by Archer, Kate
“Goodness, please do not,” Lily said. “I often trembled to see you flying over a fence when you had not anything to risk but your own neck.”
Cassandra patted Lily’s hand. “I have been very staid ever since I suspected, and I have resolved to tell him the news on the morrow. I am past the danger and would prefer to inform him of it before he positively guesses and wonders what I am waiting for. I am only afraid he will urge that we retreat to the countryside immediately.”
“As you no doubt should,” Lily said. “Do not press yourself to stay on my account. You’ve done quite enough, and my aunt and I will get along very well.”
“I believe you shall,” Cassandra said. “If I am not here to supervise, I am certain Lady Blakeley will lend a hand, then Penny Darlington is to arrive next week. Lady Sedway, you remember her as Anne Hamilton, may come down from Scotland, though I have yet to hear from her. I would count on Sybil too, but I understand the marchioness is busy redoing everything in her new house that Lord Lockwood ever did. She says his wallpapers are so ghastly that they cannot spare a moment for London, but I rather think they only have eyes for each other and cannot be bothered to come.”
As Lily took in the news of who would be where, Lord Hampton came by his wife’s side, accompanied by another gentleman.
“Lady Hampton,” the other gentleman said, bowing low.
Lily looked at this unknown gentleman with no small interest. He was tall and lean, even a hair taller than Hampton, with dusky fair hair and striking green eyes. He had an air about him that she had not noted in the gentlemen of her Surrey neighborhood—he seemed at once at his ease and alert, rather like a leopard casually surveying his territory from the vantage point of a high branch.
“Lord Ashworth,” Cassandra said in greeting. “May I present Miss Farnsworth.”
Lily curtsied. So here was a gentleman of the Dukes’ Pact—one of the gentlemen highflyers Cassandra had counseled her to avoid. It was a shame, he was handsome. Very handsome.
Cassandra and her lord’s attention were suddenly sought out by Lady Mainteneau. The lady and her lord had hotly debated if the rumors were true that Lord Byron just now resided at the Mocenigo Palace with a pair of monkeys and a fox. Her lord said it could not be so, no right-minded Englishman made friends with a fox. Lady Mainteneau thought it all too likely—Lord Byron was nothing if not an eccentric. They were determined to confirm the truth of it from two who had so recently been on the scene in Venice.
Lady Mainteneau took both Lord Hampton and Cassandra by the arms and steered them toward her eagerly awaiting husband.
Lily felt awkward, left behind to converse with Lord Ashworth on her own.
“Lord Hampton tells me you have been long acquainted with Lady Hampton,” Lord Ashworth said pleasantly.
“Yes, indeed,” Lily said, grateful that the lord had not allowed a silence to hang between them overlong. “We are childhood friends; her father’s estate is not five miles from my own.”
A solemn footman who had appeared at the door to the drawing room caught Lily’s eye. With great ceremony, he held up an enormous bronze gong and rang it with a mallet. Lily looked at him with interest.
“I understand it is from China,” Lord Ashworth said, “and meant to say that dinner is served.”
Lady Blakeley swept in, appearing as if from nowhere. “Ashworth, do take in Miss Farnsworth.”
Lily suppressed any hint of her feelings about the suggestion. She found she was not entirely certain what those feelings were. She had no wish to put herself in front of a gentleman involved in the Dukes’ Pact, though she could not entirely claim she minded having this particular handsome gentleman in view.
She could not discern Lord Ashworth’s opinion on the matter—he maintained a neutral expression that she found vaguely disconcerting. He merely put out his arm.
Lady Blakeley’s dining room was nearly overwhelming in riotous color. A vibrant yellow silk covered the walls, embroidered with eccentric scenes of Indian maharajahs. The gold-leafed chairs were padded in ruby red silk, the tablecloth a bold orange satin, and the chandeliers were draped with ropes of semi-precious stones that cast a dizzying array of colors. The totality of the room’s impression was that of a circus and Lily would not have been surprised to see the footmen turn themselves into acrobats.
