With lifted eyebrows and pursed lips, Mrs. Snowley lifted the card from the tray, holding it with two fingers, as if she thought it would cut her.
Maybe it would. On the throat. Just a little tiny paper cut that made it uncomfortable to speak.
A moment later, her mouth dropped open before curving into a wide smile. Both hands gripped the edges of the card, and she nodded to the butler. “Of course. She’s most welcome here.”
Marianne’s blue eyes were round as she watched her mother. Mrs. Addington shifted in her seat, trying to subtly crane her neck to view the card.
Bianca didn’t even try. With her luck it was Lady Gliddon, or perhaps even Lady Rebecca. Either of them would throw an extra scoop of torture into the mix.
The woman who appeared in the doorway was not Lady Gliddon or Lady Rebecca or indeed anyone Bianca knew by more than sight.
Bianca glanced to her stepmother and sister. Both of them sat on the edge of their seat, eyes wide and smiles even wider.
What was Lord Trent’s wife doing here?
“Lady Adelaide Hawthorne,” the butler announced.
Mrs. Snowley sprang from her seat and crossed the room to greet the newcomer. Lady Adelaide’s serene smile reminded Bianca of Lady Rebecca, but there the similarities ended. She had dark hair, though a swath of it had been cut short to fall across her forehead, and black wire spectacles. Her dress was simple but unquestionably elegant. Everything about her, even the way she moved to the seat Mrs. Snowley offered, exuded sweetness and peace.
Which did beg the question of why she was in the Snowleys’ drawing room.
Mrs. Snowley immediately called for tea to be sent. Bianca snuck a look at their other guest. Did Mrs. Addington realize the same courtesy hadn’t been offered to her? It didn’t appear so. She was too agog to notice.
Within a few moments, everyone was resituated. Once more Bianca had been given a cup of tea that was nearly black. She quietly set it aside.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Adelaide?” Mrs. Snowley tilted her head and gave what was likely meant to be a welcoming smile.
Anyone else probably thought it looked welcoming. Bianca thought her stepmother looked like a viper.
“My husband.” The woman’s voice was as sweet as her appearance. In a different setting, Bianca thought she would really enjoy the prospect of getting to know this woman. “We spend so much of our time in the area, and he wishes to expand our social circle.”
The spectacles made the woman’s eyes enormous, and there was no missing the way her gaze cut over to Bianca as she finished her statement. Did that have some meaning, or was she simply being polite?
“We’re honored that you chose to bestow one of your first visits upon us.”
“First visits?”
Mrs. Snowley laughed, an edge of discomfort creeping into the tone. “Well, yes. Everyone knows you don’t pay calls.”
“Oh, but I do. Just to a very small set of women.”
The discomfort disappeared, as Mrs. Snowley all but preened under the implication. “We’ll have to have you and Lord Trent over for supper and cards. It will take a few days to arrange, as Newmarket is ever so much busier than normal just now. Why, Marianne and I are scheduled to be out every night this week.”
Bianca blinked. They were? Had her stepmother kept Bianca away from every single invitation? She knew of nothing besides Saturday’s assembly and Mrs. Wilson’s monthly garden party, which was nothing more than a viewing of the orange plants in her conservatory.
“Oh?” Lady Adelaide looked about the room, her gaze clearly stopping on every lady, including Bianca.
With an expression that managed to look somehow abashed and yet arrogant, Mrs. Snowley lowered her voice, as if sharing a confidence with the woman she’d known less than five minutes. “Not all the invites included Bianca, though I assure you she doesn’t mind. Evening clothes and droll social events don’t appeal to her as much as her precious horses. There are times when a hostess must simply make decisions because of the numbers.”
How could Mrs. Snowley, so concerned with her reputation, not know how that sounded? The implication that cutting out the elder daughter of a family was simply a sacrifice that must be made for social propriety?
That was an insult that no one could miss.
