“We would both hug Horatius if we could,” Alaric said.
The truth of that hummed between them. North’s arms tightened, before they both stepped back.
Chapter Ten
The following day
The Peacock Terrace
Willa had made up her mind that she would treat Lord Alaric with exactly the same courteous attention she paid all the other men at the party. No more, no less.
That would be the same attention she paid to men who were entirely ineligible for marriage.
Like married men. Or toothless ones, if any such had made their intentions clear.
Lord Alaric was married to his fame and his readers and his explorations. That was a good way to think of him. Off limits.
Regretfully, she seemed to have a susceptibility to warm blue eyes. He merely looked at her and she felt it all over her body, like a promise of breathless pleasure and wild, unsteady feelings.
No sensible person married for those reasons.
Lavinia had danced with him twice the previous night and reported that he turned the wrong direction once and entertained her with tales of dancing around bonfires. The three times he’d approached Willa, she had managed to claim either a previous engagement or an impromptu trip to the ladies’ retiring chamber.
Whenever they were in the same room, she felt his presence like the rumble of a carriage that came too close to the walkway, bringing with it a stiff breeze and a sense of danger.
But she couldn’t spend the whole month running away from the man like a frightened rabbit. It wasn’t ladylike. It wasn’t Willa-like.
Lavinia popped her head in at her bedchamber door. “I can scarcely believe I’m saying this, but for once you are late and I am not! It’s time for tea. The gentlemen will be rioting, wondering where you are.”
“Pish,” Willa said. “Far more likely, they’re pining for you. After all, The Ladies’ Own Memorandum-Book declared that blonde hair is the most desirable.”
Lavinia giggled. “Your dark eyebrows emphasize your eyes, which are—allow me to remind you—the cornflower blue of Venus’s own.”
“No one knows the eye color of a mythological goddess,” Willa said, slipping past Lavinia into the corridor. “More to the point, why would Lord Noorland think that a poem would warm me to his suit? He doesn’t know me at all. Didn’t he call your eyes ‘pansies’?”
“He should have given you a blue-eyed kitten, instead of a poem about your blue eyes. Remember how much you longed for a cat when you first came to live with us?”
Willa’s smile faded. The memory of the year when she’d come to live with Lavinia, after her beloved parents died, was not a happy one.
“I always thought that Mother should have let you have a cat,” Lavinia said, as they made their way down the stairs.
“No need. I couldn’t have taken it to school.” After the death of Willa’s parents, the girls had been dispatched to a select seminary in Queen Square. Lady Gray’s generosity toward her ward did not extend to having children or felines underfoot.
“I know Mother doesn’t care for animals in the house, but she should have made an exception for you,” Lavinia said, pursuing her own train of thought. “But you never asked again. Why not?”
There was a very practical answer to that question: a nine-year-old orphan needs a substitute mother more than a pet. Willa had made a rapid study of Lady Gray and turned herself into the perfect daughter.
Somewhat ironically, the same attributes that had pleased Lady Gray led to Willa’s success on the marriage market ten years later. It was astonishing how quickly a man expressed devotion if a lady was happy to speak of his interests, whether the intricacies of heraldry, or the nesting habits of herons.
“I’ll have a dog or cat someday,” Willa said. “More to the point, I feel the same way about my suitors as your mother does about cats.”
“All your suitors?” Lavinia said with a twinkle, as they entered the library. “Including Lord Alaric?”
“Is he hurting your feelings?” Willa asked, catching her hand to bring her to a halt. “I can order him to stay away from me. I certainly have no interest in marrying a man of such notoriety.”
“It’s terribly unfair,” Lavinia said cheerfully. “Just think of the years when I adored Lord Wilde, while you scoffed at him. I used to imagine him walking into the room and falling straight into love with me. Instead, I was late to tea, and he saw you instead.”
Willa bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly,” her friend said, breaking into laughter. “If I had been on time, he still wouldn’t have given me a second glance. More importantly, I don’t feel the slightest bit faint-headed around him, whereas I used to feel swoony just by glancing at his image on my wall.”
“You loved him with great devotion,” Willa said.