Lord Ashworth noted Lily’s wonder. He said, “Lady Blakeley’s dining room tends to have a startling effect on one newly introduced to it.”
“It is most original,” Lily said, hardly knowing how to describe the room’s impact on her senses.
Her aunt was handed to her chair across the table by Mr. Jacobs. Mrs. Hemming said loudly, “I’ll be glad to sit down, I think. I feel quite overpowered. I am sure if I were younger I should like the brightness of it all. I suppose I am rather dull these days. I venture I should go on quite well as long as the food does not arrive in so many shades.”
Lily stole a look at their hostess. Lady Blakeley had most assuredly overheard her aunt’s comments. The lady pressed her lips together as if she would stop herself from laughing.
Mrs. Hemming’s attention was captured by her niece seated so nearby, and then Lord Ashworth by her side. “Is that one of those Pact fellows? Yes, I suppose it is, though he does not resemble his father. I see him at Lady Carradine’s on occasion though I don’t get to talking to him. I wonder how old Dembly gets on these days, always a pleasant fellow. Though rather on the short side, if I recall rightly.”
Lily’s cheeks, she knew without needing to peer into a glass, had darkened to match the ruby red chairs. Lord Ashworth stared at Mrs. Hemming.
Quietly, Lily said, “Do forgive my aunt, my lord, she is prone to speaking all her thoughts.”
“Apparently so,” Lord Ashworth said.
His expression was impossible to fathom. Lily could not at all determine if he were irritated or amused.
Fearing he might be annoyed and feeling a great urge to defend her aunt, Lily said, “She is kind, for all that. She has very graciously opened her house to me.”
“You do not stay with your father?” Lord Ashworth asked.
“I do not,” Lily admitted, knowing that she was also likely admitting that her father could not afford to rent a London house for the season. “My father had too much pressing business to attend to.”
“Business? Cannot his steward manage during the season?” Lord Ashworth asked, the surprised tone impossible to ignore.
“Apparently not,” Lily said hurriedly.
Lord Ashworth considered this and said, “It seems hard luck to have to forgo a season because one’s steward cannot go forward on his own. Your father might perhaps do well to employ a more skilled man. He would not find himself so harried if he had a competent fellow at the reins.”
“I’ll not seek to advise my father on any matter, my lord,” Lily said with some asperity. The truth was, she was not particularly offended by the comment, but could not admit to the real circumstances. Her father did not employ a steward. He was his own steward. In fact, their collection of servants in general had always been on the thin side. Lily had never had a lady’s maid, and she had only sometimes got help from her mother’s maid, Clara. Even her aunt’s maid, Pips, found the notion bizarre.
“No, of course you must not advise him, I only think of my own experience,” Lord Ashworth said, appearing to perceive that he had stepped too far. As if he would change the subject, he said, “What amusements are to be found in that neighborhood in Surrey?”
Glad he had taken himself off the examination of her father’s estate, Lily said, “All the usual sorts, I suppose. The riding is picturesque, we have various routs and balls. There is an assembly in Guildford that is pleasant.”
“You are fond of dancing?” Lord Ashworth asked.
“Oh yes! Though, it is sometimes a less welcome diversion, for I might prefer to play cards. I am very fond of cards.”
“Indeed?” the lord asked, and Lily was certain he suppressed
a smile. “I do not believe I have ever heard of a young lady preferring cards to dancing.”
In all seriousness, Lily said, “That would surprise me, my lord. After all, one knows how a dance will unfold. Beyond whatever idle chatter that might be had, the outcome is known. The outcome of a game of cards is not known and therefore more interesting. And then of course, there are stakes.”
Lord Ashworth nodded. “Do you consider yourself skilled in any particular game? I suppose whist must be your preference?”
“Whist?” Lily said, a shade more derisively than she’d meant to. “I prefer to play without a partner. Piquet is far more to my taste.”
