by Amy Corwin
Miss Grisdale looked to be barely eighteen, if that, with lustrous black hair and dark eyes that gave her an attractive, exotic appearance. Her pale pink dress, however, was not particularly flattering to her dark coloring, and gave her skin a washed-out, sallow appearance, which was too bad, as her oval face and regular features were beautiful.
Her mother had the same regular features, but deep lines ran from her aquiline nose to the corners of her wide mouth, and her eyes were a brownish hazel. While she smiled graciously, there was a sharpness to her gaze and thinness to her lips that hinted at an easily roused temper. The impression was reinforced by the hesitant glances her daughter kept casting her way. Clearly, the girl was used to—and feared—sudden changes of mood from her mother.
Victoria murmured a greeting before her hostess swept her onward to a pair of ladies standing closer to the fireplace.
“Have you been introduced to the Misses Owsley?” Mrs. Stedman asked.
“No, I have not had the pleasure.”
“Then may I present Miss Owsley and Miss Maud Owsley.” Mrs. Stedman paused and gave a polite laugh. “Oh, dear. Am I in error? I am not sure which twin was born first and is the eldest.”
The lady introduced as Miss Owsley grinned. “Miss Grace Owsley, perhaps. And my sister is Miss Maud Owsley. We have an older sister, you see, who could not attend.” She glanced around. A slight frown creased her brow. “Which is perhaps a good thing since we ladies already outnumber the men, making it excessively awkward.”
Miss Grace Owsley’s expression cleared quickly, though, and her warm smile returned. Her fair hair was piled in curls on her head and threaded through with a green ribbon that matched the ribbon embroidery encircling the sleeves, hem, and neckline of her pale yellow dress. A pearl necklace hung around her neck, and a gold heart-shaped locket, its edge decorated with diamonds, hung from the center of the pearl strand. In contrast, her twin sister’s blond curls were held back with a blue ribbon, the same color as that which decorated her straw-colored silk dress, but her necklace was a simple, thin gold chain with a heart-shaped locket that lacked any further decoration except abstract swirls of engraving.
When Victoria glanced up at their faces again, Miss Grace Owsley wore an endearingly pleased smile, while Miss Maud Owsley had a more serious expression carved into her delicate, heart-shaped features. The faint line of habitual worry burrowed between her fair brows, and it deepened as she glanced around, her lips moving as she counted the men and then the ladies. She gave her sister’s forearm a squeeze, clearly unhappy. However, Miss Grace smiled at her twin and patted her hand reassuringly before turning her attention back to Victoria.
“This is our first Season—we are so pleased to meet so many pleasant ladies,” Miss Grace said, her blue eyes glowing with excitement. Her fingers, encased in a white silk evening glove, played with her diamond encrusted locket. “Everyone has been so kind, and it is all so exciting! And we have already received our tickets for Almack’s!”
Victoria smiled politely as they took seats around the fire. “You are fortunate, indeed. Have you seen much of London?”
“Oh, yes! Mrs. Stedman has been ever so kind and escorted us on three mornings to Bond Street.” Miss Grace’s restless hand touched the green ribbon in her hair. “We acquired these ribbons at the quaintest little shop there, did we not, Maud?”
Maud nodded obediently, but the worried frown remained etched on her delicate features, and she kept her hands clasped at her waist.
The two sisters, so alike in features but so different in expression, reminded Victoria of the Greek masks portraying comedy and tragedy. Grace seemed forever happy, and Maud forever dismal. Or perhaps it was simply the uneven number of men and women at Sir Arnold’s supper party that worried Miss Maud.
Beside her, Mrs. Stedman shifted on the sofa and rubbed her left temple.
“Do you have a headache?” Victoria asked sympathetically.
A small, rueful smile curved Mrs. Stedman’s lips. “I should never have worn this ridiculous headdress, but it has been in my husband’s family for years.” She rubbed the area behind her ear and sighed as she deliberately lowered her hand. “I go out so rarely that I thought I might wear it. I can see now why most of the Stedman women have elected to only wear it when sitting for portraits.”
“Oh, if I had such a beautiful diamond headpiece, I would wear it every evening,” Miss Maud blurted out before blushing furiously and staring down at her clasped hands. “I wouldn’t care how painful it was.”