Lady Adelaide didn’t seem the least disturbed by it, though. In fact, she leaned in a little herself. “That happened every day this week? Even tonight?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Snowley said with a sad shake of her head. “Marianne and I are due to attend the Wainbrights’ dinner and musicale.”
Bianca almost laughed. That was probably the only invitation that actually hadn’t included Bianca.
“My mother encountered many of the same dilemmas when my sister and I were out at the same time.” Lady Adelaide gave Mrs. Snowley a sympathetic smile. “I completely understand.”
Perhaps Bianca didn’t like this woman very much after all.
Then Lady Adelaide turned to Bianca. “I know it is terribly last-minute, but since you are not otherwise engaged tonight, would you care to come to dinner? I had been afraid I wouldn’t be able to invite you because it would require my being so rude as to not invite your entire family, but fortunately Mrs. Snowley is very understanding about numbers.”
She placed a hand against her heart and turned to Mrs. Snowley. “Thank you ever so much for understanding. It has eased my mind greatly.”
Bianca couldn’t keep from smiling—indeed, could barely keep from laughing—as she accepted the lady’s invitation.
“Excellent.” She took a sip of tea. “I’ll send the carriage for you, shall I? I assume your own family conveyance will be used to deliver the others to their gathering.”
“I would appreciate it.”
Lady Adelaide nodded and looked about the room. “This is a finely furnished room. Did you purchase the furniture locally?”
Silence ruled the room for several moments before Mrs. Snowley gave a stilted answer. Through it all, Lady Adelaide sweetly sipped her tea.
Then she asked about the tea service, the curtains, and even Mrs. Snowley’s hair feathers.
When there was nothing else in the room Lady Adelaide could comment upon, she set her cup aside. “I must be off. Miss Snowley, would you be a dear and walk me out? I always feel so strange leaving a room by myself.”
Bianca nearly sprang from her chair, desperate to have a private moment with this woman to learn what in the world had just happened.
In the hall, Bianca took a breath but held it when Lady Adelaide broke into a near trot on her way to the door. Bianca stayed right with her, unwilling to wait until tonight to gain answers.
Once they were out the door and on the front drive, Lady Adelaide stopped and pressed a hand to her middle. “Did I manage that well?” She took a deep breath in and blew it out through pursed lips. “Three years married to that man and you’d think his schemes wouldn’t send my heart into flurries anymore, but I thought surely every one of you would be able to hear my heart in there.”
Bianca opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. “I couldn’t hear it at all.”
She gave a sharp nod. “Good. I’ll send the carriage for you at six.”
“So there really is a dinner party?”
“Of course.” Lady Adelaide waved a hand in the air. “And the numbers aren’t even.” She frowned. “At least I don’t think they are. It depends on how many Trent decided to invite. This was all his idea, you know.”
“To invite me?”
“Yes.” Lady Adelaide pulled on her gloves and walked toward her waiting carriage. “He had some very detailed reason for putting together the gathering, but I’m afraid I missed most of it. Caroline—she’s my daughter—started crying and I got distracted.”
“Yet you came anyway?”
“Of course. He asked me to. He also told me he got the impression your stepmother liked to play favorites. Any lady trapped in such a
situation has my complete sympathy.” She glanced back at the house. “I’m not sure even my mother was ever that obvious about it, though.” She gave another smile and climbed into the carriage. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Bianca dredged up a smile of her own. She had so many questions but could hardly detain the other woman to gain the answers. Instead, she had to survive approximately six hours without expiring of curiosity. That was, of course, assuming her stepmother didn’t maim her first.
Twenty-Nine
For the second time this week, Lord Trent Hawthorne was at Hawksworth’s stable. This time he was leaning against the wall, obviously waiting on Hudson and Aaron to return from their ride.
That morning they’d specifically ridden out to see the training of Hudson’s horses. He wanted—no, needed—to win this first challenge race, even if accepting it had been foolish.
What he’d seen that morning gave him great confidence.
Seeing Lord Trent outside his stable gave him a vague sense of foreboding.