Now Lily could see that the lord was vastly amused. She supposed he thought himself the far greater master of the game. She had noticed that same attitude among some of the gentlemen in Surrey. She was a female, and so could not possibly best them at anything. That particular attitude had assisted her in winning tidy profits from those mistaken gentlemen.
“I presume you have won great sums in Surrey,” Lord Ashworth asked, with a small and patronizing smile.
“Enough to teach those who may doubt my capability,” Lily said.
“I wonder,” Lord Ashworth said softly.
“I do not see why you should,” Lily said.
The lord laughed. It was not a loud or long laugh, but that hardly mattered. It was a supremely condescending laugh.
“You must realize, Miss Farnsworth,” he said, “that the play in London is at a more advanced skill level than what one might find in England’s more bucolic locations. I only mention it to caution you.”
He thought she was ridiculous. He thought she’d gloried in winning at piquet against another country bumpkin who played as badly as she. He thought she could not measure up to London standards.
Though Lily had always prided herself over her mastery of her own feelings, she was very much aware that when she perceived an insult she was somewhat less of a paragon.
“If we were to play against one another,” she said boldly, “I imagine you would cease your disdain of England’s more bucolic locations.”
Lord Ashworth bristled at her declaration. “Indeed,” he said. “Then let us hope Lady Blakeley affords us the opportunity.”
Lily’s chin went up in utmost defiance. “Let us hope,” she said.
Chapter Three
Now that the challenge of a game of piquet had been issued, Lily turned to her other neighbor, Mr. Simmons. He was an agreeable sort of gentleman who did not make too many inquiries into her circumstances. In truth, Mr. Simmons’ conversation was dull and she need only half attend him. It seemed he was a great reader—books of every sort, newspapers, broadsheets, old family letters, scientific treatises—no written word was to escape his notice. It also seemed that he was intent on communicating all that he had read.
As she listened to him drone on about the collapse in grain prices, Lily found herself conjecturing over her conversation with Lord Ashworth.
After her temper had settled, she began to see the foolishness of having thrown the piquet gauntlet at Lord Ashworth’s feet.
What had she been thinking? Of course, he was very wrong in his opinions. It hardly mattered where one learned the game of piquet—the rules were the rules. One either had a head for it, or one did not. It did not matter a whit if that head belonged to a lady or a gentleman. Further, there were those in Surrey who had been rather sharp and not that easy to prevail over. For all that, though, she began to very much wish she and Lord Ashworth had never landed on the subject of cards.
Throughout the dinner, she found she must turn to Lord Ashworth on occasion, else she look a fool by staring at the back of Mr. Simmons’ head. She found the lord stiff. She found herself stiff. It seemed neither of them wished to talk to the other and so they landed on such subjects as the weather and the soup. Lily had been vastly relieved when Lady Blakeley rose.
The ladies had retired to the drawing room and Lily held great hopes that the gentlemen would stay long over their port. After all, she knew perfectly well from dinners in Surrey, the gentlemen might land on a subject with varying opinions and air those opinions long into the night to the chagrin of their hostess. Politics was always a handy distraction, there had even been the dinner at Mr. Cahill’s that had devolved into a shouting match that could be heard throughout the house. Mr. Randolph and Mr. Braker had not spoken since and every hostess took pains to see they were never together again.
Before the gentlemen arrived, Cassandra had pulled Lily to the far side of the drawing room where they might pretend to examine a row of books on a shelf.
“I saw that Lord Ashworth took you in,” Cassandra said. “Of course, it could not be helped. I will only remind you that they have all vowed they will not marry.”
Lily had pulled some book or other from the shelf and pretended to flip through it. She laughed despite herself. “My dearest Cassandra, you have no cause to fear that my interest is in any way engaged. If anything, I believe Lord Ashworth finds me a bit silly and I find him a very much larger bit condescending.”
“Is that so?” Cassandra said in some surprise. “I would not have expected Lord Ashworth to be rude, but if he has, I should like to inform my husband of it.”
