She was running out of time. Adam would not wish to spend another Season sponsoring her, and she had no wish to be alone all her life. Without Harry to help her . . . But Athena didn’t allow the thought to continue. Harry, apparently, had not helped her.
“You appear to be rather deep in thought.” Mr. Dalforth’s voice snapped Athena from her state of reflection. Around her, the audience was loudly conversing—even more loudly than they generally did during the performance—indicating that Athena’s inattention had been so complete she had not even noticed the start of the first intermission.
“I suppose I was wool gathering,” Athena acknowledged, trying to keep her tone light.
“You have seemed a bit distracted the last few days.” His words were hesitant and his look a little wary, almost as if he was unsure he wanted to hear her reasons.
Had Harry been asking, Athena would have told him everything. Confiding in Harry came easily, naturally. There was never any worry of censure or dismissal from him. Not that Mr. Dalforth was ever unkind. He simply didn’t inspire the same level of trust that Harry did, or had. She was so confused. Trust had always been the feeling she’d associated most with Harry, and he had betrayed her, had deceived her for weeks. But—drat the man—despite it all, she wished he was there.
“The general consensus seems to be that it will snow by morning,” Mr. Dalforth said as if he were continuing some previous thread of conversation. Athena realized she hadn’t really been listening and devoted herself to paying closer attention. “So perhaps tea would be the better option after all.”
Her confusion must have shown. Mr. Dalforth smiled at her, perhaps a little chagrined. “As the weather is likely to be uncooperative tomorrow, I was suggesting we forgo our scheduled ride in the park and remain at Falstone House to take tea with your sister, should she agree.”
“That is probably wise,” Athena acknowledged.
Mr. Dalforth had driven her out thrice since Harry had left London and a handful of times before then. He danced with her at each ball, though never more than once. As he was at that moment, Mr. Dalforth was also certain to pay his respects whenever they were in attendance at the same function. “Pointed” she had overheard a dowager refer to the attention Athena was receiving from Mr. Dalforth. “Promising” was another descriptor used.
Based on the evaluation of curious onlookers, there was a very real possibility that Mr. Dalforth was courting her. Indeed, the more she thought on it, the more certain Athena became. Shouldn’t a young lady who is being courted realize as much? It certainly ought not to come as an epiphanic insight several weeks after the fact.
Athena looked more closely at Mr. Dalforth as he consulted Persephone on the change of plans for the next afternoon. Somehow she had imagined a far more noticeable reaction to a gentleman who was courting her. She had fully believed that her heart would warm at the sight of her would-be suitor, that she would be inexplicably pleased to have him nearby, would perhaps even feel a flip of her heart upon seeing him after even a short separation. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d come into their box. And, at the moment, she had absolutely no idea what he was saying.
Athena paid more attention the rest of the evening. Mr. Dalforth remained in their box until the second intermission. Her heart did not misbehave, and she found she was not overly disappointed when he took his leave. Mr. Dalforth was a very kind, intelligent, and conversant gentleman. He was not ridiculously conceited nor did he possess a dragon of a mother. He had all the qualities she had already decided she desired in a future husband, including those she had added after Harry’s eventually disastrous involvement in her Little Season.
But it did not feel like enough. There was no spark, no rush of emotion between them. A gentleman did not pay a lady so much obvious and public attention as she had been receiving from Mr. Dalforth unless he was either a relative or intending to marry her. When she had made her bows to society, Athena had hoped she would receive an offer before her Season was over. That outcome suddenly seemed imminent. But rather than feeling relieved or excited or happy, Athena felt very nearly panicked.
* * *
“Hiding in the rhododendrons, Harry?” Jane was laughing, probably at him.
Harry looked up from his seat on a bench in the garden and smiled at his sister. She had the same blue eyes he did, eyes that, at that moment, appeared to be full of amusement. “I was hoping to avoid my gossip-loving sister,” Harry answered, shifting his look into one of feigned worry. “I have feared for my constitution from the moment I arrived, knowing she would harangue me for all the latest on dits and that the undertaking would require several hours at the least. I am not certain I have the stamina.” Harry managed an exaggerated sigh.
“That sister will catch up with you eventually,” Jane replied.
“And which sister has cornered me just now?” Harry asked, laughing a little.
“The one who is wondering what brought her usually cheerful brother up from Town when the Duke of Kielder is still in London,” Jane answered. “That has not happened since Claudius was born.”
“Well, the rest of your children had the decency to make their debut when I was at Falstone Castle,” Harry answered. “Perhaps I came in anticipation of this one,” Harry motioned slightly with his head toward the very obvious roundness of his sister’s figure.
Jane shook her head, still smiling in amusement. “You know very well this child will not arrive until the new year. No, it is not that which has brought you to Lincolnshire.” She looked at him speculatively. Harry attempted to look entirely at his ease. “Has His Grace finally decided to do away with you?”