“Indeed. It is quite lovely,” Mrs. Stedman agreed coolly.
“I just adore diamonds,” Grace said, her fingers once again finding her locket and rubbing it. A satisfied, feline smile curved her mouth.
Maud nodded and clasped her sister’s other hand. “Though rubies are quite nice, as well.”
Grace’s blue eyes sparkled. “When I am married, I shall insist on diamonds.” She gave her locket a final tug before dropping her hand to her lap.
“He will have to be quite rich,” Maud said with a thoughtful frown. Her gaze strayed to Mrs. Stedman’s tiara again.
“Oh, yes. However, Mother says we should do quite well now that we have our voucher for Almack’s.” Grace intertwined her fingers with her sister’s. “There are so few twins that the novelty must be to our advantage.”
“I am sure it will be,” Mrs. Stedman assured them.
Victoria clamped her mouth shut to prevent a yawn from escaping. The simple pearls she wore suited her, and she’d never really had a desire for expensive jewelry. Certainly, Mrs. Stedman’s tiara was beautiful and finely crafted of silver filigree and exquisite diamonds, but she would rather wear the silver ribbon threaded through her hair than suffer a headache all evening.
“Have you been to Hyde Park?” Victoria asked, shifting the conversation away from rich husbands and the expensive gifts one might wrest from them.
“Of course!” Grace and Maud answered simultaneously. They looked at each other.
Grace giggled.
Even Maud’s frown disappeared for a moment, and she pressed her gloved hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “We walk there nearly every night, and we meet so many of our friends. And there are so many dashing men driving their curricles—it is all so very exciting.”
“The Serpentine is very lovely this time of year, too,” Mrs. Stedman agreed.
Before Victoria could respond, there was movement by the door. Anticipating that the butler might be preparing to announce supper, she stood. The other ladies hastily imitated her, and Mrs. Stedman took a step toward the door.
“Ah, there you are, Wickson!” Sir Arnold called as he strode forward, pulling off his glove to shake hands with the new arrival. “Almost gave up on you. Hope you managed to drag a few of your friends along with you. We are overflowing with ladies.” He chuckled and slapped Wickson on the shoulder while he pumped his right hand. “We are fortunate, of course, to have an overabundance of the fair sex, but I doubt they’d agree about it being fortunate.”
“Right, right.” Wickson grinned in response. “Did my poor best, of course. Can’t let the ladies down, can we?” He sidled around Sir Arnold and waved at someone behind him. “Short notice and whatnot, but you know Archer, eh? Oxford and all.”
“Of course!” Sir Arnold beamed. “Excellent!”
Here? Mr. Archer is here? Reaching out to grip the back of the sofa, Victoria’s breathing stopped. Her eyes searched the doorway, desperate to see him.
Sir Arnold’s wide figure blocked her view. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Finally, her host moved.
John Archer stood framed by the doorway. His handsome face was pale, but he held himself upright and at ease, as if he’d never suffered a scratch. While he wasn’t as tall as Sir Arnold, there was something about his wiry figure that suggested a latent strength and alertness that made her heart hammer in her chest. Even his pallor couldn’t take away from the unsettling sense of danger that surrounded
his black-clad form. He stood as straight as a fine blade of steel next to the plump form of his friend, Mr. Wickson.
As if aware of her, he glanced around the room. His gaze caught hers, and she felt herself flush, her entire body vibrating. Without realizing it, she’d released the back of the sofa and taken a step forward.
Then, with a sudden sinking feeling, she looked at Lord Taggert. Tension filled the room—at least it seemed that way. Her chest ached, but she couldn’t seem to breathe. Even the smallest movement seemed likely to start the duel anew.
Then she realized that her parents were still chuckling over something Mr. Fitton had said. Mrs. Stedman, the Misses Owsley, and Miss Jacobs were smiling politely, oblivious to the dark undercurrents.
Only Miss Urick appeared tense and pale, her hands gripping the back of the chair where she’d been sitting, and her gaze bouncing between her brother and Mr. Archer.
“Ah, Archer!” Sir Arnold said. “Wonderful to see you again! Looking well.” He clapped him on the back, oblivious to Mr. Archer’s wince and step backward.
