Arcana (7 page)

His face lacks expression as he takes in the room. I try to avert my gaze as his eyes rove over me, but I’m too late. We lock eyes, and I feel the pulse in my neck throb. Why must he be so handsome? He turns back to Lady Hasting. “Yes, that will do. Thank you.”

She beams like he’s told her this was the best assembly of his life and leads him to his chair.

He sits beside me, and I don’t dare look at him. My physical reaction is much too worrisome.

Grandmama, though, has other plans. “My lord,” she says, materializing at his side, “I believe your late father was good friends with my son, the Viscount of Bransfield.” A pause, and then she adds, “Allow me to introduce his daughter, the Honorable Katherine Sinclair.”

My heart is pounding as if I’ve just returned from riding. I meet his hooded gaze. “How do you do.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he says, his voice deep and rich as red wine. Something stirs inside me at the sound.

“And his youngest daughter, the Honorable Lucy Sinclair,” she says, and his eyes slide over to my little sister. When they quickly return to me, I feel a blush creep up my neck.

The footmen bring steaming bowls of soup with fresh bread, and though the tendrils of steam bring the smell of cream and mushrooms to my nose, I find I have little appetite. All eyes are on the earl as he lifts his spoon to his mouth. With a nod, he says to Lady Hasting, “It’s very good.”

A collective sigh, and then everyone returns to their own meal, chattering excitedly.

I lean toward Lucy. “How utterly absurd.” My quiet tone is drowned out by the sounds of laughter, silverware clinking against porcelain, and music. “You’d think King Edward himself walked in.”

Lucy giggles behind her hand, and I take a sip of soup.

“I am afraid only a mere earl would attend such a dull affair as this,” Lord Thornewood says, and a sick feeling washes over me. A glance at his face reveals nothing.

I should apologize profusely, but instead, my mouth runs away with me. “My lord could not possibly have ascertained my meaning, especially as I was speaking only to my sister.”

His spoon pauses on its way to his mouth, and he puts it back in his bowl. “Perhaps you would do well not to speak to your sister about the person sitting close enough to smell your perfume.”

“You are exaggerating. I am not even wearing perfume.” I should stop talking now. Why am I still talking?

He takes a sip of his soup, his eyes on me. “Do you mean to tell me you naturally smell of such an enticing scent?”

My eyes widen. Surely he couldn’t be flirting with me. But then why does my pulse suddenly jump as he looks at me with his dark eyes? “Is it not true the fairer sex, by their very nature, should smell pleasantly?”

“You answer a question with a question. How very diplomatic of you. But you are lucky tonight, Miss Sinclair. I feel very generous.” He grins, and the look is so rakish, I remember the words of my mother’s letter.

I stiffen. How easily I let myself be taken in by him. He is exactly the sort of man my mother warned me about, of this I am sure.

“Have I offended you?” he asks, but his face reveals not a shred of contrition. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You young debutantes are all just a bundle of emotions in pretty packaging.”

“Are we indeed? I dare say it’s assertions like that which result in ambitious mamas parading their carefully groomed daughters before unappreciative men.”

A spark of amusement appears in his dark eyes. “You seek to prove me wrong then?”

“Perhaps if I had any interest in the game, I would trouble myself to take on such an endeavor. Unfortunately, I do not.”

Before he can respond, a footman leans in to clear away our soup. This break in our conversation is all the beautifully dressed lady seated to Lord Thornewood’s right has been waiting for, and she deftly draws him into the discussion she and the other ladies seated across from us have been having on their recent trip to Bath.

I look over at Lucy, who is engaged in a discussion of her own with the young girl seated next to her. They are good-naturedly arguing the merits of oil versus water-color painting, and since I know very little about either, I return my attention to the rich food before me.

So determined are the other ladies to keep Lord Thornewood’s attention, I manage to avoid talking with him for the rest of dinner, though every so often, I see his eyes drift in my direction.

Once dessert has been cleared away, Lady Hasting stands. “Since there are so few gentlemen in attendance here tonight, I thought we would all retire to the drawing room.”

