by Alec, Joyce
It was time to talk to her about what he would expect.
“Might I steal Miss Newton from your side for a time, Lady Thurston?” he asked, offering Miss Newton his arm. “I have some acquaintances I should be glad to introduce her to.”
Lady Thurston beamed at him, her lined face seeming to glow with delight. “But of course, Lord Sharpe!” she exclaimed, ushering Miss Newton towards him. “That would be splendid. Make sure you say that I am the one to sponsor her. And if there is any suggestion of anything untoward, any insults or the like, then I expect you to defend her as though she were your own sister.” Lady Thurston’s voice had become hard, as if she knew that this was exactly what Miss Newton was about to face.
Thomas inclined his head. “I shall defend her valiantly,” he promised, waiting until Miss Newton had gently placed her hand under his arm, although her grasp was so light it felt as though she was barely touching him. “Come along then, Miss Newton.”
Turning away from Lady Thurston, Thomas and Miss Newton walked in silence for a few minutes, being entirely unsure as to what to say to one another. The music and buzz of conversation surrounded them both, leaving Thomas feeling as though there was, perhaps, very little to say to the lady. He would do the introductions, but it was not particularly important whether they had a good conversation. All he needed was for Miss Newton to garner herself some new acquaintances, and all would be well.
“I would ask you not to speak of me as though I am not there.”
A little surprised that Miss Newton was not only speaking to him but speaking in such a harsh tone of voice, Thomas looked down at her, his brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
Miss Newton lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. “I do not wish you to speak to Lady Thurston – or to anyone for that matter, as though I am not present and able to hear your every word,” she said again, a good deal more firmly this time. “It makes me feel as though I am nothing more than a burden that must be dealt with as swiftly and as firmly as possible.”
Thomas found his feet sticking to the floor, staring down at the quiet and gentle Miss Newton, quite shocked that she had spoken with such firmness.
“It is good of you to come to my aid in such a way, of course,” Miss Newton continued, not once allowing her eyes to drift from his. “And I am grateful for both you and for Lord and Lady Thurston’s kindness, but I will not allow you to continue to speak of me as though I am unable to speak for myself, or to understand what it is you are saying. Do I make myself quite clear?”
Completely taken aback by what he had heard and seen from Miss Newton, Thomas found it hard to put into words precisely what it was he was thinking. There was a spark of anger in his heart, fueled by frustration and a sense that Miss Newton was being more than a little severe.
“You need not be so ridiculous,” he stated firmly, aware that she had let go of his arm. “I was not doing such a thing deliberately.”
She seemed to swell with anger in front of him. “I am not being ridiculous nor am I suggesting that you were being deliberately cruel,” she stated, folding her arms across her chest. “Nor will I permit such a thing to drop from your attention. You did not ask me if I wished to accompany you across the ballroom to meet some of your acquaintances, but rather you spoke to Lady Thurston.” Her gaze grew cold. “I am well aware that it is quite proper to ask a young lady’s sponsor or companion for such a thing, but only if the lady herself has been asked first.”
All of Thomas’s anger disappeared in a moment, as he realized what it was she was saying. Miss Newton was quite correct to state that this was precisely what he had done. He had not asked her if she wished to walk with him; he had merely spoken to Lady Thurston and simply expected Miss Newton to go along with whatever they agreed.
“Alas, Miss Newton, I can see now that your words have merit,” he muttered, his eyes now fixed to the floor by their feet. “I do apologize. I will not do such a thing again.”
Miss Newton looked rather surprised at this, her own angry expression beginning to fade away. “Thank you, Lord Sharpe,” she murmured, tilting her head as though she did not quite believe that he was telling her the truth. “That is good of you to say.”
Thomas cleared his throat and made to offer her his arm again, only for someone to stumble into him, hard. Staggering forward, he crashed into Miss Newton, who managed to keep herself upright with an effort, whilst he himself tumbled to the ground.
The gasps from those around him sent color burning into his face as Thomas struggled to get himself back to standing. He was a little dazed, wondering what sort of brute of a man had managed to knock him to the floor.
“I do apologize, old boy!”
Thomas blinked, seeing a man with a thick, brown beard reaching for his hand. Thomas gave it at once and allowed the fellow to help pull him up, more than aware of the many eyes that were on him.
“What on earth is the meaning of this?” he asked, angrily brushing down his clothes and praying that his cravat was not entirely ruined. “What were you doing, man?”
The gentleman inclined his head, his face almost entirely covered by his thick beard and a long, thick mustache. It was not at all the thing, but for whatever reason, this particular gentleman appeared not to care about fashion and the like. No doubt such a thing would be noticed by the gossip writers and this incident would be somewhere in the society papers in the morning.
“A little too eager in my dancing, I fear,” the gentleman replied with a quick smile, although his eyes lingered over Thomas’s right shoulder. “I am truly sorry.”
Thomas muttered darkly under his breath but saw, much to his relief, that the gentlemen and ladies who had been watching him were now quite taken up with something else.
“And I must apologize to you also,” the gentleman continued, directing his words towards Miss Newton. “Are you all right?”
