"That might be best," he acceded with a slow nod of his head.
"Now, let us join the others, Sir Samuel, and pretend we have not just cast ourselves into the briars."
If only Sherwin did not need to attend a party every night. His life was becoming tiresome, indeed. The evenings of leisure reading were gone, and he wasn't sure he'd see them again for a very long time.
This ball, soiree, rout-whatever they called this type of gathering-he spent dancing and "in conversation" with various young ladies.
"What a disaster!" Miss Torrington proclaimed for the fifth time in the scant ten-minute interval she and Sherwin had stood together. "Do you not think so?"
Sherwin inhaled before making a noncommittal reply but did not have the chance to utter an answer before Miss Torrington continued. "I wonder who started it? I'm sure it was some caper-witted gudgeon. Don't you think?"
Sherwin wasn't sure how he'd-
"Do you not know, my lord? Were you not present when it happened? Not watching from the side but among the dancers themselves, I daresay."
If he had to listen to another person speak of the mishap from the previous evening, Sherwin would ... He wasn't quite sure what would happen, but he felt certain it would be nothing less than scandalous.
"Have I complimented you on your gown this evening?" He offered up one of the standard compliments his mother had given him to use on an occasion such as this. He could not say why young ladies seemed to take his remarks to heart and go on and on about the pains they had endured to achieve their appearance.
"Why, no, you have not." Miss Torrington lowered her gaze. "I thank you for taking notice."
He hadn't noticed anything. Sherwin could not make out any details of her gown, only that it was pale in color-white, if he had to guess. And he prayed that she would not ask if any accessory she wore matched her eyes. He could not distinguish their color.
"It takes some talent to make allowable alterations to a `white gown,' because you must know that every young lady must wear white during her first Season, but they can be so dull, don't you think?" Miss Torrington continued. "The changes must be very subtle: a soft flourish here, a small, pale ruffle there, a bit of trimming to embellish one's hem or draw attention to one's neckline."
And men were supposed to notice these things?
"A young lady attending her first Season must compete with other young ladies out for their second or third Season who wear colors that are much more expressive. Just as gentlemen have the distinct advantage of wearing various patterns and prints on their jackets and waistcoats."
Sherwin's hands moved to the cloth-covered buttons of his jacket, but the two appendages alone could not prevent her from turning her scrutinizing eye toward him.
"As for you . . ." Miss Torrington tilted her head in his direction. "Your lordship is a very practical man, I'd say. You have minimal but tasteful accessories. The bold pattern of your waistcoat and deep color of your jacket show maturity. They are the work of a fine tailor. Your cravat was obviously sculpted by a competent valet." She smiled, seemingly pleased with him. "You, Lord Amhurst, are one finely dressed, very serious gentleman."
Miss Torrington could assess his character by what he wore?
Sherwin tugged his cravat, which felt as if it was constricting his neck. Then he glanced to the other gentlemen in a halfhearted attempt to assess their appearance as Miss Torrington had his, but he could not see them clearly.
His mother had shopped, chosen, and purchased every item he wore. The "maturity" of which Miss Torrington spoke was his mother's, not his. Lady Amhurst had always taken exceptional pains with his appearance. She must have known exactly what she was doing and what image she wanted him to present.
His companion's observation made him very uncomfortable. Sherwin had no notion that he had been on display while he attended these functions.
The idea of it did not appeal to him at all.
Sir Samuel bid Muriel farewell after their tete-a-tete. He had plans to attend a musical soiree that evening. Muriel then retreated into the small parlor with her aunt, where she did not remain long. Aunt Penny advised her niece that she should be off to bed and acquire the sleep she so sorely lacked.
Upon entering her bedchamber, Muriel found Lydia laying out a night rail and wrapper, preparations for the night.
Lydia turned toward the door. "Is there something you need, Lady Muriel?"
"I believe I am ready to retire for the evening," Muriel informed her abigail.
"It's still very early." But Lydia hurried to close the bedchamber door.
"Aunt Penny bid me to do so, and I must confess, I have been excessively fatigued of late." Muriel stood with her back toward Lydia, ready to be divested of her frock. "I believe my aunt is right: the extra rest shall do me good."
"She and Mrs. Wilbanks have been concerned that you might be attending too many parties." Lydia unfastened the tapes, removed the garment, and laid it over a chair. She retrieved the night rail and slipped it over Muriel's head, allowing it to hang free. "I confess, I might have to agree with her."
"I hate to overly worry her about such things." Muriel sat at her dressing table. "I think an early night will be just the thing to set me to rights."
Lydia agreed. The abigail stood behind her and brushed her long, dark hair and asked about Muriel's beaus and whom she favored and if she thought he might come up to scratch. She inquired after Miss Wilbanks' suitors as well, saying, "Oh, that Mr. Stanley is a great favorite of hers, is he not? And so handsome too."
Muriel made a noncommittal reply.
Muriel's braided hair lay upon her shoulder. Lydia helped Muriel into bed, pulled the covers around her chin, and bid her a good night's sleep.
"Remember, Lydia, I plan to sleep until well after noon." Muriel was sure to remind her. "I shall ring for you when I wake."
