Chapter Fifteen #3
Otteridge’s smile broadened again. “Who is neglectful enough not to be here.”
“Where is Mrs. Otteridge?” she asked, smiling back determinedly as several people entered the room at once. “You will excuse me?”
She felt oddly rattled by the encounter. Perhaps because his observation was more acute than she’d imagined, or perhaps because for the first time she took his flirting as more than an old man’s appreciation of youth.
She approached Mrs. Newman and Miss Nye with a sense of relief. “A whole day without rain,” Miss Nye was twittering. “Surely the road will be passable tomorrow?”
“We must all hope so,” Mrs. Newman replied. She turned a rather wintry smile upon Kate. “Especially you, Lady Ambrose. You must be missing Sir Gilbert.”
“Indeed. You are fortunate to have your husband with you,” Kate said, though in truth, remembering Newman’s flirtatious ways during their recent walk, she doubted the poor woman was at all fortunate in her marriage.
What is the matter with the men here? Otteridge and Newman both eyeing her like a spare syllabub at an under-catered feast…
Had they always been like that and she was only just noticing?
Or was she looking too hard because of Dinah?
After all, flattering a colleague’s wife was hardly the same as forcing oneself on one’s hostess’s servant, let alone killing said servant and shooting at the colleague’s wife…
She tried a conspiratorial smile. “Actually, I am glad of this chance to talk to you both, since ladies are often so much more observant. I don’t suppose either of you heard a bit of a bang last night, and the sound of broken glass?
As if someone had dropped a large box of glass on a hard floor? Around ten o’clock?”
Miss Nye leaned her head to one side like a curious bird.
Mrs. Newman curled her lip. “You mean when you caused all that disturbance by breaking your lantern? What did you do? Trip in the darkness?”
It was an undeniable jolt, though whether caused by excitement or fear, Kate couldn’t tell. “Ah, you saw me, then,” she said, trying to sound apologetic. “I suppose your bedchamber windows are above the library. Did I disturb Mr. Newman too?”
“I have no idea.”
Meaning he was not in the room with her?
Kate turned to the older lady. “I do hope I didn’t disturb you, Miss Nye? I know how busy you always are…”
“Oh, not in the slightest, Lady Ambrose. My window is at the front of the house, you know. I don’t recall banging and crashing at all!”
“Oh, good,” Kate said, feeling she had exhausted the subject. Fortunately, they were all distracted by the arrival of a bigger group of guests that included Lady Chadbon, Mrs. Otteridge, and Rupert.
The curate had eschewed his yellow pantaloons in favor of more appropriately sober evening dress, although he still somehow managed to give the impression of a rakehell in search of a party.
It might have had something to do with his untamed hair or unstarched cravat, which made him look as if he had been up for twenty-four hours, or just the way he seemed to lounge, even while walking.
“Oh, it’s that charming young man again,” Miss Nye said, clearly delighted. “So well mannered, and really, most polished for a country curate—do you not think so, Lady Ambrose?”
“Oh, most,” Kate said vaguely.
Lady Chadbon peeled away from the group by the door, directing the footman who had followed them in to distribute drinks.
Rupert remained talking to Mrs. Otteridge in what seemed to be an unusually serious manner.
Kate could not see the woman’s face, though there seemed to be something agitated about her shifting stance, and the way her fingers twisted around her glass.
Kate forced herself to concentrate on her own companions, now discussing the weather in some detail, aided by Mr. Newman, who joined them with the news that that the London road was now passable, provided no more rain fell during the night.
“So we shall leave tomorrow?” Mrs. Newman said eagerly.
“God willing,” her husband replied. “Perhaps we shall see you ladies on the journey, if you are both returning to London?”
“Perhaps,” Kate agreed vaguely. “When do you set off, Miss Nye?”
“Oh, it is always up to Colin,” Miss Nye said indulgently. “I am always ready bright and early, but one can never foretell his impulses!”
Lord Chadbon ambled in then, laughing with Sir Colin himself, and on the other side of the room, Lady Chadbon was arranging dinner partners.
Mrs. Otteridge jerked away from Rupert, almost as though she would storm off—What the devil is he saying to her?
—and then seemed to calm, like an anxious horse, under whatever soothing words he said next.
Kate itched to join them, or at least be placed next to Rupert at dinner so that she could find out what was going on.
But Lady Chadbon clearly had other ideas.
“I’ve put you with Mr. Otteridge, my dear,” Her Ladyship said in passing, sinking Kate’s spirits as well as her hopes.
“Mrs. Newman, Sir Colin will escort you. And Mr. Newman, I have decided it is your turn for the honor of escorting me! Oh, and here is Chadbon to take you in, Miss Nye. Shall we go?”
With some trepidation, Kate waited for Otteridge to make his way across the room.
Rupert materialized by her side.
“Be careful,” he breathed. “He could be our man. He’s violent.”
And then he was gone again, with Mrs. Otteridge on his arm, and she had to smile at Otteridge, now offering his arm to her, while shock and speculation sped through her mind like flashes of a dream.