by Rose Pearson
Wandering forward so that he would not be seen to be standing by himself all over again, Oliver grabbed a glass of brandy from one of the footmen and made his way to the shadowy corners of the room. How he wished he had made the decision to stay away from Lord Burton’s gathering and had gone to Whites as he had wished! Now that he was here, he could not easily escape and leave for the gentleman’s club. He would have to endure another hour or so before he might finally have the opportunity to depart. And endure he would, even if it meant staying precisely where he was and not conversing with anyone else.
Chapter Five
“That was a wonderful performance.”
Oliver nodded slowly as the gentleman beside him commented on Lady Amelia’s performance at the pianoforte. He had come to sit down with the rest of the guests so that they might pay rapt attention to those who came to either play or sing for the gathered crowd, wondering just how long he might have to stay before he could leave altogether.
And then, Lady Amelia had come to sit down by the pianoforte, and everything had changed. Her voice had captured his full attention, the gentleness of her song pushing away his frustration, his anger, and his upset, and leaving, in their place, a quiet peace he could not seem to push from himself.
“Oh, it appears she is to sing another!” said the gentleman, although this time he spoke to the gentleman beside him. “Who would have thought a cripple would be able to perform in such a way?”
Much to Oliver’s surprise, a streak of anger ran straight up his spine and sent his hands curling into fists. There was no need for him to feel any sort of anger given Lady Amelia was, as this gentleman had said, a cripple. But he had never once considered that her limp would prevent her from playing the pianoforte and singing for the audience. He heard the two gentlemen laugh darkly, hearing fragments of remarks that came from the one sitting a little further away and felt his anger beginning to burn all the more. He could not understand himself, could not explain why he felt so much anger when he himself would have made such a remark had he been in different company.
“Just a final piece,” he heard someone say to Lady Amelia, looking back at her to see Lady Amelia blushing profusely, her cheeks a bright pink and her eyes darting all over the place, clearly a little awkward. “What say you to this?”
Their host, Lord Burton, beamed delightedly at Lady Amelia as she nodded, accepted the music from him and settled it in front of her. His heart lifted in expectation, his whole body tensing just a little as though he were waiting eagerly for her to bring that same peace to his heart as she had done only a few minutes before.
The first notes broke through the quiet and very soon, he was being carried away on a river of calm. His eyes closed as she continued to sing, thinking this was the most beautiful song he had ever heard. Lady Amelia’s voice was gentle yet strong, merging with the piano in the most beautiful duet. He did not know what it was she was singing about, did not find he cared, but felt as though all he wanted to do was listen to her sing.
It came to an end much too soon, and Oliver began to clap in earnest, truly glad to have been present in the room for her performance. He watched her closely as Lord Burton came around to the pianoforte and offered her his arm, seeing how she accepted it gratefully. Her limp was barely noticeable as she walked alongside Lord Burton, who helped her back towards her chair beside Lady Smithton and Mrs. Peters, both of whom bent their heads to, no doubt, whisper congratulations to Lady Amelia.
“And now we have Miss Fairbank,” Lord Burton exclaimed as Oliver continued to watch Lady Amelia, who was sitting to his right, meaning he could see her profile but very little else. As Miss Fairbank came to sit down at the pianoforte, Oliver felt his heart begin to sink back down into his soul, his spirits dwindling fast and returning to the frustrated anger that had been there ever since Lady Smithton had pulled Lady Amelia away.
“Are you going to take her on, Lord Montague?”
Jumping in surprise, he turned to see the gentleman next to him—one Lord Davidson—grinning at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are watching Lady Amelia very closely,” Lord Davidson said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Are you considering her to be your next conquest? If so, then I shall put a bet down in Whites, in the hope of turning my fortunes around!” He chuckled, although wincing just a little. “My coffers are a little low given my lack of success in cards of late.”