Muriel may have gone to bed early, but she was far from falling asleep. She lay still, but her mind was busy pondering the tasks ahead of her. She needed to retrieve the dress, bonnet, shoes, and plain, serviceable cloak she'd hidden. There were notes, paper, pencils, and books already secured in her satchel, which she did not wish to forget. All would need to be placed somewhere quickly accessible so she should not fumble about in the dark early in the morning.
After waiting a good half hour, she drew the covers away, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slid to the floor, and went to work. She needed to make her preparations to leave down the back stairs and out a side door early the next morning. Above all it was important she keep very quiet.
As she had planned the night before, Muriel readied herself for travel, donning her plain bonnet and cloak just after sunrise the next morning. Under her arm she carried the satchel containing her notes, extra paper, pencils, and books she would need.
Slipping out of Worth House, she followed the few handwritten directions on Sir Samuel's map. His aunt's town house was not far, well within walking distance. Soon, Muriel stopped before an ivy-covered portal and used the key he'd given her. Pushing open the large iron gate, she stepped inside, off the main street, and latched it behind her.
The dim morning light hardly illuminated the garden. From what she could tell, it looked like a veritable jungle. Not five minutes had passed before a small black carriage rolled to a stop in the street. It was Sir Samuel, come to relay her to Signore Biondi's.
With the aid of the Baronet, Muriel entered the vehicle and settled on the bench seat across from Sir Samuel.
"Let us be off." Sir Samuel glared at her from his side of the interior. With a quick double tap to the roof, the carriage sprang into motion. "This is most improper, Muriel. I cannot see how His Grace could condone our actions."
"I'm not asking for his blessing." Muriel placed her satchel next to her. "I trust you implicitly. I know you shan't allow any harm to come to me, chaperoned or not."
"That is quite true. Would it be wiser to have your brother, Freddie-"
"No." Muriel
didn't expect Sir Samuel to understand. "He and Papa are thick as thieves and cannot be trusted. You are the only one whom I can depend upon."
It was clear Sir Samuel was not particularly pleased with her-further proof he might as well have been her brother. If not by blood, then she would claim their relation stemmed from their mutually disagreeable opinions.
For most of the hour during her session, Signore Biondi sat behind his massive, ornately carved wooden desk. Muriel would not have been surprised to discover it originated from the time of the Italian Renaissance. He kept his head lowered, focused on a pad of paper before him. She might have suspected he was ignoring her except for the few times he raised his index finger and corrected her pronunciation.
Muriel was then obliged to stop and repeat the phrase. A rustle of movement coming from the doorway distracted her.
"Si, Giorgio, grazier" The Latin tutor glanced over his narrow, wire-rimmed glasses, acknowledging the intruder with a nod.
Muriel finished reading the last sentence aloud and then faced her tutor.
He did not look up but kept working a pencil. Had Signore Biondi been taking notes? Had he been making so many comments on her errors today, it took him much longer to finish writing them out?
"Enough, Signorina. Well done." He set whatever he'd been working on aside and removed his glasses. "We shall continue next time we meet. I believe your young man has arrived to see you home."
"Thank you, Signore." Muriel closed her book and collected the papers before her. She stood and stepped out of the room. Continuing down the short hallway toward the front door where Sir Samuel waited, Muriel retrieved her cloak and bonnet.
"A successful session, I trust?" Sir Samuel greeted her.
"Yes, very." Muriel pulled on her bonnet and tied the ribbons. "I thank you for returning for me."
"I couldn't very well leave you to find your own way home." He swung his beaver hat onto his head by the brim and stood ready to depart at the doorway.
They stepped outside the modest apartment, one in a row of buildings, as it neared noon. Muriel needed to get home and crawl back into bed.
Sir Samuel took her hand to help her up the steps of his carriage. He entered after her and sat on the opposite bench. The steps were folded up, and the door closed behind them.
The vehicle moved forward, and Muriel could not keep a smile from touching her lips. "It was wonderful. I do not know how I am ever to repay you."
"You could forget this madness and be satisfied, as any other young lady, to attend the endless round of parties," he suggested without humor. "I'm quite certain that if you could form an attachment, it would delight your family to no end."
"Oh, no. I cannot do that." Muriel pulled her satchel closer, wrapping her arms around it tightly. Did Sir Samuel think he could change her mind? "Even you must own that I am not any ordinary young lady."
"I'm afraid you are correct, there." He pushed his hat to the back of his head and sighed, making him appear quite exasperated. "And I fear for Mrs. Parker and His Grace, for they are involved in a battle they cannot win."
"You make it sound as if I am a spoiled child who must have her way."
"Willful, impulsive, perhaps, but not spoiled," Sir Samuel clarified. He cleared his throat. "I find you also inquisitive and intelligent, which would not be considered a compliment to any fashionable young lady. I should receive a resounding scolding for speaking my mind, as should you."
"How amusing you are-what was that?" Muriel spied what she thought was a crumbling wall from the window. "Stop the carriage! Stop, I say!"
"What is it? Is something wrong?" Sir Samuel cried out in alarm.
The momentum of the coach began to slow, and Muriel leaped out the door before the vehicle rolled to a complete halt.
