Page 7 of Inconvenient Honor
This one had impeccable manners. If she found the presence of a Muslim at her table troublesome, she hid it well. Lady Sarah possessed a suitable dowry and background for the wife of a future duke. Their fathers were cronies when not locked in rivalry. Perhaps I ought to consider her.
Moments later his mind wandered again. He caught himself glaring at Walter Stewart, who leaned too close to Lilias.Raise your damned eyes above the woman’s décolletage, Stewart!
The next thing he heard came from Lady Sarah. “But your eminence, isn’t Greece part of your homeland also? All those islands?”
Richard held his breath. He did not want a discussion of political tension at dinner. That could wait until the men were alone.
Sahin smiled as a grandfather might at a simple child. “Greece lies under the protection of the Ottoman Emperor for sure, my lady. It is as you say, quite beautiful.”
Lady Jane wrinkled her nose. “How can it be Greece and Ottoman?” she asked.
Before Richard could respond, Sahin Pasha spoke. “How does your Scotland lie with in the United Kingdom?”
“My father calls the Scots barbarians in a wild land,” Lady Jane sniffed.
“Not so!” Lady Sarah objected. Catherine, Sahin Pasha, and Richard all looked at her. Lady Jane glared.
“My cousin has a manor near the borders,” Lady Sarah continued. “It is quite, quite beautiful. The company is cultured, even if the weather is not what one might like.”
Richard looked at Lady Sarah more closely. Yes, perhaps I should consider this one. It would at least relieve me of my mother’s machinations.
“Ah, but part of Greece’s attraction lies in its weather,” Sahin responded.
Richard let Catherine steer the conversation into the safer realms of temperature and thunderstorm. He glanced down the table again. This time he caught his mother’s frown. She glared at Lilias.
When Catherine finally rose, Richard sat back in relief. He watched the ladies troop out, forced his gaze away from Lilias Thornton, and caught a martial look on his mother’s face. Perhaps he should avoid joining the ladies altogether.
Lady Sarah Whartontook the place next to the Duchess of Sudbury on a brocade sofa. Lily watched with less detachment than she liked.
Other young ladies, including the sour-faced Lady Jane, clustered around, peeping like so many ducklings vying for place. Whatever else this house party intended, the competition for the Marquess of Glenaire waged fast and furiously. Yesterday that amused Lily.
Suddenly the entire marriage stakes wearied her. She longed to escape to her room. Petite, blond, and assured of her own worth, Lady Sarah represented everything Lily was not.
In three days at Chadbourn’s house party, the girl had emerged as the catch of the season, and she clearly had the duchess’s endorsement. Lily could have viewed her as competition, except Lady Sarah’s quarry lay far above Lily’s touch.
What would the little darling think if she knew her precious marquess had kissed me?
Memory of Glenaire’s mouth on hers vibrated through Lily’s body. She had been restless since she had let Volkov touch her intimately. Now the marquess set every nerve on edge.
She couldn’t deny that she found him attractive, but, even if fear of Volkov didn’t poison any attraction Glenaire held, the man himself would quash what pretense she might have made of seeking his attention.
“Yes, Sarah, do play for us,” the duchess pronounced. Everything that woman says sounds like a pronouncement, Lily thought. She watched Lady Sarah spring into action, watched the duchess’s beam of approval, and watched the others follow her with false smiles and calculating looks.
Enough! Lily rose to seek her hostess and take her leave, relieved to turn her back on the tableau by the pianoforte. She spied the Countess of Chadbourn at the far end of the room and stepped quickly in that direction.
“Miss Thornton! Do come sit,” the countess greeted her. “We were discussingA Modern Prometheus. Have you read it?”
“Frankenstein?” Lily asked, diverted. “No, actually. Is it quite the horror people say?” An older woman moved so she could sit by the countess.
“Oh quite!” Lady Chadbourn said, “But the delicious part is speculating on its anonymous author.”
“The preface is by that poet Percy Shelley,” one of the woman put in, “but it seems unlikely he wrote it.”
“I can see that he might prefer anonymity if he did,” another said.
Lily’s head spun. “An anonymous author could be a woman,” she said without thinking.
The countess beamed at her. “My point precisely!” She leaned over and lowered her voice in mock secrecy, “Perhaps even a lady of standing.”