Oliver shook his head, remembering his steadfast determination not to do as he had done last year, where gentlemen placed bets on which young lady or widow he might turn his attention to next. “I fear I must disappoint you, Davidson,” he replied with a half-smile. “I do not think I shall be drawing near to Lady Amelia.”
Lord Davidson chuckled, let out a long, mocking sigh, and rolled his eyes. “I suppose I cannot blame you, given the way the lady is,” he remarked, sending another flare of anger along Oliver’s spine. “She is quite lovely of face, of course, but that leg…” He sighed again, trailing off whilst his eyes flicked towards Lady Amelia again. “I pity the gentleman that finds himself drawing close to her. I know she has a very large dowry—no doubt, to make up for what she lacks—but even that would not tempt me.”
Oliver gritted his teeth, forcing back his anger and telling himself he had no reason to feel anything at all over Lady Amelia. It was a most unusual feeling for him, given he had never felt anything for any young lady before, especially not for someone who was a little less than perfect. That was what he sought, was it not? Perfection. A young lady who was nothing short of a diamond of the first water, entirely innocent and warned to be careful of gentlemen and their foibles. It was a game he played, slowly teasing the lady until finally, she gave in and allowed him to pull her into his embrace. When she stepped away from everything she had been told, everything she had been warned about, and gave in to his charms.
And then, the victory would be his. The conquest had been successful, and the lady was then entirely forgotten. He would leave her, refusing to pursue her any longer and certainly not tempting her any further. That was not the sort of gentleman he was. But whenever he sought out someone new, it was never anyone who lacked beauty or elegance. It certainly would not be someone who walked with a limp and brought a good deal of attention towards themselves because of it! So why, then, was he feeling such anger towards Lord Davidson due to his remarks?
The performance from Miss Fairbank came to a close and was applauded by the audience, although to Oliver’s ears, it was a little less than what had been given to Lady Amelia. Rising from his chair and ignoring Lord Davidson’s request that he remain so that they might discuss things further, Oliver found his feet making their way towards Lady Amelia. She too had risen from her chair—as had the rest of the guests—and was now standing next to Mrs. Peters and Lady Smithton, who were all listening to another lady’s conversation—someone Oliver did not recognize. Lady Amelia’s cheeks were a little flushed, and she was nodding gently, her expression one of embarrassment. Oliver thought the lady must be complimenting Lady Amelia on her performance and paused for a moment, taking in Lady Amelia’s expression and wondering whether she had ever been given a compliment before.
Moving a few steps closer, he put a smile on his face as both Mrs. Peters and Lady Smithton looked at him, the smiles falling from their faces as they watched him draw near to Lady Amelia. Oliver ignored them both, focusing entirely on Lady Amelia and waiting politely until the other lady finally took her leave.
“Lady Amelia,” he said, extending his hand towards her and smiling into her eyes. “May I say that your performance this evening was quite wonderful.”
Lady Amelia blinked, her hand remaining steadfastly by her side. Oliver chose to keep his extended, praying she would give him her hand so that he might bow over it.
“It was breathtaking,” he continued, when she said nothing. “I wished it would never come to an end.”
Mrs. Peters cleared her throat gently, and Oliver saw Lady Amelia st
art in surprise. Her cheeks filled with color, and she put her hand quickly into his, her touch a little hesitant as she looked away from him, clearly a little lost for words.
“I—I thank you, Lord Montague,” she replied, her voice very soft indeed. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”
Finally having her hand in his, Oliver made sure to bow over her hand for a few moments longer than was appropriate, his lips very near to her skin but not quite touching. Hearing her swift intake of breath and smiling to himself, he lifted his head and smiled at Lady Amelia again and finally let go of her hand.
“I hope I might hear you perform again some time soon,” he said, seeing how she blushed and feeling a faint sense of triumph rising within him. “I must depart now, but I wanted to ensure you knew of my appreciation before I left.”
