Page 49 of A Single Obsession

What about Beau? It wouldn’t be kind of her to leave him to their joint attack. She would rally to his defence, though every fibre of her being rebelled at the prospect of facing the Whitlows.

“You win. I’ll go down to dinner, even if it kills me.”

Chapter 22

Eliza’s courage faded as dinner progressed. Seated between Beau and Lord Whitlow at the table, she was ignored by both. Harriet claimed all the Viscount’s attention with her lively chatter, whilst her father seemed more interested in his food than conversation.

When they had finished eating, the ladies went ahead into the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their wine. Harriet made a point of inviting Eliza to sit with her, including her in the conversation with the others. Eliza wondered what mischief her rival was brewing.

“What is your opinion, Miss Merry?” Harriet asked, showing her an open sketch book. “Is it like or not?”

Eliza gazed down at the page in front of her. It was a pencil drawing of Beau’s face. She was familiar with every inch of his countenance and was forced to admit it was a fair depiction. Not as accurate a portrait as her brother William would have drawn, but far better than anything she could create.

Before Eliza could answer, Frances snatched the book from her lap and gave it to her mother. “What do you think, Mama? Isn’t it an excellent likeness? Harriet is so skilled.”

Lady Harting held it so Lady Whitlow could see. She looked down at the drawing of her son. “Very talented indeed,” she said. “It is a handsome sketch.”

“But not, perhaps, as handsome as the original,” Harriet’s mother said with a little laugh, as though saying something witty.

Eliza cringed, but her aunt gave a thin smile, accepting the compliment on her son’s good looks with a slight bow of her head.

Harriet turned to her, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Do you draw?”

It was a simple enough question, but Eliza guessed her rival knew the answer already and sought to throw her into a poor light. Her cheeks grew warm as they all watched her.

“No.”

“You prefer to paint?”

“No,” she said, her face growing warmer under the continued scrutiny.

“Then what do you favour? Embroidery?”

Eliza thought of her clumsy stitches and would have laughed if it were not so embarrassing. She never could sit still long enough to master any of the regular female accomplishments.

“No.”

“How unusual. Mama insisted we all learn to draw, paint and embroider, as well as play and sing.”

“Hush, Harriet. Not everyone has the same advantages,” Lady Whitlow said.

The arrival of the gentlemen saved Eliza from further embarrassment. It did not surprise her they had not lingered long over their wine as she had caught a significant look passing between Lady Harting and her husband as they left the dining room.

Harriet wasted no time in abandoning her. After drawing their conversation to an abrupt close, she gravitated straight to Beau’s side.

Mr Whitlow sat down next to Eliza on the sofa with a cup of coffee in his hand and, with no encouragement, told her a long and complicated story relating to his father’s estates that could not evoke the slightest interest in anyone else.

However, she saw it as the lesser of two evils. A lengthy, boring tale was preferable to being forced to play the pianoforte, so she faked her absorption and listened until her cousin’s husband ran out of words.

“Let us have some music,” her aunt said.

“Pray excuse me, Mama,” said Frances, resting a hand on her swollen stomach with a titter, “but I cannot get close enough to the keys.”

Lady Harting gave her daughter an indulgent smile and turned her gaze on Harriet. “Miss Whitlow, perhaps you would be so kind as to perform for us?”

“I would love to.” Harriet rose from her seat and looked expectantly up at Beau, who stood near her, where she had cornered him, the moment he entered the room.

He offered her his arm and hovered next to her as she took her time to select her music and sit down at the instrument. As she played a long and complicated piece, he sidled away from the pianoforte until he reached the sofa where Eliza was sitting. He sat down on the opposite side of her to Mr Whitlow, and they listened in silence until Harriet finished playing.