Miss Newton was red in the face, evidently mortified at what had occurred, but she nodded and looked away. Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a long, steadying breath. Miss Newton did not need this sort of attention, not when she was already finding it difficult to traverse through society for what was, really, the first time. It would be better to move on from this incident as quickly as they could.
“Thank you, but I think we are both uninjured,” he said quickly, as the gentleman stuck out a hand. “There is nothing to concern yourself with further.” He shook the gentleman’s hand, as though this was to reassure him that there was truly no injury. “Good evening to you.”
“Good evening,” the gentleman replied, his eyes suddenly fixed on Miss Newton. “I do hope this will not be the last time we shall meet.”
Thomas frowned at those strange words, turning to glance at Miss Newton and wondering if this was what the gentleman was hoping for: an introduction to Miss Newton. He was about to suggest such a thing, given that any gentleman’s acquaintance would be an advantage for Miss Newton, only to turn back to see the bearded fellow walking away from them both, twisting this way and that as he made his way through the throng of guests.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Newton?” Thomas asked, seeing Miss Newton’s cheeks still red with embarrassment. “You are not hurt?”
“Not in the least,” she replied with alacrity. “Shall we continue on?”
Thomas nodded, shrugged, and offered her his arm again, which she took without hesitation. Walking together, Thomas struggled to remove the strange gentleman from his mind, finding something familiar about him that he could not quite place.
“It is very strange, is it not?” Miss Newton commented quietly.
He looked down at her. “What is strange, Miss Newton?”
Her eyes turned towards his, filled with confusion. “It is strange that he said he was too eager in his dancing when, at the time he crashed into you, the dancing had only just come to a close.” A line appeared between her delicate eyebrows as she considered the matter further. “And he did not seem at all eager to
go back in search of his partner, to apologize to her.”
Thomas frowned, turning the matter over in his mind. “And we are a good distance away from where they are dancing,” he said softly, feeling Miss Newton’s hand tighten on his arm. “You are quite correct, Miss Newton. There is something a little strange about what has just occurred.” Not that he had any understanding about what such a thing might be, although he was quite certain that if he saw that particular gentleman again – for he would not be hard to miss – Thomas would make sure to greet him and discover his name.
He shrugged one shoulder as they approached some acquaintances of his. “I think it best you push the matter from your mind for the time being, Miss Newton,” he stated firmly. “Here, now, let me introduce you to one or two of my acquaintances and see if we cannot find you a few more dance partners for the evening.”
Miss Newton glanced up at him, a sheen of fear in her eyes although she did not say a word.
“You must be confident and assertive, Miss Newton, and do not let anyone see if you are injured by a harsh word or a snide remark,” he said. “You are as welcome here as I am. Do not let those with long memories and little else to do other than make their mark in society trouble you in any way whatsoever. I shall not abandon you, and nor will Lady Thurston.”
Miss Newton drew in a breath, set her shoulders, and placed a smile on her lips. “Does this suffice?”
He could not help but grin, which in turn let Miss Newton’s smile grow steadily.
“That is it exactly,” he said, seeing a few familiar faces turn towards them. “You shall do very well this evening, Miss Newton, I am sure of it.”
It was not until a good few hours later, when Thomas was more than content with how things had gone for Miss Newton, that he allowed himself to relax just a little. Not only had he danced twice with Miss Newton, finding her to be more than graceful in her steps, but he had managed to secure her three other dance partners, two of which had asked for two separate dances. Of course, she had not had every dance filled, but that was to be expected. There had been a few gentlemen less than inclined to become acquainted with her, but he had not allowed their behavior to affect him. Miss Newton had looked a little hurt upon occasion, but she had done very well to maintain her elegant composure, whilst remaining warm and welcoming to whomever showed her even the smallest bit of interest.
He watched her now as she danced with Lord Borden, who was a tall, thin gentleman with a shock of thick, black hair that seemed to sway in time to the music. Borden was a viscount and had a firm, good-natured character. He would be more than suitable for Miss Newton, Thomas considered, tipping his head. That being said, Lord Borden had been in society for some years now and still had not shown any sign of being particularly interested in securing himself a bride.
“But there is always a first time,” Thomas mumbled to himself, sitting back in his chair with a small smile on his face. If things continued to go as well as they had this evening, then the matter regarding Miss Newton would be over very soon. He would have his freedom back and would be able to enjoy the Season for himself.
Not that he intended to find a bride quite yet. Another year or so and then he might do so, knowing that he required an heir to take on the title when the time came. He did not feel quite settled enough yet, although whether that was to do with Miss Newton, he could not say.
Something crinkled as he adjusted his seat, making him frown. He had nothing in his pockets as far as he knew, but the sound came again as he rose to his feet, his frown deepening as he searched.
A small piece of paper was all he could find; he tugged it out of his pocket the moment he discovered it. He had no recollection of having put something there, and certainly, his valet would not have allowed such a thing to go unnoticed. How very odd.
The paper was small and torn at the edges, as though someone had not had the time to find anything better. Unfolding it, Thomas felt his stomach turn over as he read the few words.
‘Newton was innocent. You must find a way to prove it. There is more at stake than you know.’
