Courting Miss Lancaster (8 page)

“Point taken, Windover,” Mr. Langley said, his voice oddly strangled.

“Well,” Harry returned to his jovial manner of addressing them all, “I must not keep this beast standing, I fear he is rather the most impatient of horses.”

A moment later, Harry had cantered off. Athena’s eyes followed him as he made his way through the throng of people, wishing he had stayed longer, wondering why he had not been at Falstone House that day. She could not remember the last time he hadn’t been there before the afternoon had worn on.

“A very good sort of gentleman,” Mrs. Langley observed after Harry’s departure. “It is a shame his good friend, the duke, has been burdened with such an unwelcome responsibility. He—”

“Mother,” Mr. Langley interrupted, sounding more than a touch uneasy, “I do believe we have been out in the weather long enough. Do not you?”

She humphed, though it sounded oddly like agreement. “Learned all I needed to know,” she said, giving Athena another one of her scathing visual assessments.

Mr. Langley gave the coachman harried instructions to leave the park at the earliest opportunity.

Not ten minutes later, Athena was deposited on the steps of Falstone House.

“Good riddance,” she heard Mrs. Langley’s acidic voice declare as the landau pulled away.

“Amen,” Athena muttered in response.

Her list had grown by one more attribute. Her ideal husband would not possess a poison-tongued mother to whom he clung with almost unnatural fervor. She would not spend the rest of her life insulted by a mother-in-law and ignored by a husband who had not yet grown out of the role of needy child.

And Harry, she further decided, desperately needed to expand his circle of acquaintances.

Chapter 9

Harry was painfully aware of the fact that he was walking a razor-thin line when it came to Athena Lancaster. The time he spent in her company was to be the one consolation in all of his efforts to help her to a good match. And yet her company was proving fatal to his self-mastery.

She’d very nearly sent him into a state of panic when she had so innocently declared that holding hands with a gentleman in a darkened box at the theater could not possibly be an affecting experience. There were far too many so-called gentlemen of the
ton
who would take advantage of her naïveté. So, like the dunderhead he too often proved himself to be, Harry had offered a relatively tame demonstration. Those brief moments managed to convince
him
just how affecting a touch of hands could truly be. He was grateful that Persephone and Adam had been sufficiently distracted; a few minutes had been required for Harry to regain control of his countenance.

Portraying an avuncular acquaintance was growing more difficult with each attempt. Harry knew his eyes followed Athena around every ballroom. He was keenly aware of her location at any social function. He had noted her arrival in Hyde Park just that afternoon probably even before she herself was aware of her location. How Peterbrook could have disapproved of Athena’s carriage dress the day before was beyond Harry’s comprehension. He could scarcely take his eyes off her the entire time he’d been beside the Handleys’ carriage today. Athena would be stunning even dressed in rags.

Harry dropped into the lumpy leather armchair in his sitting room. Adam was at Lords. Persephone was probably making morning calls. And Athena, if Harry didn’t miss his guess, was most likely spitting mad. He’d seen the flash of annoyance in her eyes as Mrs. Handley had spouted her self-righteous nonsense. He’d known Handley’s mother to be something of a bossy dragon, but he hadn’t anticipated such a running stream of vitriol. Athena needed to realize that she would be marrying a gentleman’s family as well as the man himself. Having a mother-in-law who was selfish to the core and who led her son around by the nose, as it were, would be an unbearable situation. Handley had been the perfect man to demonstrate that. For that reason, Harry had offered to introduce him to the Little Season’s fair diamond. But Mrs. Handley had outdone herself.

Harry would give Athena some time to cool off. Perhaps by the time they left for the Fitzpatricks’ musicale she would be in a more receptive mood. He sincerely hoped so. There was someone attending the same function who was anticipating an introduction, an experience that was not likely to improve Athena’s mood.

Harry slouched down in the well-worn chair, his left elbow on the chair arm, head resting in his palm. He pushed out a long breath, trying to expel the smell of violets that always lingered long after he’d left Athena’s side. It didn’t help that he’d bought another posy on his way back to his rooms. Harry mentally shook his head at himself. How long had he been so infatuated?

With his eyes still closed, Harry could see her as she had looked the moment she had arrived at Falstone Castle that spring. It had only been spring
technically
. The snow lasted far past winter in Northumberland. Athena had stepped out of the traveling carriage, her cheeks pink from the cold. She had walked up the front steps and through the enormous front doors of the castle with all the dignity and grace that was expected of a young lady of her station in life. But her eyes had given her away, revealing a poignant mixture of apprehension and anticipation.