"No, look! Isn't it beautiful?" She ran toward the crumbling archway without a worry about its stability. A strand of hair escaped from under her bonnet and blew across her face; she continued without attempting to brush it aside. Once inside the structure, she stopped in her tracks. There, standing before her was the Earl of ... no.
It was Sherwin. His dark hair tousled, and wearing his wire-rimmed spectacles, he'd been examining some inscription on the wall. She'd startled him, and he turned at her sudden entrance.
They stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at each other. Motionless. Speechless. Breathless.
"I beg your pardon, Lady Muriel," he whispered. His voice sounded deeper than usual, as if laced in sleep. Then he bowed before departing as suddenly as she had arrived.
Muriel stood amid the ruins alone. She never would have thought he would be here. If she had given it some thought, of course this was a place he would wish to visit, just as she did. But why now? Why had he been here just as she arrived? The chances of them arriving at the same place at the same time ... it seemed too much of a coincidence.
Yet he could not have known she would be here. And Muriel had had no idea of Sherwin's presence before she arrived. Clearly they were alike, still very much alike, in so many ways. She supposed he truly hadn't changed that much.
No, he hadn't.
And hadn't he looked more like himself, his old self, the one Muriel remembered, when he wore his spectacles? She preferred him that way, studious and handsome. How she wished he could have remained to inspect and study the ancient walls with her. She would have so liked to have his company.
"Lady Muriel?" Sir Samuel entered from the same portal as she had. "Is there anything amiss? I saw someone running out."
"No, everything is fine." But it wasn't. Muriel's reason for visiting the site seemed to dissolve like the crumbling walls around her.
Somehow her discovery of this Roman wall wasn't as momentous as she'd first thought, once she'd realized that the opportunity of sharing it with someone who would enjoy it with her seemed more important.
Sherwin returned home in ample time to dress for the Devonshire dance practice. He now stood in the middle of his bedchamber with Lewis, going through his usual dressing ritual.
A green vest hung next to his Egyptian brown jacket, his mother's choice for this morning's gathering.
"I wish to wear the light-blue-and-white-striped silk waistcoat, Lewis." Sherwin felt the colors of the clouds and clear blue sky better suited his mood. The words had tumbled out of his mouth. What his mother might think about his voicing an opinion regarding his clothing, he wasn't certain. Making his own preferences known to his valet was tantamount to countermanding Lady Amhurst's orders.
Lewis stilled, standing motionless for several moments. For the first time Sherwin noticed that the valet had been taken aback.
"Her ladyship instructed me that you should don the green brocade," he replied in unsteady tones. "She was very insistent that you should look especially your best for this morning."
"Of course." On the whole, Sherwin had no complaints. "That's fine. Proceed." He held out his arms, allowing the valet to slip on the green vest and settle it onto his shoulders before fastening the buttons at his midsection.
His morning had started out wonderfully. Sherwin had risen early, as his mother instructed, and left the house before the rest of London woke. At that time of the morning, his barouche had rolled along the deserted streets alone. He knew where the Roman wall was located but had had no idea how to get there. Actually, Sherwin found getting around anywhere an overwhelming task.
At Eton, if it were not for the other students he could follow, he would be at a loss as to his direction. The city was no better. Sherwin was continually confused as to how he had arrived at a certain place, and he had no idea how to return from where he had come. It had always been so for him.
To make getting about worse, he did not know how to ride a horse, nor did he know how to drive a pair; thus his need for a coachman.
After Sherwin had arrived at the Roman wall, his visit had been cut short, which hadn't pleased him. Running into Muriel had been completely unexpected.
In that mo
ment they'd met in the ruin, he remembered exactly what had drawn them together: her inquisitive nature and their mutual thirst for knowledge. It had been similar to the first time they'd met. She had discovered him in her favorite chair reading her copy of Publius Vergilius Maro's Aeneid. At first Muriel had been furious that he dared touch her books, but then, when she'd realized he was reading the untranslated version, respect had replaced her anger. They had been friends ever since.
Muriel's appearance that morning had startled him, but her reaction upon seeing him had taken him completely by surprise. She had softened toward him somewhat, perhaps hating him a little less.
The sentiment had been reflected in the brief smile and sparkle in her eyes that was evident even to him. Sherwin suspected that she was unaware of the change in her own feelings, but he had to admit that he was pleased.
He could well imagine that her interest in the crumbling wall was the same as his. But what was she doing there at that hour in the morning?
After he had excused himself and left her company, he'd dallied just outside. He hadn't thought he'd reenter, but he could not quite bring himself to depart. That was before he saw a man, a young man, follow her inside.
The site had not been preserved but merely remained and, most likely, was not often visited. Sherwin was certain it hadn't meant much to most people except for him and ... perhaps Muriel.
The appearance of her companion had given Sherwin ample reason to return to his carriage. Leaving the premises, he had passed their empty, closed carriage. Despite his ineptitude in all things social, even Sherwin knew the impropriety of an unchaperoned couple using such a vehicle and could not imagine that the Duke or Muriel's aunt Mrs. Parker would have approved.
Something was not quite right.
A Grand Deception Page 6
