Mistress at Midnight. Sophia James
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to see that none close had heard her question.
‘There are ears everywhere in a gathering such as this one, Mrs St Harlow, and it is prudent to protect a reputation.’
She shook her head and looked away. ‘Oh, mine is lost completely already, my lord. I doubt anything else I do could lower it further.’
Again he smiled, the freedom inherent in such a thought enlivening. ‘How old are you?’ Said before he could think, said from the very depths of interest.
‘Twenty-six. An old maid. A woman on the shelf of life and happy for it.’ Her eyes strayed to a set of females of a similar age sitting against one wall. ‘I used to pity them until I realised how very liberated they actually were.’
His fingers tightened about hers, gloved tonight in a strange hue of grey. He wished he might have felt her skin beneath, the warmth of it and the smoothness.
‘My uncle seems more than taken with you and that is saying something. He seldom has time for anyone in society.’
For the first time that evening, genuine warmth entered her eyes. ‘I always liked him, too. He showed me around the gardens at the Atherton country seat once and I helped him collect the eggs from the henhouses.’
‘Most people ridicule him.’
‘Most people loathe me so perhaps the thread in common allows us communion.’
‘I do not loathe you, Aurelia.’
She tripped as he said it and fell up against him, the red in her face climbing into beetroot, though the dance music chose that particular point to end and he shepherded her back to her sister.
Chapter Three
Aurelia’s cheeks burnt molten and the anger in her rose. Hell and damnation, but she was doing exactly what she had promised herself she would not do. She was feeling again and the ache about her heart made her sick and disorientated.
Not here, she chastised herself, not here amongst the wolves and jackals of a group who would like to do nothing more than tear her to pieces. A plain and untitled girl did not get away with treating one of their own the way she had treated her husband, after all.
Biting down, she swallowed, the thick glass in her spectacles blurring the edges of the room and making her queasy. Leonora at least looked happy and the young man beside her was both personable and well presented. Perhaps this evening would not be such a total loss after all.
Lord Hawkhurst stood next to a beautiful woman, her face wreathed in kindness.
‘Lady Cassandra Lindsay, may I introduce Mrs Aurelia St Harlow.’
Lady Cassandra did not falter as she put out her hand in welcome, the grasp of her fingers warm and lingering. Such unexpected amiability was surprising, for it was far more common to encounter only censure.
‘It has been a long while since I remember Stephen conversing so fervently with a dance partner.’
‘The music did not allow him the courtesy of bidding me farewell, I am afraid, my lady,’ she returned. ‘I am certain he was much relieved when he was able to escape, though he has promised my sister a dance.’ She got this in because Lord Hawkhurst looked anything but happy on the other side of the small circle of people.
‘Oh, I rather think her card is full already, Mrs St Harlow. My brother Rodney has pencilled in at least two waltzes.’
Leonora fussed prettily as Lady Lindsay introduced her brother to Aurelia and a small bloom of hope lingered in the air.
Could it even possibly be this easy? When Aurelia looked across at Lord Hawkhurst she saw the gold shards in his eyes harden. He was the tallest man in the room and easily the most prepossessing. No wonder women fell over their feet to be near him. But there was something under the visage that he presented to this society that was…darker.
Glancing away, she made much of extracting a lace handkerchief from her reticule. Charles had had the same sort of darkness, and look where that had got her.
Her sister, on the other hand, had a broad smile on her face and was using her fan most agilely. Aurelia had never seen her so animated and hoped that this was not a bad thing. Did men like a woman to talk quite as much? Was it not too forward to tap a man on the arm in the way that she was doing? Lady Lindsay’s brother did not look in the slightest bit offended so perhaps such behaviour was expected. The headache that had been forming all day raked at the sides of her temple because she doubted that they would ever be given such a chance as excellent as this one again. The thought of coming away without contacts was dispiriting.
‘Mr Northrup enjoys riding, Lia. I said he should accompany us for a canter around the Park.’ Her sister’s eyes were wide with hope, the blue in them matching her gown.
‘Perhaps he should be careful, then, not to jump hedges,’ Hawkhurst drawled in reply, though Cassandra Lindsay merely swatted his arm with her fan.
‘Take no notice of Hawk, Mrs St Harlow. Charles was always taking great chances to show off his jumping skills. I couldn’t believe he had not broken his neck before he…’ She petered off, her brow furrowing, and the man beside her, whom Lia did not as yet know, began to speak.
‘Before he died in the same way that the legends abounding in Transylvania tell of?’
Vampires? He spoke of such? The conversation amongst this group of people seemed irreverent and quick witted. No taboos. No carefully untouched subjects, and after Charles’s rigid lack if humour such wit was refreshing. They laughed a lot, too, she thought, though Lord Hawkhurst’s smile came nowhere near his eyes.
‘You must not mind Hawk and my husband Nathaniel at all, Mrs St Harlow. I know how very difficult Charles’s death must have been for you and I am certain that Rodney would love the chance of being invited into the charming company of your sister for an afternoon’s ride. Where do you reside here in London?’
‘Braeburn House, Lady Lindsay, in Mayfair.’ Leonora was quick with her directions and Aurelia could only applaud her sister’s acumen at seizing the moment, but the thought of Hawkhurst paying a social call was worrying.
What would he see there that she had tried to hide? Would they expect to meet Papa? Was there a chance he might talk with those about the area and understand things that she had been so successful thus far in concealing from others?
She was so exhausted with trying to tie all the threads of her life together she could barely breathe. How quickly could it all unravel?
The arrival of a young blonde woman and an older one within the group changed the tone of what was spoken of as introductions were given.
‘You look as beautiful as ever, Lady Berkeley,’ Cassandra’s husband said as he kissed the back of the woman’s hand.
‘You were always the flatterer, Lord Lindsay. Your mother was the same, God bless her soul.’
The chatter was convivial and familiar between the people who had grown up all of their lives inside the sheltered world of the ton. Were Stephen Hawkhurst and Elizabeth Berkeley a couple promised to each other? The thought made Aurelia’s head throb harder and she knew that she did not fit in here. She watched as the younger Berkeley woman shyly laid her gloved fingers on Lord Hawkhurst’s arm and asked him a question beneath her breath.
His reply was as softly given back, the girl’s cheeks glowing as excitement filled her eyes. Elizabeth Berkeley was like the first flush of some exquisite English rose: all promise, sweetness and hope. Aurelia could not remember a time when she had ever been like that.
At five she had watched her mother pack her bags and disappear. At six she had been the unwanted stepdaughter of her father’s new wife and at seventeen Charles St Harlow had entered her life, like a falling star burning brightly.
Another waltz was struck and Lord Hawkhurst and Elizabeth Berkeley excused themselves to take to the floor, his arm around