Everyone nods happily at this, for they wouldn’t want to miss the chance to remain in the earl’s presence. Lucy and I stand, and Lord Thornewood offers an arm to us both. Lucy accepts with a shy smile, and after only a moment of hesitation, I take it as well.

I look up to find Lord Thornewood watching me with amusement. “You needn’t worry. Offering you my arm is merely polite—not part of the game you mentioned earlier.”

I flush, chagrined and already half-regretting my waspish words.

He leads us to a lovely cream-colored sofa closest to the grand piano. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says once we’re seated, “I believe I will need a cocktail before this evening is over. May I ask the servants to bring you anything?”

We both shake our heads no, and I try rather unsuccessfully to prevent my eyes from following his broad back as he seeks out a footman.

“He is unbelievably handsome,” Lucy says with almost a sigh.

Guard your heart, my darling,
Mama’s words warn in my mind.

“Dangerously so,” I say, and Lucy gives me a sharp look.

“Do you think he is . . .” her words trail away, but her meaning is clear.
Is he one of them?

“I have no reason to believe he is, but then, I know no more of what to look for than you do.”

“But surely a friend of Papa’s can be trusted,” Lucy says, her expression hopeful.

“I hope so, too, Luce,” I say. “It’s a pity they do not wear some sort of identifying mark—a name badge, perhaps?”

She grins. “A garish pin of the sun upon their bow ties?”

“Miss Sinclair,” Lady Hasting calls, “your grandmother tells me you are rather skilled at the piano. Would you be so kind as to play something for us?”

I glance at the gleaming instrument longingly. I know I shouldn’t, but as it so often does, the music calls to me. “She has most likely exaggerated my talents, madam, but I will be glad to play for you.”

My mother’s music is, once again, itching to be played, but I cannot—not here. Instead, I play an Irish ballad I’ve always loved. It’s a bold and dramatic song, and I play with intense focus, my eyes never leaving the keys.

I’m halfway through when the wide woman who greeted Lord Thornewood calls out to me. “My dear Miss Sinclair, do you not sing? That song you play is quite nice, but it needs a strong voice to complement it.” She turns to the somber lady beside her. “Both my girls sing and play beautifully.”

“Yes, madam,” I say when she returns her gaze to me, “but I—”

“Then by all means, sing. It will greatly liven our little party here.” She gives me a knowing smile. She must think me an incompetent singer.

With an acidic smile in her direction, I let the movement I’m on blur into the first before singing the opening lyrics. I know it’s wrong to let a stranger goad me into this, but my pride often overshadows my good sense. As I move into the verses, I allow myself to glance up.

Everyone is watching me. Some, with narrowed eyes. Others, with wide smiles. I close my eyes once in relief. They seem to be enjoying the music, but not in a way which would suggest they’ve fallen under my power’s influence. Lucy smiles at me sweetly, and Grandmama watches me with approval. Lord Thornewood, though, watches me with an intense fascination, as if he cannot believe the sound is truly coming from my mouth. When my heart races in response, I close my eyes again to block out his mesmerizing face.

My reaction is worrisome enough without taking into account my mother’s warning of gentlemen who prey on people with abilities. What if he watches me because he can somehow sense the truth? I almost wish I’d never read that entry. Now I will jump at every shadow.

My voice soars with the song’s crescendo, and then I let it fall, soft and gentle through the final bars. With the last notes humming in the air, I rise and give a brief bow of my head to the polite applause. Before anyone—especially Lord Thornewood—can say a word to me, I make my excuses and escape to the retiring room.

My grandmother breezes into the room, her eyes landing on my face. “Katherine, what ever could you be doing? Do you intend to remain here for the rest of the evening?”

I think of the way he watched me with such intensity while I played the piano, a love for music obvious in the brightness of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Grandmama, a sudden headache came over me,” I lie.

She tilts her head like she can see right through my words, but she doesn’t contradict me. “I must say I am very pleased with your musical talents. You play as well as your mother.”

My grandmother may not have had any love for Mama, but she did respect her. I smile, but not too brightly, since I’m still keeping up the façade. “That’s a compliment indeed.”

