Therese smiled charmingly. “I do think we should circulate.” She regally tipped her head. “Until later, my lord.”
With a nod to Kennedy and the others in the group, Devlin obediently stepped back and allowed Therese to guide him to the next group of guests. Early in their marriage, he’d learned that her social timing was impeccable, and that proved once more to be the case when they joined a circle including the Duchess of Lewes, a senior political hostess.
The duchess smiled approvingly upon them, and they joined the conversation, which revolved about the establishment of schools for workers’ children in the Midlands, a particular interest of Devlin’s that Therese had chosen to especially champion. Soon after, however, Lady Fortescue’s butler announced that dinner was served, and her ladyship rapidly directed her guests into their proper marching order, then led the way to her dining room.
As Devlin escorted the ageing Lady Morpeth—a favorite of his—through the front hall, he overheard two ladies just ahead commenting in approving tones on Therese’s behavior.
“Day by day, she seems to be stepping more definitely into the wider role of Alverton’s countess.” Lady Kilgardie went on, “That’s heartening, given none of us are getting any younger. We need more like her, of her age and status, willing to stand up and, in the years to come, take our place.”
“Very true,” Lady Finchley murmured. “And given the countess’s wider connections, she’s certainly one we should encourage.”
Devlin hid a pleased smile and made a mental note to share that exchange with Therese.
On being escorted to the table by Lord Cromwell, Therese discovered that Lady Fortescue had sat Child on her left. Devlin, meanwhile, was seated diagonally to her right, on the other side of the table. As in such settings it was permissible to talk across the board, that suited her very well.
After chatting to Lord Cromwell over the soup course, she dutifully turned her attention to Child. “I have to confess that I’m surprised to see you at an event such as this, my lord.” Therese took a sip of her wine and, over the rim of her glass, met Child’s charming smile with appropriate skepticism. Lowering the glass, she murmured, “I would have thought the conversation too serious for your liking.”
With his hand rising to his chest, Child sat back, a look of mock dismay on his face. “You wound me, countess.” Then he grinned. “The truth is my father wrote and asked me to stand in for him tonight. I suspect that he and the mater are hoping that exposure to this side of ton life might instill something approaching the seriousness which”—he tipped his glass her way—“so many believe I lack.”
Therese detected an undercurrent of bitterness beneath Child’s deliberately playful tone. She studied his face, then asked, “Do you think that’s likely?”
He glanced around the table, his gaze dwelling on Devlin for an instant before moving on. “If this gathering had more to do with investing, I might summon up some interest, but as I’m a second son and the political baton will pass to my brother, I see little point in developing an interest in this sphere.”
She tipped her head, trying to decide what it was that she’d glimpsed in Child’s amber eyes. “You could always stand for your own seat.”
He blinked at her, then stared as if just noticing some distant vista. After a moment, he returned to the present and more moodily raised his glass. “Perhaps.” He sipped, then more firmly stated, “Perhaps once I’ve rediscovered all I’ve forgotten about life in the ton, I might look in a political direction.”
Deciding to leave that thought to simmer in his mind, she turned the conversation to the opera, asking what he’d thought of the final act. She soon verified that, as she’d suspected, Child had even less understanding or appreciation of operatic performance than Devlin, and when the lady on Child’s other side leaned forward to engage him, Therese drew back and turned her attention to her husband.
While the courses came and went, she devoted her considerable skill to directing the conversations that engaged that section of the table, encouraging those she knew Devlin wished to sound out to air their views on various topics.
Immediately understanding what she was attempting, Devlin was quick to pose questions in support. To Therese’s delight, he and she formed a satisfyingly effective team.
She was doubly delighted when she realized that Child had leaned forward and was listening to the exchanges with apparent interest.
At one point, under cover of a remark by Lord Philpott, Child murmured to Therese, “I can’t decide—is your awareness of such topics driven by personal interest, or are you exerting yourself on Devlin’s behalf?”
The question took her by surprise. After a second’s thought, she replied, “Can’t it be both?” Then she conceded, “Although I doubt I would be so interested—would know enough to be so interested—if being around Devlin and listening to him discuss the issues with others hadn’t opened my eyes.”
A comment drew her attention back to Lord Cromwell, who was conversing earnestly with Devlin and those flanking him. The lady on Lord Cromwell’s other side was also contributing.
When a few minutes later, a noisy discussion farther up the table drew all eyes, Child tweaked Therese’s sleeve and, when she glanced at him, said, “I noticed earlier that in this company, you remain by Devlin’s side more than, for instance, at a social event.”
She shrugged. “At purely social events, no encounter is likely to be of major significance with respect to how we live our lives. Here, it’s…I suppose you might say business of a sort, and sometimes, I see and hear things—glean insights—that Devlin, being male, simply doesn’t notice.” She met Child’s eyes. “Being with him and forming an opinion is a way in which I can help him, so I do.”
Once again, the conversation to her right drew her attention.
Child sat back and pondered what she’d said, just then and in reply to his earlier question.
He was trying to understand what was going on between his old childhood friend and his friend’s wife. Knowing Devlin as he did, ever since he’d met Therese, Child’s curiosity had steadily escalated, yet he simply couldn’t figure the pair out, and the more situations in which he saw them together only left him even more intrigued.
He glanced at Therese, then looked across the table at Devlin and, as he had on several occasions, saw an adroit passing of the conversational ball between the pair.
All he had observed that evening spoke of a working partnership, one based on both parties’ strengths, and yet…he remained convinced there was something not quite settled between Devlin and Therese.
Lady Fortescue tapped a spoon to her glass and, when everyone glanced her way, smiled and rose, bringing all the diners to their feet. After graciously reminding the gentlemen not to dally overlong, she led the ladies from the room, leaving the men to pass the decanters and continue their discussions.
Entirely content with what she’d achieved by way of assisting Devlin thus far, Therese strolled with the other ladies, listening to Mrs. Holbrook, who was a firm advocate of schooling for the masses, with unfeigned interest. Therese and Devlin had already set up schools for the local village and workers’ children on the Alverton estates.
