Page 7 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)
She decided to look about the room. The hall itself wasn’t overly big, but it was wide with many rows of wooden chairs split by a center aisle. At the front of the single room was a piano and three accompanying chairs for musicians.
Some guests had already taken seats near the front, and more stood in small groups, talking amongst themselves and eyeing the new arrivals as they came in.
Anastasia didn’t need to glance over to know that there were many pairs of eyes dissecting her hairstyle and her face, wondering who she was in society.
I’m no one , she thought. No one of importance.
She sat at the end of a row, by her sister and aunt, who already looked sleepy at the prospect of an evening concert.
She rather wished she had followed their uncle’s example and stayed home for the evening.
Curling up by the fire with a good book sounded much preferable to going out in society and making new enemies.
Betsey looked over Anastasia’s shoulder, then looked back. “Mr. Hardwicke’s talking with a pair of men and two women. They look very grand.”
Anastasia looked down at her lap. Her gloves were of a fine silk; her dress was pretty and not without adornment. So why did she feel as though she were a country bumpkin and not quite up to London standards?
“One of the ladies just took his arm. Do you think that could be his sister?”
Anastasia refused to look. And she didn’t need to, for the party in question walked down the aisle and the men escorted the women to their seats. Mr. Hardwicke took charge of the young, blonde woman with the impressive topknot hairstyle.
The woman looked over her shoulder at Anastasia briefly, then held on to Mr. Hardwicke’s arm. A bit longer than necessary , Anastasia thought. She eyed Mr. Hardwicke, who gave her a curt nod and took a chair of his own.
Anastasia kept her gaze fixed straight ahead and waited for the music to begin. She had just come here to enjoy the concert. She didn’t need to fall for any ineligible young men, no matter how handsome they were.
A hush, and then the sharp staccato of the musicians’ shoes against the polished marble floor signaled quiet, that the concert was about to begin.
Led by a conductor, the music that evening was a series of Scottish reels that quickly had people tapping their toes in time.
But as it was not an evening party or assembly, no dancing occurred.
Anastasia enjoyed herself thoroughly and rather thought the music ended too soon.
Once the concert was over, she stood with her aunt and sister and chatted amiably.
Looking past Betsey’s shoulder, she cast a glance over at the crowd but did not see Mr. Hardwicke anywhere.
She smoothed down the folds of her dress and stifled a yawn.
Maybe the long journey had tired her, after all.
While they queued behind other groups and couples to collect their coats, their aunt watched some people behind them most carefully.
Once they stood outside and began to wait for their carriage to arrive at the entrance, Anastasia shivered, feeling the night air brush against the back of her neck.
She pulled her aubergine cloak tighter around herself.
“Well, that was interesting,” her aunt said behind her, just as the carriage arrived.
“Yes, I enjoyed the concert. Excellent music,” Anastasia said.
“A jolly way to spend an evening,” Betsey agreed.
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, yes, it was, and I’m glad you girls enjoyed yourselves. Whilst we were getting our coats, I chatted with an old friend of mine and inquired about the young man we met this evening,” Aunt Mildred said.
Anastasia tensed. She felt her cheeks warm. “Oh?”
Her aunt laughed. “You can try to be calm and uncaring, but you don’t fool me. You liked him, didn’t you?”
Anastasia gave her aunt a slight nod.
“What did you find out, Aunt?” Betsey asked, shifting her feet.
“Only that Mr. Hardwicke is well known to the ladies and is quite popular in society. But…” Her aunt looked away.
“Aunt?” Anastasia prompted.
“He has been seen about Town with hardly any women. Only those few of his own acquaintance. Apparently, many have hoped to be courted by him, but he has the most discerning taste. No young lady seems to meet his standards.” She sniffed.
“Perhaps he has been unlucky in love,” Betsey said.
“Yes, well. I have to look after you girls. Your father is a dear soul, but he hasn’t the slightest clue when it comes to courtship. Maybe he did when he was courting your mother, God rest her soul, but things have changed since the 1780s.” Aunt Mildred gave a stern nod.
The next day, Anastasia woke early. She was first in the dining room, along with her Uncle Richard, who sat reading the paper over a cup of tea.
He lowered his paper a fraction. “You’re up early.
I thought you’d be like the others and sleep in.
