So distracted was she by the lurid room and the host’s pressing gaze that it was not until the necessary introductions were all but concluded that Emma realized her brain had not recorded a single name, never mind placed one to a face. Which meant that there were six new faces that remained unknown to her. She only hoped she had at least curtsied automatically at all the appropriate moments. The odd looks she earned from her family, however, suggested otherwise. A propitious start to the evening, she thought glumly.
“And, finally,” said their hostess, gesturing to the strapping gentleman leaning a casual elbow atop the onyx mantlepiece, “allow me to introduce my dear cousin, Nicholas Valko.”
He was a striking gentleman with a vigorous face in the bloom of youth and a thick mane of unruly black hair. The cerulean blue of his gaze was direct and alert, almost unsettling, and he had a pleasing and generous mouth that appeared inclined to good humor. He bowed, his warm regard lingering just a little longer on Milli.
Though his manners and greeting were friendly enough, the Haywoods seemed ill at ease. Emma felt it too—a restiveness in the blood. It was as though her heart was a nervous bird, alert in its nest of ribs, deaf but not unwitting to the almost inconspicuous whisper of menace she sensed but couldn’t see. This was like as not due to the coldness radiating from a giant of a man who stood seemingly apart from the rest. Such fierce looks he threw about him—Emma swore his eyes were violet. No, his mien did nothing to help quell the prickling along her skin.
Only Milli appeared unaware of the queer undercurrent. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Valko.”
“I am sure the pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle.” Mr. Valko spoke his English as beautifully as a native, and it was very hard to place his accent. One would hardly have noticed that he had one at all if not for the untamed force with which his tongue rolled over certain consonants. What Emma did know for certain was that he was not French, though she had no doubt of his being a proficient in that tongue as well.
“Mr. Haywood,” said Victoria, “might I tempt you to try a lovely pinot noir from Mr. Black’s schloss.” The imposing gentleman at whom Victoria inclined her head was evidently the vintner of whom she spoke. “He has one of the finest wineries along the Rhine.”
“I should be delighted,” was the reply.
Emma, upon being offered the same vintage, readily accepted, for she was eager to quiet her nerves, and looked forward to confronting Lord Winterly’s gaze with a little Rhineland courage underpinning her own. At least, all thanks to Victoria’s inadvertent reintroduction, there was now one less face unnamed—Mr. Black, the proprietor of a schloss and a winery along the Rhine—only four more strangers to go.
The wine was served to her in gold-rimmed crystal, and felt like smokey ambrosia as it slid warmly down her throat. But she made the mistake of glancing too soon towards Lord Winterly. Her lips parted. His eyes were roving down the contours of her throat as she swallowed, a powerful emotion fermenting in his gaze.
Had she not hastily turned and latched her own gaze to Mr. Black instead, she would have swooned right there on Victoria’s drawing room floor.
Mr. Black, though safer fodder on which to feast her eyes, was only slightly less jarring to her womanhood. Like Mr. Valko, he had eyes cut from the clearest crystal and he used them with unnerving effect, surveying the lavish room and all those who stood within it with a seasoned regard that negated the unlined face. His features were handsome but less refined than Lord Winterly’s—a shrewdness in the shape of his mouth whereas Lord Winterly’s lent itself more to cunning. The man to whom Mr. Black was speaking—seeing as Mr. Valko was now otherwise occupied with Milli, and Victoria was entertaining the Haywoods—was the fierce, violet-eyed man. Further away, beside the piano, was Lord Winterly, murmuring with the other three unnamed, and they in turn were nodding thoughtfully as they watched her. This, of course, only flustered Emma all the more. Unwittingly, she steered her attention back to the cold giant, and he, as though feeling the weight of her scrutiny, shifted his gaze towards her—it was more a collision of cold violence. Violet was certainly a color to wither the bones.
“Oh, do not mind Gabriel,” said Victoria, noticing the tense set to Emma’s shoulders.
Ah, so the grim-faced man has a name.
“He’s a growler,” she went on. “Never learned to smile, you know.” She then winked at him—brave woman. “I do believe he appeared in the world a full grown, motherless dyspeptic.”