His face grew grayer, but he smiled and murmured something to Sir Arnold that made their host chuckle again and pump his hand even more vigorously. Victoria took another step forward, her gloved hands clasped so tightly at her waist that her fingers ached.
Sir Arnold guided the two men towards the group standing near the bow window. Directly in front of the dark green brocade draperies stood Lord Taggert, his gaze fixed on his host and the new guests. Although he appeared calm, he didn’t smile in greeting and turned away without shaking Mr. Archer’s hand.
Her gaze fluttered to her parents. Thankfully, her father didn’t appear to notice the exchange, although Lady Longmoor frowned, standing at his side. Lord Longmoor pumped Mr. Archer’s hand vigorously and drew him into the small cluster of guests nearby.
At least Lord Taggert had not made a greater show of his displeasure, though Mr. Wickson was clearly awkward around the taller man. Before Victoria mastered her conflicting emotions, Sir Arnold brought Mr. Archer and Mr. Wickson over to the ladies.
The twins giggled and used their silk fans to cool their flushed cheeks as they curtseyed during the introductions. Next to Victoria, Mrs. Stedman nodded and remained coolly polite. Victoria wished she could maintain such a calm demeanor, but to her dismay, she felt her cheeks color when Mr. Archer turned to her.
“How do you do, Lady Victoria?” he asked, his brown eyes glimmering with warmth before he bowed over her gloved hand.
“Very well, thank you.” She pressed his fingers with concern. “How are you faring?”
“Well enough.” He chuckled, but he kept his gaze fixed on her face instead of glancing at Lord Taggert as she half expected. The spicy, almost clove-like scent of bay, blown on a sea breeze, clung to him, enveloping her with the enticingly male fragrance.
She was tall for a woman, but he was a few inches taller, perfectly suiting her. She had no need to strain her neck to look up, or feel that sense of embarrassment she experienced when looking down at a shorter man.
His cheekbones were more hollow than usual, and there were faint black circles under his brown eyes. The marks only made him seem more dangerous and masculine. Her heart thudded in her chest as he took a step closer, grinning warmly.
A blush heated her cheeks again as an answering smile tugged at her mouth. While he gently held her right hand, her left rose involuntarily to her neck. She tugged one of the carefully arranged curls before she realized what she was doing and dropped her hand, feeling breathless.
“You are looking very elegant tonight, Lady Victoria,” he murmured. “A silver lily shining amongst the daisies.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Archer.”
“The truth is never flattery,” he replied. “I am pleased to see you here. I had not known who might have been invited when I agreed to help Mr. Wickson make up the numbers.” He looked around and chuckled. “Though we are still unevenly matched.”
Hearing the last remark, Sir Arnold turned away from his conversation with the Misses Owsley to say, “Indeed. I relied on Wickson to even us out, but we are still nine lovely ladies to a mere seven gentlemen. But we’ll make do, won’t we?” He laughed again and moved to slap Mr. Archer on the back.
Fortunately, Mr. Wickson, seeing the movement, stepped forward just in time to suffer a jolt that made his protuberant eyes bulge even further.
“Did my best, Sir Arnold. Couldn’t find another soul without a previous engagement. Why, I had to drag Archer right out of old Charon’s grasp before he could ferry him across the river Styx, truth be told. Not the liveliest soul, but he should do for the evening,” Mr. Wickson said, eyeing Miss Grace with a grin.
Grace glanced at him, blushed prettily, and demurely lowered her gaze. A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she reached over and gave her sister’s hand a squeeze.
Chuckling, Sir Arnold gave Wickson’s shoulder another hearty slap. “Well, it won’t be long before we put on the old feedbag. I daresay he’ll get a bit of color back when he’s had a taste of my cook’s stewed beef steaks—they’re a wonder.” His gaze drifted to a point above Wickson’s shoulder as he sank into a pleasant reverie. “I peeked in the pot. He’s got them stewing in a rich bone broth under a lovely slab of smoky bacon and seasoned with a bit of cayenne pepper, shallots, thyme, and parsley.” He licked his plump lower lip. “Cook caught me at it, though, and slapped the lid down before I could extract even one tender morsel. I tell you, I shouldn’t mind doing a bit of cooking, myself, if that devil of a cook would leave me alone for a few hours.” Smiling at Mr. Archer, he nodded. “And you won’t go away hungry from any table set by Sir Arnold, sir. So, you’ve come to the right place if your aim is to recover, Mr. Archer. We’ll have you in the pink of health before you leave, see if we don’t.”