How was the concert?” His Prussian accent was rich, and Anastasia liked hearing him talk. It sounded exotic.
“It was wonderful. Such good music.” Anastasia helped herself to a cup of tea and a piece of toast, spreading butter and jam on it. She picked it up with her fingers and bit into the crunchy slice, enjoying the sweet and savory tastes on her tongue.
“And what will you do today?”
“I thought I might go see a museum or an art gallery. I heard there were some and thought they might be nice.”
“Excellent idea. Be sure to take your aunt or sister with you.”
“What about you, Uncle? Surely, you didn’t come to London just to sit inside with your paper all day,” she teased.
He winked at her. “No. I want to visit the astronomical society. There is the Royal Observatory in Greenwich that I want to see.”
She stopped amid-crunch. That sounded wonderful.
She’d never really appreciated or shared her uncle’s interest in astronomy, but she liked that he had a somewhat scientific interest and pursuit outside of reading the paper and taking long country walks.
Not too dissimilar was her father, who was rather fond of cakes and meat, and he’d developed a bit of a paunch over time.
He took to walking regularly, But that is the way of middle-age , Anastasia thought.
One won’t, or perhaps can’t, stay young and trim forever, despite trying.
“I think that sounds wonderful,” she said.
“What does? Are you telling Uncle about that young man you met last night?” Betsey teased, strolling into the breakfast room and pulling out a chair.
She wore a light day dress of pink cotton, with a pretty, beige sash around her waist. Betsey wore no adornment for her hair or jewelry but had her hair pinned back in some pretty curls to dangle like curled wisps by her temples. The effect was girlish and very pretty.
“No,” Anastasia said, swallowing her toast.
Her sister laughed. “Then why are you blushing?”
“Who’s blushing?” Aunt Mildred walked into the room and sat down across from their father. “Oh, I see. So you’ve heard about our little escapade last night. Such interesting new acquaintances to be met.”
“All right, what on earth are you all talking about? What young man, and why is Anastasia blushing?”
Aunt Mildred and Betsey laughed as Anastasia sipped her tea and took another bite of toast. “No one,” she said.
Her aunt smirked, whilst Betsey gave her a sidelong grin. “She’s fibbing. There is a young man. A very handsome one too. His name is—”
“Never mind what his name is. We met and that was all. We had a very enjoyable evening.” Anastasia wiped her mouth and took a big swig of her tea. She swallowed wrong and started to cough.
Betsey clapped her on the back a few times. “No need to run away, Ana. We’re just teasing.”
“I agree. There’s no reason to choke,” Aunt Mildred said as Anastasia’s coughing subsided.
“I didn’t mean to,” she uttered. Red in the face, Anastasia felt their eyes on her and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. She’d had enough tea. She rose from the seat. “Excuse me.” She pushed the chair back and fled the room.
Once outside, she hung back and stood against the wall, just outside the room. She wanted her heart to stop pounding. Her blood raced in her veins, and she knew not why.
Aunt Mildred said, “The young ladies had a very nice time. Anastasia met a young gentleman, but he’s not the right sort of man. I doubt they will ever meet again.”
“Oh, pooh, Aunt. I, for one, hope they will. Ana is so headstrong, and now that she’s getting on in years, she’d be better to take a serious man than none at all in her age.”
“Steady on, Betsey. She’s not yet thirty.”
“She’s old enough, for some people.” Betsey sniffed. “He was so handsome and dashing. I don’t believe what the gossips say.”
“And what is that?” their uncle asked.
“Only that he is a bit stuck up. Not the sort of man you’d want for your nieces, Richard.”
“I see. Well, never mind.” The sound of a newspaper rustling put an end to his part in the conversation.
“But we should find a match for Anastasia, even if she is a spinster. It won’t be easy though. I’ve never seen her so withdrawn and severe. I didn’t think her so serious.”
“I gather she’s been like that for years, Mildred. Ever since Catherine passed away,” their uncle said.
“All the more reason for us to find her a husband,” their aunt said.
Betsey chuckled. “Good luck with that, Aunt. She flatly refuses to stand up with anyone at dances and only attends assemblies to accompany me. She’s a bit too protective, honestly. And she’s just as snooty as that Mr. Hardwicke. No man will ever meet her high standards.”
No man could ever be trusted with my heart , Anastasia thought. Not after Jeremiah broke it.