That was the moment. He realized it looking back. He had seen far too many young society misses who had perfected the art of looking utterly bored with life. Athena was refreshingly different. Constant detachment was expected of the
ton.
Society’s upper echelon worked hard at appearing so unimpressed with life as to be on the verge of expiring from it. Harry had never managed the act. And neither, he guessed, had or would Athena. He’d loved her ever since.

Harry opened his eyes. Literally and figuratively. A quick glance around the room brought him back down to earth. To say the room was shabby would have been a generous compliment. Not a single painting adorned the walls. The furniture had most certainly seen better days. His valet was his one and only servant, if one didn’t count the maid who came in once a week, and no one in the
ton
would have counted her. Society held itself to a very high standard even in matters of servants. The only thing in the room that couldn’t be considered ragged was the violets. And the irony of that realization was not lost on Harry.

He rose and walked slowly to the window, his characteristic smile completely missing. The street below his window was busy, but he only vaguely noted the activity. £650. That was his yearly income. It was possible to support a wife on such an amount, if there were never any children to provide for and if she had no objections to living in a manner not unlike that in which Athena had lived before Adam’s fortune had saved them. Except that Harry’s situation was worse than the Lancasters’ had been. They’d had little by way of money—that much was true. But the family had had a roof over their heads and a home in good repair. Harry’s home and the estate upon which it sat were barely livable. Thousands of pounds would be required to bring it to the point where it could be occupied. And even with such a drastic level of investment, there would be no true prosperity.

That he needed Athena’s dowry was obvious. But he didn’t want her dowry. He wanted Athena. And he could never have her.

Time slipped by as he stood, blindly staring down at the street. His mind was filled with memories of her. He remembered her brave smile the day of Persephone and Adam’s wedding. He thought back on the time he’d found her in the book room at Falstone Castle and the palpable relief she’d exuded upon realizing Adam hadn’t discovered her there. And his mind relived the discussions and debates they’d had after that on any number of subjects. Harry had retrieved the books she’d wanted from Adam’s sanctuary, and they’d talked over the things she’d read. She hadn’t summoned the courage to learn to ride, but Harry had secretly intended to talk her into it when he had returned to Falstone Castle after the Season. That wouldn’t happen after all. She would be married, and not to him.

A discreet throat clearing pulled Harry from his thoughts. His long-suffering valet was standing in the doorway to Harry’s sitting room with a look of urgency on his face. A quick glance at the tiny, dented clock on a heavily scratched end table told Harry he had very little time before he was expected for dinner at Falstone House.

Harry let out a tense breath. It was time to force himself to be happy when he was feeling less happy with each passing moment. He would simply cling to the knowledge that introducing Athena to Sir Hubert Collington would, if all went according to his expectations, add another crucial characteristic to her list of future-spouse qualifications. And this latest characteristic was, indeed, essential.

* * *

Athena sat in Adam’s most well-sprung carriage attempting to feel enthusiastic about the evening ahead. She enjoyed music and, until her very long, torturous afternoon, had been looking forward to the Fitzpatrick musicale. Mrs. Handley’s company had left Athena drained and out of sorts. A brief nap had done little but make her head hurt.

How was it, she wondered to herself as each jostle brought a fresh ache to her forehead, that sleeping could make one feel
less
rested? It seemed terribly counterintuitive.

Harry handed Persephone down once they stopped in front of the Fitzpatrick house, before turning to offer his hand to Athena, still waiting in the carriage. She attempted a smile, knowing appearances were crucial in the
ton.
No matter how miserable she felt, she must appear content.

Harry’s fingers closed around hers. Athena took a fortifying breath. Her headache, though not shattering, was simply unpleasant. And if Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s reputation was anything to go by, the evening’s entertainment would never dip into the truly atrocious. That would help. Screeching voices and ill-formed chords would quickly catapult her into a debilitating megrim.

“Athena?” Harry infused the single word with an entire inquiry. Her social mask had not, apparently, fooled him.

“I am a little tired this evening,” she admitted in hushed tones. “My day was wearying.”

He gave her a sympathetic look before stepping to where Persephone waited and offering his arm. Duchesses took precedence over duchess’s sisters. Harry would walk Persephone inside and Athena would follow behind. The formality had never bothered her before. But the instant Harry had released her fingers, she missed the contact.