Harry had to laugh, just as Jane did. She had been frightened beyond bearing when she’d first met Adam. He had been ten years old at the time. Jane had been twelve. Adam had already gained a reputation for being fearsome, and he had long since perfected his ducal air. Adam had spent the Christmas holiday with Harry’s aunt and uncle in Scotland. By the end of the visit, Jane was referring to Adam—though not in his presence—as a “tortured soul,” and while she was certainly not unintimidated by him, she had decided Adam was not on the verge of murdering her brother. After a few more years passed without word of Harry’s untimely death, Jane became less concerned, even joking about the potential for a violent end to Harry and Adam’s unexpected friendship.
“Did you . . .” Jane looked a little uncomfortable but, being the unsympathetic sister she often was, pressed on regardless. “Did you run out of money? You were in Town longer than usual, and I know how expensive London can be.”
“No,” Harry reassured her, squeezing her hand where it rested on the bench. Jane knew better than anyone, except perhaps for Adam, how dire Harry’s circumstances really were. If Jane’s husband hadn’t fallen top-over-tail in love with Harry’s sometimes-flighty sister after a nearly disastrous courtship the summer Jane had spent in Bath as a hired companion, Jane would yet be fetching wraps and tea for some curmudgeonly old lady or another. The estate could not support one gentleman, let alone a lady in addition. “I was particularly careful.” He knew Jane needed to have her mind set at ease on that score. She often expressed a wish to help, an impossible thing, considering the ever-increasing size of their family coupled with her husband’s modest income contrasted against the enormity of the Windover estate’s needs. “And Adam saw to it that I ate regularly.”
“You know, for an ogre, he is remarkably thoughtful,” Jane replied, the twinkle in her eyes evident once again.
“Yes, he is a very well-mannered monster.”
“So if the Dastardly Duke didn’t drive you from London and your creditors aren’t up in arms, that leaves only one possibility.” Jane shrugged dramatically.
“And what is that?” Harry asked with a grin.
She lowered her voice to a whisper, her eyes growing wide. Jane was nothing if not theatrical. “You have run afoul of the most viciously vengeful of all the gods.”
Harry matched her dramatic
whisper. “Is that not a rather pagan thing to say within throwing distance of a church?”
“It is not throwing distance if one is throwing something heavy enough,” she answered.
“Ah. Proceed.”
They had ever been like that, playing off each other and going to great lengths to try to get the other to laugh.
“I don’t remember what I was saying,” Jane answered in her unwaveringly serious whisper.
“The god I have offended,” Harry hinted.
“Ah, yes. The god of—” She looked around, darting her eyes as if searching for an enemy army about to descend upon them. “Love.”
“You believe a lady has driven me from London?” Harry managed to smile as if it were humorous.
“Ah!” It was a look of epiphany if Harry had ever seen one. “I believe I have hit upon it.”
Jane knew him too well. Harry sighed and shook his head in defeat, though with a smile. One couldn’t help smiling with Jane. Athena had the same effect on him, though Harry appreciated that she had a more serious side. He often wondered how Jane’s husband put up with her constant teasing and joking. Harry was not so lacking in self-awareness not to realize he was a great deal like his sister. He also understood that he would never endure being married to someone precisely like himself.
“What is the lady’s name?” Jane asked, far too much excitement in her voice.
“Apparently you believe I left my wits in London as well as my heart.” Harry chuckled. He would never tell his sister the source of his heartache. She would most likely do something entirely disastrous, like write to Athena directly. Jane was enthusiastic but did not always think things through very well.
“You don’t wish to tell me?” Jane asked. “Why ever not? She’s not married is she?”
“Of course she’s not married.” Harry rolled his eyes.
“Thank the heavens!” But Jane’s tone was so exaggerated that Harry did not take her seriously for one moment. “For then I would have been forced to preach to you—we are within throwing distance of a church, after all—and I do not enjoy moralizing to my brother.”
Harry laughed again. “So now that the subject of my moral fortitude has been put to rest, might we move on?”
“Oh, but we have not at all settled the issue of your bleeding heart.”
“Very dramatically put, sister,” Harry said.
“Thank you.” She offered something of a curtsy, which was impressive considering she was both sitting and largely expectant. “Was the lady not interested then? Or ineligible?”
“I do not know that she was interested,” Harry answered, the admission painful. “It hardly mattered, however, as I was considered extremely ineligible.”
“Ineligible how?” Jane demanded. She ever had been extremely protective of Harry, much like a mother hen with her chick.
“Her guardian is quite specifically opposed to fortune hunters,” Harry admitted.
“You would never marry someone simply for her dowry,” Jane defended.
“But the fact remains, Jane, that I have a dilapidated estate and almost no income. And she—”
“No doubt, has an enormous dowry,” Jane finished for him.
“Almost vulgarly enormous,” Harry conceded. “The discrepancy alone labels me a fortune hunter.”
“And so you simply gave up?” It was something of a scold. Harry couldn’t blame her for thinking so. She was not aware of how long he’d held on to such a hopeless wish.
Harry looked away from his sister, his eyes sliding over the garden, though not seeing anything in particular. “I could not bear it any longer,” he said.
Jane was silent beside him. After a moment she spoke, her tone soft and gentle. “You care a great deal for her, I daresay.”
