Page 4 of My Lord Rogue
As Verity led her away from the two men, she leaned closer and spoke softly. “Lord Claremont is an earl of unimpeachable taste in wine but very little else. The other is Mr. Baxter, an eccentric but harmless sort, devoted to cataloging the mushrooms of Sussex. He writes poetry about them.”
Theo suppressed a smile.
They approached a cluster of young men, still pink from the raw country air and full of competitive vigor. Their collective attention turned to Theo, their gazes swift and appraising, their words louder and less polite than those of the older generation. Theo felt her cheeks warm despite the chill from the open door.
“Is that the widow?” someone whispered—not as quietly as he intended.
“Recently gave up her weeds, poor thing,” replied another.
Theo’s heart thumped an erratic beat. She longed for the privacy of her room, but she stood her ground, the picture of composure, her chin lifted just enough to signal that she had heard, and that she would not respond.
Verity’s hand tightened on her arm. “Ignore them. They are boys playing at being men. If you stare at any of them too long, he will believe himself in love for a fortnight.”
“I assure you,” Theo murmured, “my eyes are well-guarded.”
A group of women, their gowns in various gradations of blue and mauve, clustered near the fireplace. One, tall and sharp-featured, regarded Theo with open curiosity. Verity made the introductions.
The tall woman smiled with genuine friendliness. “I confess I have heard much about you. My cousin was acquainted with your late husband—said he was a man of singular virtue.”
Theo blinked, unprepared for the rawness of the memory. “He was,” she said, and could think of nothing else to add.
The tall woman seemed satisfied, and the conversation turned to the subject of upcoming card games. Theo let the talk swirl around her, taking part only as much as required, her gaze darting to the clock on the mantel as if she might be allowed to escape at a certain time.
“They will all be in awe of you by the end of the night,” Verity murmured. “You carry your grief like a queen’s crown.”
Theo nearly laughed at that, but something in Verity’s tone—serious, almost reverent—made her pause. She took a slow breath and let herself relax by the smallest degree.
Beyond the doors, the sounds of the house grew wilder, the guests now emboldened by drink and darkness. Theo endured a few more rounds of verbal fencing before Verity suggested seemed to notice her fading stamina. “You look tired. That journey here likely wore you out. Let me show you to your room.”
Gratefully, Theo said her goodnights to all and followed her hostess toward the staircase. She knew where the room was, but didn’t mind the company.
The corridor leading to Theo’s room was dim and cool, the hush of the house at odds with the fevered activity below. A fire had been laid in the grate, her trunks sat neatly at the end of the bed, a servant’s efficiency already at work. Theo was almost grateful to find herself alone at last, with no one to appraise or compare her.
She pulled off her gloves with trembling fingers. Her heart still raced from the gauntlet of introductions, but worse than the discomfort was the sense of being hunted. Every man at the party would now measure her—her fortune, her favor, her fitness for second marriage. The thought filled her with exhaustion.
She sat at the dressing table, staring at the reflection in the gilt-framed mirror, a young widow with too-bright eyes, a touch of pink still high in her cheeks, and every inch of her clothing calculated to display her beauty. She reached for her locket, thumb tracing the raised edge to comfort herself.
Suddenly, she noticed the absence of her wedding band, which she’d left at home. The skin of her finger held a slight indentation where the ring normally sat, and she had to fight not to run a fingertip over it. She could wear the ring again when she returned to Town, but for now, the empty ring finger was part of her costume. The widow who was ready to consider finding love again, or at least companionship.
A knock at the door startled her.
Verity entered without waiting for a response. “Well?” she asked. “How did you find our eligible bachelors?”
Theo hesitated, unwilling to confess her aversion or her discomfort. Instead, she offered the least committal answer she could muster. “They were… attentive.”
“Attentive!” Verity hooted. “You are a marvel of understatement. Sir Hugo looked ready to devour you whole, and the captain has been dying for a proper conversation with someone not made of salt pork and hardtack.”
Theo’s gaze dropped to her lap. In a moment of desperation, she blurted, “I mentioned I’ve been corresponding with someone, didn’t I?”
“You did, but I admit I wasn’t certain if I believed you.”
Laughing in pretend surprise, Theo said, “Why would I lie about something like that?”
Verity waved a hand. “To discourage my matchmaking, of course. I’ve had other friends try various ways to stop me. One even brought a gentleman friend of her own to my party. I’m not a madam, you know. I don’t require my guests to participate in any…activities they don’t wish to.”
“Of course not. I never felt that way.”
“I know my parties are more scandalous than many, but I only want my friends to be happy. Are you happy, Theo?” Verity sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her friend in the mirror.