Thomas stared blankly at the words, struggling to make sense of them and wondering who had managed to put such a small note into his pocket. What did it mean that there was “more at stake”? Was there to be another murder? And how was he to prove that the late Francis Newton was not the murderous, foul-minded gentleman that most seemed to think he was? As far as Thomas was concerned, it was almost impossible.
“Lord Sharpe!”
Thomas looked up at once, holding the note in his hand as he tucked his arms behind his back. Miss Newton was coming towards him, a brilliant smile on her face. This evening had, at least, gone rather well for her.
“You look quite troubled, my lord,” she said, the smile fading from her face. “I will not trouble you further. I thought to ask if you could accompany me back to Lady Thurston, for I cannot see her.”
“Here.”
He did not know what he intended by giving her the note, but the astonishment on her face as she read it made him glad that he was not the only one entirely at a loss as to what to think.
“Who gave this to you?” she whispered, the smile gone completely from her expression, her eyes filled with wariness. “And why?”
“I do not know.” He shrugged and looked away. “I found it in my pocket.”
Miss Newton’s eyes widened all the more, fixed on him as though he were about to turn around and tell her that he had simply written the note himself and placed it in his own pocket.
“I do not know who put it there,” he insisted, taking her gloved hand in his and feeling her tremble. “Nor do I know what it is I am meant to do with such information.”
“Wait.”
Her hand tightened on his, her breath hitching as she struggled to speak.
“What is it, Miss Newton?” he asked, suddenly filled with a sense of urgency. “What troubles you?”
“That gentleman,” Miss Newton breathed, one hand pressed lightly against her chest. “The bearded gentleman who fell into you.”
It was as though a lightning bolt had struck him, hard.
“Could he not have placed such a thing in your pocket, Lord Sharpe?” Miss Newton asked, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear. “Is there any other explanation?”
He shook his head slowly, his heart beginning to race. “No, I do not think there is.”
“Then who is he?” Miss Newton exclaimed, suddenly looking quite frightened. “And what does he mean by pushing that note into your pocket?”
Thomas could barely think straight, such was the shock of what Miss Newton had just revealed to him. That strange gentleman, the one he had sensed a familiarity about, the one who had seemingly knocked him over simply by accident, had done so deliberately so that he might pass on a message to both Thomas and Miss Newton. The gentleman must have known that Thomas was escorting Miss Newton, which was perhaps why he had ensured to speak to them both.
“What should we do, Lord Sharpe?”
Gathering himself, he looked at Miss Newton sharply, seeing that she was on the brink of tears. “There is nothing we can do for the moment,” he said, as calmly as he could. “That gentleman will be gone from this place by now, I think.”
Miss Newton shook her head, her eyes glassy.
“But let us consider it carefully and come together again, mayhap tomorrow, to discuss things further,” he said, a good deal more gently this time. “It will do no good to consider it now, not at such a late hour.”
Miss Newton swallowed hard and nodded, blinking rapidly so that none of her tears would fall.
“Until tomorrow afternoon then?” Thomas suggested, pushing the note into Miss Newton’s hand. “Here, you may have this. Make of it what you will.”
“Thank you, Lord Sharpe,” Miss Newton whispered, evidently unable to trust her voice. “Until tomorrow.”
3
Being as troubled as she was, Julianna had not allowed herself to sle
ep until the first rays of the sun crept in through her bedroom drapes, finally finding some peace with the assurance of a new day. She was then awoken by her maid at around noon, ate a late breakfast, and was now dressed and ready for Lord Sharpe’s arrival.
Safely in the depths of her pocket, she kept the note that Lord Sharpe had discovered late last evening. It felt as though it continued to weigh her down, the sheer significance of it reminding her constantly of its presence.
She could not remove from her thoughts the sight of that bearded gentleman, having realized that it had to be him that had placed the note in Lord Sharpe’s pocket. There was no other explanation, and given just how strange the gentleman’s explanation had been for knocking into Lord Sharpe in the first place, she had no doubt that it had been his doing. Although who he was and why he was so eager to seek their help in effectively clearing Francis’s good name of all wrongdoing, she could not quite understand.
“Must you always be seated in here, Julianna?”
Starting in surprise at the sound of her brother’s voice, for she had not seen him enter the room such was the weight of her thoughts, Julianna turned her head towards him and attempted to put a bright smile on her face.
“Whatever is the matter, Henry dear?” she asked gently, aware that her elder brother had been in a perpetually dark mood for a good many months. “You do not wish me to sit in the drawing room?” She let a small laugh escape her. “Am I truly such poor company?” She took in her brother’s surly face, his coloring so like Francis’s, with his thick mop of brown hair, his hazel eyes and square jaw. But as far as their similarities went, that was all there was. Francis had always had a grin on his face, his eyes almost always alight with good humor, whereas Henry seemed to constantly be in the depths of sorrow, his brow furrowed and his eyes lowered to the ground. No matter what she tried, she could not get him to smile even once. He was entirely wrapped up in his own life and did not care for her in the slightest, but yet her heart ached for him, knowing that he must be suffering the loss of his brother in his own way.