“Lord Trent,” he asked as he dismounted, “you do remember coming to introduce yourself already.”
The other man laughed. “Yes, yes. I also remember saying we should meet for cricket and dinner.”
“So you did.”
“Have you plans this afternoon?”
Even Miles, who had come out to collect Hades from Hudson, stumbled at the late invitation before hustling the horse into the stable under Aaron’s glaring gaze. Andrew, who had come to retrieve Shadow from Aaron, ducked his head down and followed, leaving the three men alone on the drive.
Lord Trent nodded at Aaron. “You’re invited as well.”
“You meant that?” Aaron asked.
Hudson couldn’t help but laugh over the shock on Aaron’s face. “It takes quite a lot to surprise him. I’ll accept for that gift alone.”
“And here I thought my illustrious company was all the incentive one needed. Certainly seems to be when I go in the shops.” The man lifted his hand to cup one side of his mouth as if he were going to share a secret. “Don’t tell them that I don’t do anything for this honorific. I rather enjoy my preferential treatment.”
Perhaps there was hope for England yet if there were men like this for Hudson still to meet.
He looked to Aaron. “Will you be joining us?”
Aaron looked at his toes and then the stable before looking back at the men. “I’m afraid not. A friend of mine traveled with me from London.”
“Bring him along. I’m guessing it’s Lord Farnsworth, since you don’t mention a wife.” Lord Trent clapped his hands. “That was easily settled.”
Aaron frowned. “How do you know it’s Oliver?”
“Because you only have two friends. Possibly three now.” Lord Trent gestured to Hudson. “You and this fellow seem chummy enough. That small a pool doesn’t require a great deal of deductive skills.”
“Is there anything about my life you don’t know?” Aaron grumbled.
“Probably. Though if any of the women know it, chances are it’s gotten around to me.”
“Gossiping busybodies.”
Lord Trent grinned widely. Was the man ever not happy? “Absolutely. This afternoon, then? Cricket, followed by dinner. You know where my house is, don’t you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he poked his head into the stable and called for his horse.
Before he mounted up, he clapped Aaron on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get everything set straight.”
Aaron’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.
Hudson waited until Lord Trent had ridden away before asking Aaron, “What did he mean, get everything set straight?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Aaron said, but he wouldn’t look at Hudson while he said it.
THE CRICKET BAT felt almost as good in Hudson’s hands as a horse’s reins. It had been months since he had played, and even though the landscape, the environment, and the people were different, there was something so very comforting about playing the familiar game.
He idly swung the bat back and forth as Aaron, who’d arrived uncharacteristically late and with his dark hair still damp, introduced his friend Lord Farnsworth.
If Hudson had been dropped into a room full of men and told to find the one Aaron counted as a friend, Lord Farnsworth would have been the last man Hudson pulled. The man was perfectly polished, perfectly creased, and, when he spoke, perfectly cultured.
“School rules, I’m assuming?” he asked.
“With cricket?” Was there something Hudson didn’t know? Was England even going to steal cricket from him?
“No, no. For names. As much as I would love to force Aaron into an uncomfortable night of trying to remember to call everyone aside from himself lord, I’m afraid I’ve grown too accustomed to answering to Oliver when he’s around. It started in school, us dropping all the lords to keep Aaron from feeling left out.”
“Let it be known that was Oliver’s declaration, not mine.”
“You didn’t argue. Would you prefer Stildon or . . . well.” Lord Farnsworth—or, apparently, Oliver—waved his hand about in the air. “Whatever your given name is.”
“Hudson will do,” he said, trying not to grin and then realizing there was no reason not to. Who cared if his mirth annoyed Aaron? That only made it more humorous.
“This is why more friends are just a bother,” Aaron grumbled.
Lord Trent strolled toward the patch of lawn with the wickets already set. “Trent is my only option since all the titles went to my brother and brother-in-law.”
“Why is your hair wet?” Hudson asked Aaron as they moved into position.