“Yes, but my devotion evaporated with alarming rapidity. I’m a little worried that I’ll end up a hard-headed old maid, living in a cottage with four cats and no husband.”
Willa grinned. “I have the same fears. Might we share a summer cottage on the Isle of Wight as well?”
“I have the distinct impression you won’t be with me,” Lavinia said.
She drew Willa through the tall doors leading from the library to the Peacock Terrace, a wide expanse of flagstones abutting the castle’s south face and stretching out across the lawn. It was one of those days when the sky was clear and blue, with just a few ragged clouds.
“They look like swans floating across a lake,” Lavinia said, pointing.
Willa looked up, but to her the clouds resembled crabs or spies scuttling for cover—which was such a ridiculous thought that she didn’t voice it. She didn’t believe in flights of the imagination.
“Forget the swans,” Lavinia added, “where are the peacocks?”
Indeed, there wasn’t a peahen to be seen on the wide lawn. They were joining perhaps a dozen ladies and as many gentlemen, standing or seated at small garden tables scattered around the terrace. The ladies’ gowns gleamed with rich colors, spangles, and embroidery, and their wigs were tinted with colored powder and adorned with plumes. Willa’s imagination stubbornly presented her with another comparison to the animal world.
“There’s no need for peacocks,” she said softly to Lavinia. “Just look at all the parrots gathered for tea.”
Lord Alaric was nowhere to be seen. All the better, Willa told herself.
Lady Knowe presided over an enormous silver teapot, from which two liveried footmen ferried teacups to the guests.
She looked up as they arrived. “Darling girls! I’ve been wondering where you were. Willa, that is a lovely gown.”
Over breakfast that morning, Lady Knowe had declared that “miss” was one of the most objectionable words in the English language, and that she meant to address Diana, Willa, and Lavinia by their given names.
Willa gave her a wide smile. “Thank you! I am particularly happy to hear that, because Lavinia thought I should add blonde lace to the bodice, and I disagreed.”
“Your taste is exquisite, dear Lavinia, but in this instance you were mistaken,” Lady Knowe pronounced. “Blonde lace reminds me of morose wives of penurious pedants.”
Like many of Lady Knowe’s pronouncements, this had no obvious logic, and was left unchallenged.
“I wish to introduce you to Mr. Parth Sterling, who is as dear to me as one of my own nephews,” Lady Knowe said, rising. “Parth!”
“Aunt Knowe.” A deep voice answered the call.
Mr. Sterling’s jaw was strong; his nose was aristocratic; his hair was thoroughly powdered. He was attired like a perfect gentleman.
And yet he had the look of a pirate. Or a smuggler.
It was his skin, Willa thought, as Lady Knowe made an introduction. His cheeks had a sun-warmed hue that she associated with seamen or field laborers. It was remarkably …
The thought trailed off because the gentleman was bowing before her with the graceful elegance expected of an aristocrat.
Not a pirate, then.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. Beside her, Lavinia dropped into a curtsy that was just slightly deeper than Willa’s, because they’d realized long ago that gentlemen were slavishly grateful for a glimpse of Lavinia’s bosom.
Mr. Sterling kept his eyes on Lavinia’s chin.
“Parth, do escort these young ladies over to those chairs at the edge where they can see Fitzy,” Lady Knowe ordered. “We have only one peacock,” she explained to Willa and Lavinia. “It’s better for Fitzy, since he fancies himself as the cock of the walk.”
Lord Peters lunged from his chair to escort Lavinia, so Mr. Sterling offered Willa his arm.
“I don’t believe we met during the Season,” Willa said as they strolled the short distance to the other end of the terrace. Behind them, Lavinia was asking Lord Peters whether he had tame peafowl at his country house.
“I attend no such events. I do not count myself a gentleman or, at least, not one who belongs in polite society,” Mr. Sterling said. “I grew up as a ward of the duke; my father was governor of Madras and sent me back to England as an infant.”
Willa was conscious of a deep feeling of surprise. She was extremely good at identifying a stranger’s pedigree. Mr. Sterling’s attire alone would have placed him in the gentry, if not the nobility.