Oliver smiled, nodded to Lady Smithton and Mrs. Peters, bowed to them both, and then turned away from the three ladies, making his way towards the door. He had left Lady Amelia with what he hoped was an excellent impression of his character, which might fly in the face of what Lady Smithton would say, but he had faced such a thing before. He had managed to encourage a lady’s attention, even though her mother or companion had been less than willing.
Wait.
His mind began to whirl, forcing his steps to slow. He had no intention of capturing Lady Amelia’s attention, so why was he thinking of her as though she was to be his next mark? Had what Lord Davidson said pierced his mind more than he had been aware? Or was it because he had to admit Lady Amelia was, in fact, quite beautiful?
Sighing to himself, Oliver shook his head, ran one hand through his hair, and then forcefully marched towards the door. He did not need to do anything other than make his way to Whites, order himself a drink, and forget entirely about Lady Amelia. She meant nothing to him and certainly was not worth his attention.
That being said, her singing had been exquisite. He would not deny that he thought her quite wonderful in that regard, and a part of him was glad he had been able to compliment her so. A small smile crept across his face as he thought of how she had blushed as he had bowed over her hand, to the point that he found his spirits lifting all over again.
“To Whites,” he muttered, quickly walking out of the door and choosing to close his mind to any further thoughts of Lady Amelia. Perhaps he would get to hear her sing at another time during the Season, but it did not matter to him whether or not they furthered their acquaintance. He did not care about whether he would see her again, nor if they would ever get to converse further.
At least, that was what he repeatedly told himself as he stepped out into the darkness, ready to climb into his carriage. The memory of her gentle smile as she accepted his compliments continued to linger in his mind as the carriage rolled away, making it all the more difficult for him to forget about her completely. But forget about her he must, for Lady Amelia could never be a conquest for him. She was not perfect and, as such, not worth his time. Settling back into the carriage, Oliver closed his eyes and rested his head back against the squabs. Perhaps it was time to set his attention onto someone new, to start on his first conquest of the Season. Someone beautiful. Someone entirely perfect. And someone who would remove every trace of Lady Amelia from his mind.
***
“I thought we might find you here!”
Oliver groaned aloud as Lord Davidson wandered into the room, pointing a long finger in Oliver’s direction.
“You left Lord Burton’s very quickly indeed,” Lord Davidson said in a slightly accusing tone. “It is not because you wanted to hide from us, was it?”
“No,” Oliver replied stoutly, a little bit more emboldened with a good deal of brandy now running through his veins. “I did not want to be in such dull company, that is all.” He grinned broadly as the two gentlemen stopped dead, looking at each other uncertainly. “Why did you follow me here?”
Lord Davidson regained his composure a little bit, clearing his throat and coming a little closer. Oliver looked up at him from his chair, refusing to get up out of his seat nor even push himself up into a more formal sitting position. Instead, he continued to remain slumped in his chair, thinking Lord Davidson was an annoying sort of fellow and finding him more than a little irritating.
“I want to know if you are going to pursue Lady Amelia,” Lord Davidson said, pulling a chair closer to Oliver and sitting down. “My coffers are not what they were, and my estate will not do well this year if I do not recover some of what I have lost.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Even if I were to do so, why should I inform you?” he asked, slurring his words just a little. “I have no intention of helping you, Lord Davidson.”
“You helped your friend last year,” Lord Davidson said darkly, his expression growing rather grim as his companion wandered away, perhaps realizing the conversation was becoming a little more tense than he had anticipated. “Lord Marston made a good deal of money last year.”
Oliver shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair. “I did not say anything in particular to Lord Marston,” he said, his brandy sloshing from one side to the other in his glass as he moved. “He and I are very well acquainted, that is all. He knew some of the interests I had.”
“And now I might know of one of these ‘interests’ also?” Lord Davidson queried, watching Oliver with a sharp eye as though he might blurt out the truth, should he look at him long enough. “I am desperate, Lord Montague. This would help me greatly.”