“I cannot imagine ever loving anyone else.” It was nothing but the truth, though he’d never spoken his feelings out loud before.
“Oh, Harry.” He felt Jane squeeze his hand.
The discussion had grown too serious for Harry’s taste. He had left London to escape heaviness and depression. “So I have come here to be pummeled by your unscrupulous offspring.”
“I am certain they will oblige you with fervor,” Jane replied, obviously catching on to the hint in his forced-jovial tone. “I could even provide them with sticks and such.”
“Weaponry will be unnecessary.”
He helped her to her feet, and they walked back toward the house in silence. Being with Jane’s family would help, to a degree. With four young children, there would be ample distraction. But seeing her loving and growing family would only serve as a reminder of what Harry would never have. And he had discovered nearly a year earlier that nothing ever entirely pushed thoughts of Athena from his mind.
Chapter 19
Adam had quite adamantly refused to join Persephone and Athena for tea, despite knowing Mr. Dalforth was expected. His visit had been discussed that morning over breakfast.
“Suppose Mr. Dalforth wishes to speak with you,” Persephone had said rather urgently.
“Then you can give him directions,” Adam had replied. “I will be in my book room. I have absolutely no intention of altering my schedule for something as mundane as an afternoon tea.”
Athena had instantly stiffened. Adam disliked everything that was essential to her having a Season. She could not expect him to endure a second round. She would simply have to accept any offer that was forthcoming if she wished to make a match.
“Mundane?” Persephone had replied. “And suppose Mr. Dalforth is coming with every intention of whispering passionate words of love to me?”
“I would shoot him through his black heart,” Adam had answered with every appearance of seriousness. “And then return to my book room.”
“It is a very good thing Mr. Dalforth’s attention is quite universally directed toward Athena,” Persephone had answered. Their exchange had shifted from a little tense to playful so quickly that Athena was at a loss to explain when the change had occurred.
“For both of you,” Adam had confirmed.
“Both of us?”
“After putting a ball through Mr. Dalforth’s chest, I would have found it necessary to lock you in the West Tower of Falstone Castle,” Adam explained, eating his breakfast as though nothing untoward was being discussed.
“The one overlooking the gibbet?” Persephone had smiled as she’d asked the question to which she quite obviously knew the answer.
“To discourage any would-be suitors, my dear,” Adam had answered. “You are, it seems, far too tempting for your own good if any man would even consider crossing me in his desperation to secure your affections.”
“And it does not say much for this hypothetical gentleman’s powers of observation,” Persephone had added. “That my affections are not obtainable by anyone other than my husband should be obvious to even the thickest of individuals.”
Adam gave Persephone a look that made Athena blush, though she was still at a loss to say precisely why. Persephone, Athena had noticed, was blushing as well. Adam had that effect on his wife.
Athena did not believe Mr. Dalforth had ever brought a blush to her cheeks. Harry had on more than one occasion—a look, the tone of his voice, that time he had held her hand in the theater. Athena felt her face heat at the reminder. Not only had she blushed but her heart had pounded and raced. It was the sort of reaction she ought to have been having to Mr. Dalforth if he was, indeed, to be her future husband.
A speeding pulse and a flushed countenance had always been part of her imagined courtship. When the butler announced Mr. Dalforth, Athena concentrated on her reaction, ready to analyze every minute change. Except there was no change. Athena had absolutely no discernible reaction to him. It was a depressing realization. She was conceivably on the verge of receiving an offer from a gentleman she was little better than indifferent to.
The tea was interminable. The excellent food provided by Adam’s highly skilled chef tasted vaguely like air and w
ater, tasteless and unnoticed. Athena tried to calm the almost frantic pulse pounding in her head. How had she come to be in such a situation? What was she going to do about it? She had difficulty imagining herself married to Mr. Dalforth, but what other prospects did she have?
“Might we take a turn about the garden?” Mr. Dalforth requested after the nerve-racking tea had been consumed.
Persephone gave her approval of the suggestion, though Athena thought she seemed reluctant. Why was that? Or had Athena imagined the hesitation?
She and Mr. Dalforth walked to the garden in what felt to Athena to be a very awkward silence. He seemed uneasy, nervous even. Could he be planning to propose?
Oh, please no, Athena silently thought, her panic increasing by the moment. She had not sorted out the situation, had not determined what to do. Could she accept Mr. Dalforth’s offer knowing her heart was not involved? Could she refuse him knowing their engagement was talked of openly in society as an inevitable thing? Her reputation would suffer. And there was no guarantee she would ever receive another offer, as she was not at all certain Adam would allow her another Season.
“Miss Lancaster,” Mr. Dalforth began.
Athena tried to take deeper breaths, though her lungs seemed determined to deprive her of air.
“I have grown fond of you these past weeks,” he continued.
Fond. The word was monumentally disappointing. Athena, it seemed, was not the only one of them who was not in love. What a disaster!
“I realize that my attention could not possibly have gone unnoted, and I am aware that many in society have begun speculating as to my intentions and your expectations.”
It was not very romantic as proposals went. Was nothing about this destined to match what she had always anticipated?
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