“I will support the petition as well,” Lord Bentley said, “although the duke’s request carries much more weight.”
“And I will do what I can in the Commons,” Mount Stuart added.
“Which is all I can ask of ye,” Alasdair said.
“Then that is settled.” Oakley called for a round of drinks which appeared almost instantly. “By the way, since we will be confined to the halls of Westminster soon, my wife has decided to host a dinner and small ball a week from Saturday.” He raised his glass and looked at Alasdair. “I do hope you will all attend.”
Apparently, his reprieve was going to be short-lived.
…
After she had been seated, Lorelei looked around the formal dining room at the Duke of Oakley’s town home. Although large—there were at least two dozen place settings—it was not lavishly furnished. The long table was highly polished mahogany, but its legs were straight and simple rather than ornate and curving. The chairs were well padded in heavy brocade but also simply designed and straight-backed. While the china, crystal, and silverware glistened from the light of several candelabras, none of the patterns were fancy, either.
Nor was the room extravagant. There were no windows, since it was an inside room, but the wainscoting had been left its natural light oak color and the upper walls painted ivory, giving the room an airy feel. The crown molding had no gilt and the pictures on the walls were mostly of pastoral settings, the frames small, so as not to distract from the scene. Even the Aubusson carpet was a muted blue and beige.
Perhaps this was in keeping, though. She’d been somewhat surprised when she’d been introduced to Her Grace, the Duchess of Oakley upon arrival. Her silk gown was beautifully made, but the hoops were minimal, she wore no panniers, and it lacked the lace usually attached to sleeves and bodices. The duchess’s jewelry was minimal and her auburn hair—several shades darker than her daughter’s—was pulled back into a simple chignon instead of piled high on her head in plumes. Obviously the duke—and his duchess—did not care for frills. Lorelei had not thought that Melissa’s parents would be practical people.
She heard Melissa’s trill of laughter at the far end of the table and frowned, then felt a small prod where Fiona’s foot tapped her own.
“Ye are supposed to look like ye are glad to be here,” she whispered.
“That is true.” Louisa smiled like a perfect hostess even though she was a guest. “I would rather be home with a good book.”
The incongruity of her words and the expression she wore made Lorelei almost laugh. Trust Louisa to do something like that. “I am glad to be here. It is just…” She left the sentence unfinished.
“’Tis just that ye doona like Melissa sitting so close to Alasdair.”
“Shhhh!” Lorelei looked around, hoping no one had heard. They were seated at the very end of the table so probably no one had.
“I suspect some place cards might have been rearranged,” Louisa said, sotto voce, the bright smile still on her face.
Lorelei started to frown again, then thought better of it. She smiled, too. “Do you think so?”
Louisa lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “I would not be surprised.”
She glanced down the table again. The duke was seated at the head, the duchess to his right with Lord Westwood beside her. To the duke’s left were Lord and Lady Mount Stuart, Melissa and Alasdair next to them.
Briefly, Lorelei wondered how Randolph felt about sitting across from Melissa, but his demeanor, as always, was composed and his expression gave no hint as to his emotions. He seemed quite focused on conversing with the duke, while Melissa turned all her attention on Alasdair.
Her brows furrowed then smoothed as Fiona nudged her again. Drat it. Did Medusa—Melissa—practically have to lean on him? Lorelei took a deep breath. Alasdair could hardly ignore her when both her parents were watching him. She knew, too, from what he’d told Fiona, that the guests for this dinner had been carefully selected to curry favor in support for MacGregor land restoration. Gavin wasn’t there, nor was his uncle, although she suspected they would both be at the ball to follow later.
Lady Bute had been invited, of course, because she was the wife of the former prime minister and Lord Mount Stuart’s mother. It was actually rather amazing that she, Louisa, and Fiona had been invited, although it was probably more of a convenience, since a carriage would have had to be sent back for them if they’d been invited to the ball only. It also accounted for the seat placement.
Lorelei gave herself an inward shake. This dinner was intended to be private, the invitations stating as much. She shouldn’t let her jealousy show when the outcome meant so much to Alasdair’s clan.
Still. It didn’t make it any easier to watch Alasdair conversing and smiling when she could recall, in exquisitely wonderful detail, every aspect of his kisses and how fantastic it had felt to be in his arms. Even now, an odd strumming feeling began in her lower belly at the thought.
And then another thought presented itself. A rather naughty thought at that. Perhaps later, when the ball was in full motion, she could arrange to meet him on the terrace—goodness, those ballrooms could get very warm!—and they could share another kiss.
Lorelei smiled, genuinely this time. She liked the idea of that.
…
Two hours later, the ballroom was crowded with thecrème de la crèmeof Society. As anticipated, both Gavin and his uncle had been invited, and Lorelei recognized many other high-ranking aristocrats as well.
“I suspect that this ball will be the talk of the Season,” Louisa said from where the three of them stood near the punch table. “I would not be surprised if King George himself put in an appearance.”
Fiona gave her a startled look. “Really? The king?”
