the door.
Julia leaped up, crying, “Uncle Robin!”
Startled, Ophelia tried twisting around to see behind her. But her skirts and bustle were so tightly wedged that the chair came up too when she turned, throwing her off balance. And when she whirled back to shake it off, her legs tangled in the fabric and she tumbled down, chair and all.
She heard the crash. And Trentham’s “oof.” Then the world went quiet.
“Ophelia?” Dessie ventured.
Ophelia opened her eyes to see Trentham set down his niece, who had evidently hopped into his embrace. He approached with an air of concern. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve done this before. I’m quite the expert.”
He squatted beside her and began unwinding her skirt and petticoat from the legs of the chair.
She admired his deft hands. Gloved, thank goodness, because they brushed her ankles twice, and even gloved, caused a delicious shiver to run up her legs.
Imagine if…no, she was not going to imagine anything.
“Sprained or broken?” he asked.
“Just bruised.”
He helped her to stand. “I’m glad you didn’t try this last night.”
“Yes, me too.”
“You might have tumbled right over the balustrade.”
“That wouldn’t have been half so amusing,” Dessie said. Then giggled. “Here, Ophelia. Come squish beside me on the davenport. I’ll hold your hand, so you don’t fall off.”
Trentham set the chair back on its legs, then shooed Ophelia away. “I’ll take this one.” He turned to Julia. “I’m glad to see you are dressed sensibly.”
“Mama won’t let me wear bustles,” she said, pouting. “Not even in London.”
“I’d say especially not in London. The chairs here are carnivorous.”
Julia frowned, and Ophelia suspected she wanted to protest that it was not the fault of the bustle or the chairs, but she was too polite. Ophelia settled onto the davenport and slapped away Dessie’s hand.
Trentham said, “I’m very glad you’ve come, Julia. I set aside the whole day tomorrow. What do you want to see?”
“Madame Tussaud’s,” she answered without a moment’s hesitation.
Lady Townes groaned in protest, but she looked amused.
It was such a sweet family tableau that Ophelia nearly forgot that Trentham had just come from paying court to Lady Elizabeth.
They’d managed to avoid him there, only to cross paths with him here.
Here, he seemed lovable. Yet Dessie’s plan was to paint him to Lady Elizabeth as an incurable libertine.
He couldn’t be. Not with those kind, intelligent eyes.
That generous, smiling mouth. He was warm, and she’d always thought libertines were supposed to be chilling.
“That can be arranged. And Gunther’s, I suppose. And a ride in the park?”
“Don’t spoil her,” Lady Townes said.
“I most certainly will—”
A commotion sounded from below. A man yelling and doors slamming.
Julia’s expression went from adoring to fearful, and Lady Townes’ was not much different.
Trentham scowled. Bootsteps clomped up the stairs.
Lady Townes rose and went to meet the intruder, but he caught her just outside the door.
He grabbed her by the upper arm and shoved her back inside.
He was a craggy-faced brute, yet he retained a faded handsomeness that was echoed in Julia’s visage. Was this Sir George?
“The cur is here?” he demanded. “You brought him here?”
“We have guests,” she said quietly, her voice taut. His grip on her arm appeared vise-like.
He cast a scornful eye around the room, lingering for a moment on Ophelia. His heated leer made her shudder. Next, his attention jerked to Trentham.
Trentham had risen. His hands were clenched into fists, and he held himself so stiffly he seemed to shake.
His neck had reddened. She’d heard the expression “contorted by rage” but had never envisioned what that looked like until now.
His countenance was so fiercely furious he looked—he looked the very devil.
“Let go of her,” he said through clenched teeth.
Sir George pinched Lady Townes, twisting skin, then shoved her away. “He is not welcome in this house.”
Ophelia gasped at the cruelty. The terrifying violence. Her feet shifted in place, but she had no idea whether she wanted to run away or to go slap Sir George.
“He is my brother and will always be welcome!” Lady Townes protested, rubbing at what certainly would be an ugly bruise.
“It is my house. Get out!” He ordered Trentham, then returned his focus to his wife. “And if the cur comes sniffing around again—”
“For God’s sake, George. Julia is here.”
He didn’t bother to look for her, but said, “Go to your bedchamber, Julia.”
It broke Ophelia’s heart to see the poor crying child bolt up and scurry from the room. Then Sir George stomped closer to Trentham. Closer to them all. The smell of gin hit Ophelia like a gust of wind.
“You are not permitted in my house, near my wife, or to see my daughter. Is that understood?”
Trentham made no answer.
“Is that understood!” Sir George shouted.
Trentham spat in his eye. Then he spun about and strode from the room.
Sir George pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped his face. In a low growl, he said, “Send your guests away, Felicity.”
Lady Townes gestured to them to go. Dessie clutched Ophelia’s hand and drew herself up as though to argue. Ophelia squeezed back in agreement. They wouldn’t leave their friend alone with this madman. But Lady Townes said, “Go on. Please. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”