by A.J. Dixon
Chapter 3
Her mother’s glare could have stripped pork meat clean from its boney chop. “There you are, girl. Where have you been? You best not have been in the kitchen, sullying your reputation by mixing with the low-born staff!” She visibly reined in the tirade which bubbled closely beneath the surface of her immaculately made-up face. “Lord Davenport, our gracious host, has been asking to meet you.”
Madeline’s hand snapped out to sharply grab at Sorcha’s wrist. This time Sorcha did wince. It seemed her bruises were growing bruises of their own.
Her mother tugged her through the crowd, making a path, and soon they were in yet another room, this one boasting a large fireplace with a beautifully carved mantelpiece. A crackling fire merrily radiated warmth out to the guests. Framed pictures lined the walls, and again the crowds of people were staggering. There was the dense atmosphere of smoke from the fireplaces, musky perfume from the woman, spicy aftershaves from the men, and then floral notes from the many bouquets which were proudly displayed on tables and shelves.
Sorcha craved, with all her might, the simple aroma of fresh bread.
Madeline’s eyes lit up with triumph. She turned to the right, moving past a large china cupboard filled with elegant glassware and plates with delicate rose patterns.
Her voice sweetened with unctuous smoothness. “Here we are, Lord and Lady Davenport. I’m not sure where she had gone off to, but I have tracked her down. With your approval, let me present to you my daughter, Sorcha.”
The couple who turned was straight out of a fairy tale. The man was tall, with waves of dark hair just fringing with grey. His eyes were warm and intelligent, and his black suit fit his toned figure just right.
His wife’s dark hair was neatly coiled into a perfect bun. The golden cross at her neck glistened with rows of delicate pearls. A chain of pearls hung from each ear. Her dress was, of course, the finest Sorcha had ever seen, a work of divinity in ivory and pearl.
Lady Davenport stepped forward to take Sorcha’s hands in her own. “My darling Sorcha, it is so good to meet you at last. I have looked forward to this day. And, may I say, you are absolutely radiant tonight. What beautiful pearls you have on. They match the delicate creaminess of your skin perfectly.”
Madeline’s face warred between pride and annoyance. At last, pride won out. “Those pearls were her grandmother’s,” she purred. “The necklace was a treasured family heirloom that her grandmother specifically wanted to be placed in Sorcha’s care.”
Sorcha could still vividly remember that night, when her beloved grandmother lay on her deathbed and made that request. Her mother’s eyes had swirled with rage, but she would not go against the elderly woman’s wishes, not with the others present to witness the request. Still, Sorcha had suffered the effects of her mother’s anger for months afterward.
Lady Davenport continued to look Sorcha over appraisingly. “You must have men lining up to court you. Those red curls are simply stunning!” she continued. Her eyes twinkled. “You clearly get those gorgeous locks from that roguish sea-captain father of yours.”
The simmer grew in Madeline’s eyes. Sorcha knew that her hostess meant to be kind, but she silently pleaded for her to stop. She desperately wished that she could shrink into the size of a kitten. Perhaps she could scurry off and hide in the box with the others.
Lady Davenport looked as if she was going to continue her litany of praise for Sorcha; Madeline raised a hand to interrupt. “Just a moment …” She turned to scan the room. “Sorcha’s vanishing act has managed to distract me from something important! I haven’t offered my greetings to your two delightful children yet. Surely they are both here, especially when this is your son’s day of honor.”
Lady Davenport elegantly waved a hand toward the far side of the room. “Oh, Florentia is over there with her best friends, giggling up a storm as usual.” Her eyes creased with amusement. “I imagine you remember how you were at sixteen.”
Sorcha couldn’t envision her mother ever giggling, but she looked to follow Lady Davenport’s motion. There was no doubt as to who the hostess was referring to, and it did seem that Florentia was enjoying herself immensely. The girl was the mirror image of her mother, with large, green eyes and a wide smile. Her dress was an elegant creation of ivory and embroidery, with a white rose stuck jauntily into the curls at her brow.
The teen was standing with a pair of other girls her own age. One girl had jet-black hair and a dress shimmering with moonstones in long lines down her form. The other girl was pale blonde, delicately thin, and Sorcha could have sworn there were diamonds sewn into her dress’s wrists and waist.
The trio of girls huddled close, their faces shining with glee, and merry laughter bubbled up from the group. They were clearly delighted with the excitement of the party.
Intense longing swam through Sorcha’s heart. She had dreamed of having friends like these, friends to share stories with, to dream fantastic dreams with.
But her mother had made that impossible.
Looking over at the joyful girls, Sorcha wished with all her heart that she could join them.
Lord Davenport put a fond arm around his wife’s waist. “It won’t be long before some handsome lad sweeps Florentia up and takes her away from us.”
Lady Davenport smiled gently at him. “Only if he truly loves her,” she murmured. “Our Florentia deserves all the joy in the world.”
She looked over at Madeline. “Speaking of which, how is your adventurous husband? You must be so proud of him! Is he off sailing the high seas? Exploring distant ports and keeping all of England safe from harm?”
A tightness came to Madeline’s delicate features. “Yes, my husband shoulders great responsibilities,” she agreed. “But soon, very soon, he will be able to retire from those onerous duties and return safely home to us, where he belongs.”
Lady Davenport nodded with understanding. “My dear, you must miss him greatly when he’s gone.”
Sorcha blinked. It had never occurred to her that her mother might miss her father as much as she did. Her mother never seemed to notice when her father was away on his travels. She simply locked herself in her study, carefully administering the ritual of lumpy unguents, foul-smelling lotions, and who knew what other concoctions in a desperate attempt to preserve her beauty.
Madeline’s eyes had shadowed. “Miss him …,” she muttered. She turned, looking out over the crowd. She brought brightness back to her tone with visible effort. “And where is your other child?
Lady Davenport took the hint with well-practiced smoothness. She smiled and turned her own head. She carefully swung her gaze across the wavering, changing sea of well-dressed guests and attentive servants.
“Ah, where is that boy? He is always off exploring and roaming. I have to admit, these elegant evening parties just aren’t his favorite place to be. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had escaped all-together, on some sort of a wild pretense.”
Lord Davenport gave his wife a fond squeeze. “I’m sure he’ll be here, my darling. He knows how important tonight is for us. If for no other reason, his love for his family means he’ll be by our side.”
“Of course he will,” agreed Lady Davenport. “We just have to see if … oh! Here he is!”
She smiled with rich affection, raising her voice to call out over the bubbling conversation.
“Dearest Jonathan, please come and join us. We have special visitors all the way from Scotland. They’ve made this long journey solely to help us celebrate your birthday.”
Sorcha looked up – and stopped.
Walking toward them, in an elegant black evening suit, his amber eyes delving into her soul, was Johnny.