Close to Sir Arnold, Victoria noticed the faint odor of chicken clinging to him, making her wonder if they were to have fowl, as well as stewed beef, for supper.
Releasing Victoria’s fingers, Mr. Archer nodded to Sir Arnold, chuckling at his enthusiasm. “Then I am honored, indeed, Sir Arnold, to be a guest at your table.”
Now that he had introduced his hobby horse, Sir Arnold seemed determined to ride it to the finish with tales of glorious past meals and successful hunts that led to even more astounding repasts. By the time the butler announced that supper was served, Victoria’s stomach wasn’t the only one gurgling.
Sir Arnold could probably make shoe leather sound enticing, she thought, grinning. In truth, he could probably make old shoe leather enticing. He seemed completely fascinated with the art of cookery and the various herbs that went into it.
As they arranged themselves to make their way to the dining room, her parents gave her a satisfied smile at seeing her standing near their host. Reminded of the list, she couldn’t help the wry thought that if she married Sir Arnold, she’d weigh twice as much as she did now within the first year.
Unfortunately, even the presence of her parents couldn’t prevent her gaze from drifting to Mr. Archer as they paraded out of the room according to rank.
Next to her, Mrs. Stedman rubbed her temple again as she waited for her escort to offer his arm. When she caught Victoria’s gaze, she smiled and shook her head. Clearly, her headdress was still bothering her, and Victoria gave her a sympathetic glance, knowing how sick such a headache could make one.
The dinner, which began with mock turtle soup, removed with a savory haunch of lamb with a deliciously cooling cucumber sauce, and then slowly moved to the beef steak described by Sir Arnold. The dishes were just as scrumptious as their host had promised, redolent with herbs and buttery sauces.
Unfortunately, Mr. Archer sat several seats away on Victoria’s side of the table, so it was impossible to speak to or even see him. Preferring the old-fashioned style of seating all the men at the lower end of the table and the ladies at the upper, Miss Grisdale sat opposite Victoria, while Mrs. Grisdale was on her r
ight and Miss Maud Owsley on her left.
Maud was not a strong conversationalist, though she politely—and monosyllabically—answered any remarks addressed to her. Neither of the Grisdale ladies seemed very talkative, either. So, Victoria was left mostly with her own thoughts and plate after plate of exceedingly delicious food, accompanied by warm, soft buns smelling of yeast and melting butter.
When the time came for the ladies to leave the gentlemen to their port, Victoria wasn’t surprised to find that she felt overstuffed and drowsy as they filed up the staircase to the first floor drawing room again. Now that she knew Mr. Archer was alive and on the mend, her relief left her feeling wrung out and as limp as a damp linen towel.
She was surprised, however, that the party was as harmonious as it was. Lord Taggert seemed to have remarkable control over his emotions. It couldn’t have been easy for him to see Mr. Archer enjoying himself so soon after their duel. She could only imagine what had gone on in the dining room when the door had closed after the last woman left.
A new, grudging sense of respect for Lord Taggert grew in Victoria during their long supper. Perhaps she had dismissed him too lightly. He had been very polite and kind during the evening, at one point noticing Mrs. Stedman’s tiara and her discomfort. He even went so far as to offer Mrs. Stedman a drink of brandy in hopes of relieving her headache.
Still, Mr. Archer was alive, and she was inescapably drawn to him. She couldn’t imagine settling for one of the others, even the pleasant Sir Arnold.
Around her, Miss Urick and Miss Jacobs wandered over to the pianoforte in the corner of the room, while the rest of the ladies took seats once again near the fire that some maid had thoughtfully lit while the guests dined. Ever the gracious hostess, Mrs. Stedman worked diligently to engage everyone in conversation. Including Mrs. Grisdale and even the shy Miss Grisdale, she described some of the plays they might expect to attend, as well as other entertainments.
Despite her efforts, however, it was clear to Victoria from Mrs. Stedman’s pale skin that her headache was growing worse. Before she could suggest to her suffering hostess that she retire upstairs to remove the diamond filigree tiara, the men burst noisily into the room, chuckling over some joke.