“Please do no such thing,” Lily said hurriedly. “The fault is half my own. We engaged in the most ridiculous conversation about cards.” Lily paused, not certain how to explain what must come next. “I believe,” she said slowly, “that he may challenge me to a game of piquet, as he is certain my skill will be found wanting.”
Cassandra was silent for some moments. “This is very strange, Lily. Why should Lord Ashworth wish to humiliate you in such a manner?”
“I expect because he thinks he will teach this country bumpkin a lesson,” Lily said. “I hinted at my skill and I do not suppose he believed it.”
“This is outrageous,” Cassandra said. “You are not to fear a scene, my friend. I will not allow such a thing to occur. Goodness, I would not have imagined Ashworth to be so petty, regardless of any words said between you.” She patted Lily’s hand. “I shall manage it.”
Lily did not answer one way or the other. On the one hand, she had no wish to make a spectacle of herself in any way. It had occurred to her that she might do so, in playing against Lord Ashworth. Would it not be more appropriate for her to take a turn on the pianoforte and leave the elders to their cards? Or, if she should play cards, would not whist seem more suitable? A wager between a lord of the pact and a girl just out might be talked of. She particularly feared it as Cassandra had just mentioned it as a scene.
On the other hand, she was fairly certain she could trounce the gentleman. After all, she had yet to meet with a person she could not triumph over, as long as the hands she was dealt were reasonable. Would it not be satisfying to put a stop to the lord’s condescension?
Before she could settle on a firm opinion, the gentlemen came in. It had been the shortest of delays. Lily quietly sighed. She had been foolish to think that Lord Blakeley would keep the gentlemen long over the cloth. Mr. Cahill might dare to displease his wife, but Lily doubted anybody would dare displease Lady Blakeley.
Lily pretended to scrutinize the book in her hand as she surreptitiously watched Cassandra in conversation with her husband. Lord Hampton seemed to laugh, and then be brought back to seriousness. He nodded to his wife and joined Lord Ashworth at the far side of the room.
Lily turned to Mr. Simmons who had promptly seated himself on her right. She realized he’d seen she held a book and had made his way over with alacrity, eager to discuss it. She felt rather foolish over it, as she had not even looked at the title when she picked it up and the subject of it was wartime commerce. She could not think of anything she would be less interested in understanding.
As Mr. Simmons waxed on about supply chains, Lily was certain that Lord Hampton was delivering his wife’s advice to Lord Ashworth—he was to give up any notion of a card game with Miss Farnsworth. It
was just as well, it was her first evening out in town and she had no wish to put herself forward as anything unusual. She was fairly certain that unusual in a lady was not a quality celebrated by the ton. At least, her mother had often pointed out that if one wished to be eccentric, one had better be very old, have a lot of money, and hopefully a lofty title.
She glanced back to the other side of the room. Lily had expected that Lord Ashworth would heed Cassandra’s advice and only look condescendingly satisfied that his opinion had been right all along. She had not expected that he would make his way toward her to make comment on it, which appeared to be what he was doing.
“So you see, Miss Farnsworth,” Mr. Simmons went on gamely, “it is not only in battle that the game is won. If a force can successfully blockade another’s supplies, it can be ruinous. I’ve always said so, you know. We that understand such things can be vital contributors to any war effort.”
Lord Ashworth had arrived and waited for Mr. Simmons to complete his assessment. The lord did not look as impressed or interested as that gentleman might have hoped and Mr. Simmons trailed off on his lecture.
Lord Ashworth said, “I was devastated to understand that our looked-for card game has found disapproval with Lady Hampton.”
Lily did not answer. She did not trust herself to answer. The man was infuriating. Why could he not leave well enough alone? Rather, he must come to her with such condescension! Devastated, indeed.
“Though I expect Hampton was right after all,” the lord went on smoothly. “I do not like to be unkind and have made it a habit of foregoing taking advantage of naiveté.”