“You’ve done extraordinarily well tonight.” She holds her arm out to me. “But we mustn’t keep Lord Thornewood waiting any longer.” She leans close to my ear as I move toward the door. “You’ve done a wonderful job of piquing his interest.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

The smart thing to do would be to simper, bat my eyelashes, and fawn over him as soon as I enter the room. Nothing would deter him faster, but I find I am incapable of such duplicity.

A footman holds the door for us, and I walk in, my head held high. If I cannot deter him with foolishness, perhaps a cold demeanor will.

I scan the room for Lucy, but almost everyone has left the tables, so I can’t find her before my grandmother leads me to Lord Thornewood.

“My lord,” she says, and he turns toward us. Now that we’re both standing so close to one another, I realize how tall he is. He must stand at least a head taller than every other person in the room.

Grandmama abandons me with a polite little bow of her head. I glare at her retreating back.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Sinclair,” he says, his left hand in the pocket of his trousers. “I’d thought for a moment you were only a figment of my admittedly over-active imagination.”

“My apologies. I was unaware you sought my attention.”

He takes his hand from his pocket, and he loses some of his prideful stance. “I was overcome by your talent. I’ve never heard a voice so beautiful.” The look he gives me is so sincere that an answering warmth spreads in my chest. But no, I mustn’t be taken in by him.

“You flatter me, my lord.”

“I do not. It was well-deserved.”

I resist the urge to look away from his dark eyes, suddenly uncomfortable with his attention. “I thank you for the compliment.”

He smiles then, and it takes everything in me
not
to bat my eyelashes like a simpering fool. Oh, how painfully handsome he is. Frustration twists in me at the apparent lack of control I have over my own body.

He leans in close as if to speak to me in confidence. “You did well to play the piano so beautifully. No doubt you have been told how much of a music enthusiast I am and sought to snare my attention.”

“Ah, but that would be playing the game, my lord, and I already assured you I have no intention of doing so.”

He grins at my teasing tone, but his eyes hold a more serious expression. “You did say that, yes. And I’m surprised to admit I’m actually disappointed.”

His words rob me of mine, and for many moments, we only stare at one another.

Our brief staring contest is interrupted by Lady Hasting, who, as all superior hostesses are, is skilled at sensing when any of her guests have stumbled into an awkward moment. In this case, her mission seems to have benefits for other guests as she leads over yet another fashionably dressed lady with daughters in tow. Their tailored corseted dresses are of complementary jewel tones, as though the mother wanted to present her daughters as a package of marriage potential to Lord Thornewood.

“My lord,” Lady Hasting says, “you must allow me to introduce you to Lady Marie Belleview, Countess of Dirkshire.”

The countess embodies my expectations for nobility with sharp features and haughty air, down to her elaborate dress. The dress is a rich shade of crimson trimmed in gold embroidery, befitting someone who outranks nearly everyone here—save for the earl.

The earl’s expression never changes from one of indifference, but he dips his head politely at least.

“And her daughters,” Lady Hasting continues, “Hyacinth and Rose.”

They execute perfect curtsies, though I notice Rose bites her bottom lip to mask her nervousness. This endears them to me more than anything else, since I now know what it feels like to be carefully groomed for the sole purpose of securing a gentleman’s interest. My eyes narrow at the earl when he continues to look unimpressed.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the earl says, his tone polite and nothing more.

Rose’s fair complexion hides nothing, and her cheeks flare pink.

“And have you met the granddaughter of my dear friend, Lady Sinclair?” Lady Hasting asks the countess.

The countess turns to look at me, her eyes appraising me in an instant. As her nose remains high in the air, I can only assume she finds me lacking. “Lovely to meet you,” she says.

I curtsy, smiling in a more genuine way when I look at Hyacinth and Rose. They return the gesture, Hyacinth’s timid smile not quite as bright as her sister’s.

I glance at Grandmama, who stands only a few feet away, and I am ready to leave before my words come ahead of my thoughts again. “I do hope you’ll excuse me,” I say. “I believe my grandmother and sister are ready to leave.”

Before I can take more than a few steps in the direction of Grandmama, the earl easily falls into step beside me. “Leaving already?” he asks, his voice low.