Lord Winterly sent his sister a sharp look to match his friend’s.
Emma took a fortifying gulp of German wine. “Victoria, forgive me, I was not clever enough to catch the names of the men speaking to your brother.”
“The gentleman to my brother’s left is Dr. Vanus Pyne from Spitalfields, a police surgeon, and the gentleman beside him is his colleague, Dr. Troilus Wheatstone, a physician at the London Hospital. The other gentleman is Mr. Armi Morris, an associate of Mr. Black’s.”
Emma smiled, grateful to her hostess not only for the information but also for the discretion employed, for Victoria had spoken confidentially. And her uncle’s sonorous confabulating—something about proposing to import Mr. Black’s wines—was quite overpowering, deaf as he was.
At length, the butler materialized again and beckoned them all into the dining room with a ceremonious, “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Gore.” Victoria strode towards Mr. Black and linked her arm in his. “Shall we?”
It was now half past nine o’clock precisely. A very late dinner indeed, even by the standards of the beau monde, and they would likely not be finished with desert till midnight at this rate.
They were led into a dining room that was hardly less extravagant than the drawing room, though perhaps a little brighter. The candles were perched in the midst of the flower arrangements on lofty, gilt candelabra. The setting was beautifully complimented by golden chargers, sparkling crystal glassware, polished silverware, and starched napkins intricately folded into orchids. Emma was seated beside Mr. Morris, and Mr. Wheatstone placed himself to her left. Opposite her, Lord Winterly was pulling out a chair for himself, grinning as though reading the dismay she felt writ upon her face. Emma had expected, or hoped, that, as the host, he would take the seat of honor at the head of the long table, but it seemed to her that he had only waited to see where she was to be situated before choosing a place for himself.
The servant paused, blinking stupidly at his lordship. But he shrugged after a moment, presumably used to his master’s eccentricity, and continued filling the water glasses. Thus Victoria established herself at the head of the table and Gabriel availed himself of the other end. For her part, Emma wasn’t sure which was more intolerable: glancing up from her plate at Lord Winterly or, as in Victoria’s case, at that Gabriel fellow.
And why was Lord Winterly smirking at her? He had more than ample reason to snub her, seeing as he’d made no secret about overhearing her ungracious remark. Emma took a deep breath and resigned herself to a very stimulating night. A little more of Mr. Black’s fine wine was certainly in order if she was to weather Lord Winterly’s attention.
Milli was seated happily between Mr. Valko and Lord Winterly, practically preening herself with the good fortune of finding a place between two of the handsomest men in London. In truth the entire party was a handsome one, though she was obliged to exclude herself and the Haywoods; her uncle had allowed himself to go to fat and Aunt Sophie had ever been a drab, quiet thing.
As it turned out, there were to be only three courses, Victoria informed them, this being only an informal dinner party. The first course consisted of beautiful porcelain tureens of pea soup, a selection of entrées, and several silver platters of turbot and eel. The second course followed shortly thereafter and subsisted of a wide variety of meat dishes (including le rosbif and a roasted swan in currant sauce), vegetables, various other sauces, savories, and pastries.
By the time the dessert was served, she had ta
ken no more than a few bites of fish and sipped sparingly at the water that filled her crystal goblet. She had been too absorbed by the effort of partaking in and following the conversation between Dr. Wheatstone and Mr. Morris. More to the point, she’d been wholly employed with avoiding Lord Winterly’s gaze.
The doctor was doing most of the talking and had proven himself to be even more of an abstemious diner than she, despite the succulent fare; even his water glass was untouched. Not Mr. Morris, though, who ate with gusto. The plates of the other guests were hidden by the table decorations, had she cared to measure the appetites of those around her. But her eyes had not strayed much from her plate to look, lest they collided with Lord Winterly’s. And Milli, from what Emma had overheard, had been too busy waffling nonsense into Valko’s ear to eat very much. Now here, at last, was the pyramid of fruits and cheeses, and soon Victoria would be leading the ladies back to the drawing room for coffee and tea whilst the men smoked their cigars.