There was something so reassuring about Harry. Even when she was worn down or tired or unhappy, he had a talent for lightening her mind and heart. Her own father had not been one for reassurances and support. He had all too often been lost in his studies, rather oblivious to his children’s needs. He’d never been unkind, simply neglectful.

Athena supposed she ought to add that to her list. She would very much prefer a husband who did not forget her existence for weeks on end.

Being in company with a duchess had certain benefits. The other guests parted as they stepped inside the Fitzpatricks’ home, allowing Harry to lead Persephone, and Athena in their wake, directly to their seats without the necessity of waiting in a jostling crowd. That would certainly not have done her headache any good.

Harry sat between Persephone and Athena. Around them the remaining guests were beginning to find seats, conversing as they did. Athena took several long, slow breaths, silently pleading with her head to not punish her too harshly as the evening wore on.

“I understand Adam’s mother will be in Town for your come-out ball,” Harry said quietly, leaning closer to Athena so as to be heard. He smelled musky. Why had she never noticed that before? It was a pleasant, clean sort of smell—not cloying, the way some gentlemen smelled. Mr. Peterbrook came to mind—his scent generally lingered long after he did and was every bit as unwelcome. “She will most likely make a great fuss over you. I thought I would drop a friendly warning in your ear, so you are not caught off guard.”

Athena smiled up at Harry, the first genuine smile she had produced all evening. The smile he gave her in return was different from his usual. It was softer somehow. Not that his smiles were ever harsh or unpleasant.

“Windover,” a voice said from Athena’s other side, pulling her eyes away from Harry’s intriguing smile to a gentleman impeccably dressed in a deep green, well-tailored coat, black breeches, and a perfectly executed mathematical about his neck.

Harry rose to make introductions, and Athena automatically followed suit. She endured the usual moment of stomach knotting. She had discovered this strange phenomenon very early on during her first evenings amongst the
ton
. Every time she was introduced to, or about to be introduced to, a gentleman, her insides seemed to momentarily rearrange themselves while her mind echoed the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, the gentleman in question was the illusive gentleman she had been waiting all her life to meet. Despite Harry’s expressions of doubt, Athena was still convinced that she would
know
when she had found the man she ought to marry. Perhaps not love at first sight, but love at second or third sight did not seem unreasonable. As she came to know said gentleman better, she would feel it—whatever
it
happened to be. Every time she came face-to-face with the possibility of discovering
it,
she felt a little nervous.

Her mind focused on the introductions Harry was conducting barely in time to register the fact that the gentleman offering his bows was Sir Hubert Collington. Athena did not know anything of him, specifically, but had heard his name in passing. He was a baronet, as was obvious by his title, and Sir Hubert owned a tidy estate somewhere, though she could not recall its location. She also could not recall seeing him amongst any of the clusters of gentlemen who seemed to hover about the fringes of the room at each and every society gathering. Ladies attended balls and soirees and musicales with the obvious intent of enjoying the festivities. The gentlemen always seemed to be present under duress. Adam simply did not come. Athena could not picture him hovering. He would most certainly be scowling and, most likely, vocally denouncing the entire event. It was probably best that he didn’t attend, which was presumably the reason Persephone did not press him to join her.

Sir Hubert took the seat on Athena’s right side, Harry sitting on her left, just as Mrs. Fitzpatrick ushered the evening’s first performer to the pianoforte placed in front of the gathering. Athena rested her hands on her lap, acutely aware of Sir Hubert’s presence. He did not smell as nice as Harry, she noted, feeling unaccountably annoyed. And he was not smiling. Sir Hubert wore an expression of undisguised cynical boredom. Such looks were normal amongst the
ton
, but Athena had always preferred individuals who looked at least passingly pleased with life.

The young lady at the pianoforte was executing a fairly skilled rendition of a sonata Athena recognized but could not name. There were no noticeably wrong notes, and the music was not overly loud. Perhaps she would survive the evening after all. No doubt Mrs. Fitzpatrick was saving her best performers for last, which meant if this quite acceptable performance was to be the worst of the evening, there would be nothing truly horrible about the night.

By the time Mrs. Fitzpatrick invited her guests to partake of a very light selection of edibles, Athena had regained a degree of her optimism. Her head still ached somewhat vaguely but did not threaten to undo her.

Sir Hubert sat at the table where Harry had led Athena and Persephone. While she had not exchanged a single word with the gentleman beyond the compulsory comments during their initial introduction, Athena did not find herself anxious to deepen the acquaintance. Perhaps she had simply grown wary of Harry’s selection of friends. There was not, thus far, a decent sort of gentleman among them.