Oliver laughed. “Because one of my horses got into a mud puddle and then decided Aaron made for a good tree to rub it off with.”
“It’s not your horse,” Aaron said. “It’s your father’s horse.”
“Semantics.”
“Tell that to the court.”
Hudson laughed and moved into batting position. For the first time since he’d left India, and possibly for the first time ever, it looked like maybe—just maybe—he had found a group where he belonged.
“WHY DO YOU KEEP ROOMS IN LONDON?” Hudson asked Aaron as they stood to the side, watching Oliver wade into a clump of bushes to collect the cricket ball, while Trent shouted occasionally contradictory directions on how to get to the ball’s location.
Aaron’s eyebrows rose. “What?”
“Just a minute ago Oliver mentioned going by your rooms in London. Why do you keep rooms there? Is there much racing in London?”
Aaron adjusted his coat sleeves. “Not beyond Tattersall’s, no. And since you and Oliver’s dad are more breeders than collectors, I rarely have reason to go there.”
“Why London, then?” Hudson hadn’t seen much of the dirty, crowded city, but he couldn’t imagine a horseman wanting to spend any more time there than he had to.
“London is . . .” He trailed off, and Hudson had a feeling that whatever he had been about to say about London, he’d changed his mind. “London is central. From there I can take a stage to any of the racecourses or other stables. It’s convenient.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
“Liar.
“That is left, not right. Didn’t you have any tutors growing up?” Oliver grumbled as he lifted a ball high in the air and shook it at Trent.
“Yes. Even went to school. Where do you think I learned to enjoy making someone do something foolish?” Trent pulled the ball from Oliver’s hand and moved back toward the pitch.
Aaron picked up his bat but didn’t move into place. Instead, he stared Hudson down. “I’ll make you a deal. You tell me why you want to marry Lady Rebecca, and I’ll tell you why I have rooms in London.”
Hudson’s eyebrows drew together. “I thought it was obvious.”
Aaron shook his head. “It’s obvious why you’d want the horse. But you haven’t even asked Lord Gliddon
about it.”
Hudson opened his mouth to argue, but he realized the other man was right. Was he always right? It was a rather annoying trait.
The fact was, Hudson had never tried to see if there was another path to Hezekiah. He’d never even questioned the gossip.
As if Aaron could read his mind, he shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Aristocrats. All of you simply assuming a man would barter his only daughter for a horse.”
“Or he’s using the horse as bait to allow that daughter her choice of suitors,” Hudson said to defend himself. The reasoning sounded flat, though, even as he said it. “She’s going to make a fine wife.”
Aaron shook his head. “Doesn’t bring out the suitors, not the real ones, and a crowd like that, well. Just imagine the perfect match for Lady Rebecca and see if you can picture him pushing through that crowd.”
As Aaron walked away, ready to take his turn at bat, Hudson stayed rooted to the spot. He’d thought Aaron supported Hudson’s courtship of Lady Rebecca. And while he didn’t need his friend’s approval to make decisions, not having it certainly increased the questions that had already been forming in his mind.
Perhaps it was simply something that Hudson, who had been raised by an aristocratic father, might understand more about than his stable manager. Most aristocratic marriages were built on practicalities, such as business and connections. If they weren’t, more dukes would be marrying commoners.
Of course, practicality didn’t have a man storing his wife’s hair in a Bible after her death.
BIANCA HAD NEVER RIDDEN in a carriage all by herself, and every time the carriage paused, she switched seats simply because she could.
It was a childish act, but she was desperate to distract herself from what awaited her at the end of the ride. Why had Lady Adelaide—or really, Lord Trent—invited her to dinner?
The carriage pulled up to the house, and Bianca gripped the seat with both hands as the door was opened.
A stool was placed on the ground outside.
Still, she didn’t move.
The footman cleared his throat once, but otherwise everything seemed frozen in time, waiting for her to take the next step.
Vying for the Viscount Page 25
