“Oh. Well, really, we’re all by the door.”
Flora suddenly gasped. “He’s coming this way!” she hissed. Her grip of Hattie’s hand tightened and she turned to the side, drawing deep breaths. “This is a disaster. A disaster! What will I say?”
“Flora, darling?” Her mother moved to her daughter’s side. “Oh, Miss Woodchurch. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
No one had expected to see her here, herself included. “Good evening, Lady Raney,” she said with a curtsy. Lady Raney looked at her daughter, then at Hattie. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Stand up straight, dear.” She fussed with Flora’s pearl necklace. “You look like you might be ill.”
“I might,” Flora said, and swallowed thickly.
“Nonsense! Put your shoulders back and lift your chin. Viscount Abbott is nearly upon us.”
Flora did as her mother instructed, swallowing hard, then stepped up to stand beside her parents as Lord Abbott and his hosts approached them. Hattie didn’t know where to stand, so she remained a foot or so behind her friend. There really ought to be instructions issued with invitations to fancy dinners.
Mrs. Forsythe made the introductions. Hattie couldn’t hear what the Raneys said, but Lord Abbott smiled and nodded and said yes, he did find London to his liking. And no, he hadn’t yet had opportunity to travel to his Essex estate, Harrington Hall, but that he hoped to do so soon.
Lady Raney then turned slightly in Flora’s direction and said, “May I introduce our daughter?” And like she’d been trained, Flora sank into a perfect curtsy. When she did, Lord Abbott saw Hattie standing behind her. His brows dipped with confusion. “Miss Woodchurch?” he said, ignoring Flora for the moment.
Hattie dipped into a curtsy. “Good evening, my lord.”
The Raneys, almost as one, turned to look at her, their expressions showing various stages of confusion.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, obviously trying to sort it out.
Perhaps she should have come with a sign—I was not expected!“Surprise?” she said weakly, as if she’d come as a lark.
He arched a brow, which made him look as if he wanted to ask what she was doing here.
Flora’s parents were glaring at her. And Flora seemed absolutely gobsmacked that the viscount was speaking to Hattie. But she suddenly remembered herself and turned her attention to the viscount. “It...it is my distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.”
Lord Abbott likewise turned his attention to Flora and smiled warmly. “Thank you. But the pleasure is certainly mine.”
And then Flora’s father stepped in, keen to have a word. The two gentlemen stepped away. Hattie risked a look at Flora. She stared back at Hattie with confusion that felt wildly personal—it seemed almost as if she was hurt that Lord Abbott had acknowledged Hattie at all. “Hattie? Is there—”
Hattie was saved from hearing her question by Mrs. Forsythe’s announcement that supper was served. The words set everyone into motion, and the promenade to the dining room was arranged. As Lord Abbott moved to the front of the line, he glanced at Hattie, a question still in his eyes.
She could feel a warmth spreading through her, a familiarity with him that she realized she was not supposed to have. She smiled and shrugged, then stepped back, letting the important people go in as they ought. She looked around for Daniel to escort her, but he was nowhere to be found...until the last possible moment when she spotted him with his arm out to escort Flora.What in blazes was he doing?
Moreover, there was no one left to escort her into the dining room. Hattie was forced to follow along like a forgotten duck at the very tail of the promenade.
She was seated next to Lord Iddesleigh, who leaned over to whisper, “Your friend has caught the interest of the viscount, I’m certain of it.” He smiled and waggled his brows at her, as if they had conspired together to bring this about.
She thought she ought to be terribly pleased by the news, overcome with happiness for Flora...but the declaration and the evening thus far left her feeling uncomfortably sad.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEDININGROOMin the Forsythe home was one of the largest Mateo had ever seen in a house, and yet, it wasn’t large enough to comfortably seat thirty-two people. They were crammed together, elbows brushing elbows.
Mateo was spared the worst of it, as he was seated next to Mr. Forsythe, who sat at the head of the table. Mateo recalled that once, when he’d just assumed the title of duke, he’d been feted at the palace in Valdonia. He’d been seated at the head of the table, and the doors behind him had been opened to the sea. He remembered the feel of the sea breeze on his back, the sweep of fresh air through the room. He wished for an open window in this room, but the London air was thick with smoke and unpleasant.
What a morose dinner guest he was.
Unfortunately, from his vantage point he couldn’t see many of the other guests. He was curious about where Miss Woodchurch had been seated. He was even more curious to know why she was here. Had Beck brought her? That didn’t make sense to him—why would Beck want to have her dine here? Was she a member of the working class or a member of this society? Was it possible to be both? In Santiava, at least, those two worlds did not intersect.
No matter what had brought her here, he’d been surprisingly pleased to see her face in this crowd.
He would have thought that, as the guest of honor, he would have been seated in the middle of the table. But Mr. Forsythe made it clear why he had not been before the first course was served. Mr. Forsythe had an interest in a new rail line in Europe that he hoped to bring into Valdonia. “Can you imagine the amount of wool we might ship with a new rail?” he asked, almost gleefully.
Mateo listened, but he was distracted by the many conversations around him. He was not sure how much he wanted to say about rail service in the middle of a social evening, and he was more interested in the snippets of conversation he kept hearing to his right—something about someone with extensive gambling debts and no way to pay them.