“Miss Rose,” said his lordship suddenly, prompting a hush to fall over the table. Lord Winterly waited till she met his gaze before he continued. “You are much distracted by your plate tonight.”
It was most ungentlemanlike of him to notice, worse still to comment on it. Why, Aunt Sophie had scarce put two words together, which was not surprising, being as she was the unlucky neighbor to Mr. Gabriel Grimm (Emma had managed to glean his surname from the dinner discourse); how uncanny that he should possess a name befitting that majestic scowl of his. Mr. Black, who was seated opposite Aunt Sophie, had not moved his lips except to snarl at a carrot on his fork. So their end of the table had produced no conversation at all. Why should Emma’s reticence be commented upon?
“I take it,” Lord Winterly continued, gesturing to her two dinner companions, “the conversation is not as diverting as The Castle Of Wolfenbach?”
“Nothing is more diverting than Eliza Parsons,” said she, determined not to let him intimidate her. “Though, I admit, the society of Dr. Wheatstone and Mr. Morris comes a very close second.”
Lord Winterly shifted a languorous glance towards Mr. Morris. “I imagine you have not read the famous works of Eliza Parsons, have you, Armi?”
Mr. Morris peered thoughtfully at Emma. “I regret that I have not.”
“Well, I myself took the trouble to do so,” Lord Winterly said, “for I was possessed of a keen desire to impress Miss Rose; I have discovered that she is most difficult to impress.”
“It is only wicked viscounts that do not impress me, my lord.”
Most of the dinner guests were glancing between them with knowing grins. Her uncle, however, had fixed her with a quelling glare. “Really, Emma, what is his lordship to make of such impertinence?”
Aunt Sophie was wide-eyed, and Mr. Black, and Mr. Gabriel watched on with wooden countenances.
“That I must try harder to impress your niece, Mr. Haywood.”
“Not a bit, sir!”
“You might try curing her of somnambulism,” said Milli. “I daresay that would be impressive!”
At that, their uncle groaned, poor man—to be saddled with two such unnatural nieces.
“Milli, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Emma was too busy shooting her sister a tight smile to feel sympathy for her poor uncle. That Milli should think it appropriate to discuss such a private matter with perfect strangers… She promised herself she would ring Milli’s neck as soon as they were alone.
“But, Em—”
“How did you find the novel, Lord Winterly?”
It was evident, from the way his eyes flickered between Emma and her sister, that his lordship had found Milli’s comment intriguing. Fortunately, however, he seemed inclined to allow Emma to steer the conversation back on track. “I found that it has all my favorite motifs,” he said. “A virtuous heroine, a gloomy old castle, a lecherous old count, and a final glorious struggle between the forces of light and darkness.”
Here Victoria interjected. “Do not forget the part where the girl finds out all the dastardly family secrets.”
“I never forget that part, my dear.” And because his regard was still settled on Emma, she could not help but react to the small endearment he’d subjoined.
Emma shifted in her seat. “You gave me to understand you deplored my taste in literature.”
Uncle Haywood gave a sniff of disgust. “I would hardly call that horrid fustian literature, Emma.”
Ignoring her uncle, Lord Winterly replied, “On the contrary, I found it to be a comical distraction. But I had no idea haunted castles affected women so powerfully.” His eyes gleamed black in the muted candlelight. “Tell me, is it the habit of your sex to go about in such rapturous transports, swooning and whimpering as they evade the clutches of the wicked count?”
“I think you mean wicked viscount,” she said, “and I’m sure I wouldn’t know. You see, I have never been to a wicked viscount’s haunted castle.”
“Then we must remedy that.” His smile became positively wolf-like as he leaned back in his chair.
Chapter Twelve
Of Beasts and Venom
Milli’s glance flitted between Lord Winterly and her sister. He had remained silent and hawk-eyed throughout dinner, despite her numerous attempts to draw him into conversation. Emma had done nothing to incite his interest except brood over her dinnerware, and yet his interest had not wavered from her face for even a moment. It was really quite vexing because she did not see that Emma deserved the least of his attentions. Perhaps if she had worn the red dress, as Milli had enjoined her to do, and taken a little more effort with her hair, the overall effect might have warranted his interest.
