“So thrilled you could come.”
Lady Webster looped Dorothy’s arm through hers as if they were the greatest of friends and she had never gossiped about her at all. Her neck glimmered with diamonds, like crystalized nuggets of ginger at her throat. From her ears, more such jewels swung, emphasizing the silvery hue of her hair. Her heavy, wrinkled eyes were narrowed as she turned to look at Stephen, too.
“Ah, Your Grace.” She curtsied, then took his arm in her free one and led them both forward. “I cannot tell you how relieved I was when Lord Padleigh explained you were to be escorting his sister. We would have been quite desolate without her company.”
“Of course,” Stephen said with thick politeness, giving no sign at all that he found this absurd, though Dorothy instantly did.
How can she say such things? We have barely met three times, and yet she’d now be upset without me here? The ton is full of false niceties!
Dorothy looked rather longingly through a door beyond which she saw a dining table being set up. Two maids were standing together, chatting and laughing about something. She longed to be a part of such an easy conversation.
“Now, come, come, come,” Lady Webster said quickly, the words escaping her lips in fast clicks. “You must come and meet everyone before we share dinner tonight. I shall tell you about all our planned activities, too. We have organized a fishing trip for you, Your Grace, and shooting, of course. Lady Dorothy, we have sewing parties planned, and naturally, we shall all be playing our instruments.”
“Instruments?” Dorothy panicked, her pace slowing. Over Lady Webster’s head, she saw Stephen offer the smallest of warning glares.
Poise and propriety, eh? Even if that means lying.
“Oh. Lovely,” Dorothy forced herself to say.
“Now, come this way.” Lady Webster entered the great drawing room beside her dining hall, releasing the two of them from her pincer-like grip.
“Why is so much propriety full of lies?” Dorothy whispered to Stephen in panic. “I cannot play an instrument to save my life.”
He flattened his lips together.
“You are holding back a laugh.”
“I was just remembering your attempt to play the harp that one time. You nearly kicked it over in frustration.”
“I would have managed it if the thing was not so bloody heavy.”
“Language, Dorothy,” Stephen whispered sharply.
“You say worse! Why is it different if I am a woman?”
To her amazement, Stephen said nothing. He opened and closed his mouth, seeming to think the better of it.
“If she insists that I play an instrument, I shall embarrass both of us. Is that what you want?”
“God, no.” For the first time that evening, Stephen spoke with true emotion. “Just sing instead, if she presses you.”
“What?” Dorothy spluttered.
“You have a half-decent voice, even if you cannot play an instrument.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Not quite,” he said under his breath as Lady Webster returned to them with more than one person in tow.
“Ah, let me introduce our new arrivals.” Lady Webster began by introducing Stephen then Dorothy, gesturing to them with her claw-like hand, her thin lips spreading into a wide, toothy grin. “Here, we have Lady Frederica Sanderson, the daughter of the Earl of Thornbury. Quite a beauty, is she not?”
Lady Frederica curtsied and offered a shy smile, bowing her head a little. She was, indeed, a beauty, with locks of golden hair, but her shy look revealed all to Dorothy. She didn’t even lift her head to meet Dorothy’s or Stephen’s gaze.
“Then, here, we have Lady Charlotte Morton, the daughter of the Earl of Winchester. Such a fine lady. You should hear her playing the harp. She is quite magnificent!”
Dorothy felt a twinge of envy, but it quickly abated as she looked at Lady Charlotte. With similar light brown hair and green eyes, they could have been sisters if it was not for one obvious difference. While Dorothy’s hair was wild and she struggled to stand primly and properly, Lady Charlotte appeared to be the epitome of class and propriety, standing tall, with her dress not bearing a single crease.
“Then we have Lord and Lady Sandmarsh.” Lady Webster gestured to an elder couple sitting nearby on a rococo settee. “There is my husband, of course.” She gestured to an elderly man with the same rigid, long back that Lady Webster bore. “He is talking with Mr. Becker and Viscount Chilmond just now, so I shall introduce you all later.”