Sighing, Oliver rested his head back against his chair and regarded Lord Davidson. “I think, then, you ought to ensure you do not gamble any longer, Lord Davidson,” he muttered, feeling a trifle more irritated. “Your coffers—or lack thereof—are none of my concern.”
Lord Davidson’s eyes narrowed, but Oliver turned his head away, wishing the gentleman would leave him alone so that he might drink his brandy in peace. The man’s lack of skill in cards was nothing to do with him, and he had no intention of helping the fellow in any way.
“I must ask you, Lord Montague, if you are acquainted with Lady Thornhill?”
Oliver jerked visibly, reacting to the name at once. He narrowed his eyes and looked back towards Lord Davidson, who was watching him closely. “Do not question me, Davidson,” he muttered, seeing the fellow begin to smile, although he forced himself not to react to the gentleman’s expression. “It will not go well for you.”
“I think I shall place a bet regardless, Lord Montague,” Lord Davidson said, his voice holding a warning Oliver did not quite understand. “And I look forward to the time that I will be successful and gain the money I require.”
Oliver waved his hand in Lord Davidson’s direction, ignoring the fellow completely and letting out a long breath of relief when Lord Davidson finally got up and walked away. He had no intention of allowing Lord Davidson any insight into his considerations, especially since he would not be chasing after Lady Amelia, and regardless of what Lord Davidson might think, had no plans to express his previous acquaintance with Lady Thornhill, who was wife to the Marquess of Thornhill. Lord Davidson could make any bet he wished, but Oliver would do nothing to attempt to fulfill it.
Sighing contentedly, Oliver lifted the glass of brandy to his lips and drained it, feeling the warmth spread through his chest and allowing his mind to cloud a little more. This was precisely what he needed. A quiet space where he might enjoy the finest French brandy and allow his thoughts to go wherever they pleased. Yes, this Season was going to be an excellent one, indeed.
Chapter Six
“I do not think you want to be here at this moment, Lord Havisham.”
Amelia looked up at Lord Havisham as he sat down beside her, his eyes fixed upon what she had been writing.
“I am quite contented to help you with your French,” he told her quickly, a slightly strained expression on his face. “Although I am certain you have a greater grasp of the language than I!”
Amelia sighed heavily, then gestured to her paper. “I have been doing my
very best to improve, but I find my pronunciation is less than perfect.”
Lord Havisham rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, looking at her with a wry smile. “And Lady Smithton thinks this will aid you in some way?”
Amelia nodded, although she could still not quite understand Lady Smithton’s reasoning behind her insistence that she practice her French. “I have been practicing all week, and it is imperative that I have done so by this evening,” she said, remembering what Lady Smithton had said. “Perhaps there is a particular gentleman she wishes me to meet.”
“Mayhap that is the reason for it,” Lord Havisham muttered, pushing himself forward in his chair with an effort. “I am to look over this and thereafter, assist you with any other difficulties you might have.” He gave her a small, slightly rueful smile and picked up the paper. “I am not inclined towards languages, and yet my Eton education insisted I have a firm grasp of French. Lady Smithton knows this and, therefore, has forced me to use it.” He chuckled wryly and then looked down at the paper. “I am sure that whatever Lady Smithton intends for this evening, you will find your French to come in very useful indeed.”
Amelia smiled and waited until Lord Havisham went over the words she had written, leaning forward and nodding as he pointed out one or two small corrections. Thereafter, they enjoyed a long conversation in French, where he helped her here and there, leaving her feeling a good deal more confident with her grasp of the language.
“I think that will do for the present!” Lord Havisham exclaimed some twenty minutes later. “Unless there is anything else you wish to ask me?”
Seeing the desperately hopeful look in his eyes, Amelia let out a quiet laugh and shook her head. “I have nothing else to ask you, no,” she said, laughing all the more when he let out a long sigh of relief. “I thank you for your help, however.”