To aggravate matters, Emma had earlier produced a pair of horrid spectacles, somehow purchased without Milli’s knowledge, and determined to wear them tonight. Of all the nights to be so perverse! No lady worth a pin owned eyesight poor enough to justify spectacles! Leastwise not at a dinner party such as this one was, surrounded by such high calibre marriage material. Only church mice and bluestockings were contrary and conceited enough to wear their glasses out into society. A woman’s triumph was her appearance!
And, furthermore, what did Emma mean by monopolizing the conversation like this! “Mr. Valko,” said Milli, recovering her handsome dinner partner’s attention, “have you been to Vauxhall yet?”
“I have not had that pleasure.”
“Nor I.” Milli bit her lip, hopeful of his using this opportunity as a segue to suggest they all go to the pleasure gardens together. He did not, so she pressed on after a moment. “I should dearly love to go, but my uncle is doing all in his power to avoid that scene.” She gave Mr. Valko an ‘I told you’ look when her uncle merely grunted over his food. “One ought to go at least once whilst in London, you know.”
Mr. Valko glanced down towards the silent end of the table and said, “What say you, Mr. Black? Shall we make an adventure of it?”
Mr. Black, in turn, glanced a question at Lord Winterly. “Never heard of the place.”
“I call it a delightful spectacle,” said Lord Winterly, still smirking at Emma. It was almost as though his lordship was talking about those wretched glasses on Emma’s face!
Delightful spectacles indeed. Milli rolled her eyes.
“If you are prepared to part with a crown at the door, you might indeed find it worth a sniff around,” said Dr. Payne, grinning from the other side of Lord Winterly. Dr. Payne who had not spared a single lenity for her poor, dull Aunt Sophie who was sitting next to the very formidable and silent head of the table, Mr. Grimm. That beastly man had not expiated those evil looks with a single cheerful word.
Eager to command the conversation again, Milli asked Dr. Wheatstone where it was that she had heard of his name, for it sounded very familiar.
But it was Emma that answered. “I believe you read it in a certain newspaper, my dear.”
Milli became thoughtful a moment, gratified to have the undivided attention of the two gentlemen e
ither side of her, howsoever brief it might remain with her. “Ah, yes! The Times.” At this her uncle’s ears were seen to perk up. “Were you not the physician that performed the autopsy on those two unfortunate sisters?”
“Millicent!” Her uncle glowered at her, which was really quite effective for he sat directly opposite them, in front of Mr. Valko, which meant that she had an unobstructed view of his crossed brows. “That is hardly seemly dinner conversation.”
“But we’ve done eating dinner!” said Milli. How could he scold her like this in front of everyone? He was not nearly as deaf as Milli should have liked.
“It is really all right,” Dr. Wheatstone replied. Then he directed his answer to Milli. “You are correct, Miss Milli, I had that sad duty.”
Milli nodded, mollified. She wondered what Mr. Valko would think of her reading The Times. Heaven forfend that he should think she was aping a man by reading her uncle’s newspaper! She glanced at him and was chagrined to find him smiling, instead, at Emma. And why not? Emma’s conversation was far cleverer and more interesting than Milli’s (except tonight, of course, her sister was being very sullen). But women were taught not to be clever and yet Milli was beginning to think that men were confusing beasts. These gentleman in particular appeared rather to enjoy a clever comment from a pretty woman—Victoria was very quick-witted and vivacious, after all.
Perhaps she ought to be more bold, like Victoria. “Were their organs really missing, Doctor?”
Her uncle all but slammed his crystal water glass on the table. Victoria winced to see it. Every eye was focused on Milli.
“Yes,” was all Dr. Wheatstone said, his gaze flickered briefly towards Lord Winterly.
“Which organs?”
“Milli, that is outside of enough!” Mr. Haywood’s face was turning a dangerous shade of purple. “That sort of curiosity is vulgar in a woman!”
Milli was duly subdued and could not bring herself to peek up at Mr. Valko again. Doubtless he too now thought her vulgar. Blast!
Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1) Page 8
