Lord Mortenhoe. I think he looks nice.’
‘And I think he looked angry,’ Marina said thoughtfully, recalling the flash of green in his eyes as they parted in the hall and the controlled tension in his long frame. ‘I do hope Charlie is not up to something.’
Marina gazed distractedly around the drawing room and prayed she would never have to live through another evening that threatened so much social embarrassment.
Mrs Hinton, the sprightly wife of a diplomat and an old friend of Marina’s, was giving an excellent impression of fascination with Uncle Thredgold’s lecture on the finer points of Devon Red cattle, Mrs Philpott was doing her best to communicate with Mrs Thredgold, who stubbornly refused to use her ear trumpet in company, and Lady Winslow was discussing the benefits of the Harrogate waters with Mr Philpott while anxiously watching her nephew Hugh.
With a sinking heart Marina saw the young man had abandoned his usual sullen slouch, adopting instead a brooding silence that he doubtless believed to be Byronic. From under thick brows he stared moodily at Mrs Hinton, who fortunately appeared unaware of his attention.
Charlie meanwhile was quite impervious to any awkwardness or lack of social sparkle. ‘What is Cook intending for dinner?’ he enquired with a glance at the mantel clock. ‘I’m devilish hungry.’
‘A loin of pork, lobster with a white wine sauce, Milanese escalopes, a timbale—’ Marina broke off the recital of the dishes she had persuaded Cook were the bare minimum to lay before an earl and regarded her brother with a frown. ‘Why are you looking at me like that, Charlie?’
‘Just thinking you look dashed pretty this evening. Why have you got that cap thing on, though?’
‘Because I am a twenty-six-year-old spinster and it is appropriate evening wear.’
‘Wish you’d take it off.’
‘Certainly not! Really, Charlie, since when have you taken the slightest interest in what I wear?’
‘Um...’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘Ah, there’s the knocker, must be Mortenhoe.’
Oh, good! What dreadful timing, Marina thought, flinching as Aunt Thredgold raised her voice in the apparent belief that Mrs Philpott was as deaf as she. ‘...disgusting behaviour! I said to the Vicar...’
‘Need sturdy hocks if they’re to be the slightest use at stud...’ That was Uncle Thredgold, well away now.
‘...unfortunate smell of rotten eggs, of course,’ Mr Philpott remarked just as Lord Mortenhoe entered the room.
Marina fixed a smile of welcome on her lips and wondered if it were possible that his lordship had missed any of this sophisticated conversation. His eyes met hers and he bowed gravely. There was just the hint of a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he straightened up and turned to his host. No, of course not, he had heard every word. At least he showed no sign of considering himself above his company; her apprehension ebbed a little.
‘Lord Mortenhoe.’ Mama sounded her usual placid self as she shook hands, blissfully impervious to the fact that one of the leading lights of society was facing an evening of the deepest boredom at her table. ‘May I introduce you to my sister Mrs Thredgold, her husband...’
She moved around the room, making the presentations, finishing with her daughter. Justin smiled. ‘But I already have the pleasure of Miss Winslow’s acquaintance. How are Master Giles and his hound?’
Lady Winslow drifted away, apparently content that her guest of honour’s entertainment was in safe hands. ‘In what can only be described as rude health, my lord, although Hector is in disgrace and has been confined to the stables for treeing Mrs Philpott’s cat in the Square and then growling at the gardener when he tried to rescue it.’
‘Deplorable,’ Lord Mortenhoe agreed. He was regarding her in a way that made her feel as though they were alone in the room—a most disconcerting sensation. Marina decided she had been living rather too quiet a life recently if the arrival of one tonnish gentleman for dinner was enough to put her out of countenance. It was a seductively pleasant experience, though, to be looked at in quite that manner.
‘Mrs Philpott has been very forgiving about it, although the gardener had to be placated with a gratuity. Do you still keep a pet dog, Mrs Hinton?’ She turned slightly to include her friend in the conversation and Hugh, who had been edging closer with his habitual gaucheness, lounged away again.
‘No, not since little Tottie died just after Christmas.’ Mrs Hinton, a slender honey blonde, looked up through her lashes at Lord Mortenhoe. ‘Doubtless you find me foolishly sentimental, my lord, but I could not bear to replace her.’
‘Not at all,’ he said sympathetically. ‘I lost my favourite hound last year and it was months before I could consider looking for a new pup. What do you think, Winslow? Are we both too sentimental?’
Once drawn into the discussion, Charlie was soon agreeing that the loss of a favourite pet was a dashed miserable business. Marina could not quite work out how it happened, but suddenly she was talking to Lord Mortenhoe again and Charlie was bearing Mrs Hinton away to see his aunt, who just happened to have a litter of pug puppies to dispose of.
It was too bad of Charlie, removing the most personable of their guests from Lord Mortenhoe’s vicinity! She now had to find him someone else congenial to talk to; she had been counting on her friend’s vivacious conversation and sophisticated charm to distract him from the Thredgolds’ oddities. What might he have in common with the Philpotts?
‘Have you ever taken the waters at Harrogate, my lord?’ She steered him gently in the direction of their neighbours. ‘Mr and Mrs Philpott have just returned from there.’
‘No, I never have. Did you find it a pleasant experience, Mrs Philpott?’ There, now, that was better. Mrs Philpott was a conversable, well-bred woman with an easy style. She and Lord Mortenhoe were soon engaged in a discussion of the waters and whether the accommodations in the spa town might suit an aged aunt of his lordship who suffered greatly from gout and who was bored with Bath and Cheltenham. Mr Philpott joined in with a recommendation for a local livery company and Marina was just thinking she could safely slip away and have a second look at the place settings when her mother appeared, her sister at her side.
‘Araminta dear, Mr and Mrs Philpott are just explaining the benefits of the Harrogate waters to his lordship. I am sure you would find them most energising. What do you think, Mrs Philpott?’
Once again Marina found herself on the outside of the group with Lord Mortenhoe at her side. ‘I am sorry,’ she murmured as they moved away slightly. ‘My aunt’s deafness makes her a little unaware of the fact other people are engaged in conversation. I do hope you had heard enough to be able to advise your relative.’
‘Quite enough, I thank you.’ He regarded her with mock-seriousness as she glanced across the room to her uncle. ‘Would you think me very rude if I did not engage your uncle in conversation on the subject of cattle breeding? I must confess to being terrified of the beasts and he is sure to despise me.’
That surprised a gurgle of amusement from her. The earl was proving to have a quiet sense of humour, which threatened to overturn her poise. ‘My lord! I really cannot believe such a thing, although I have to confess that my uncle is somewhat single-minded in his enthusiasm.’
‘And what are your enthusiasms, Miss Winslow?’ He stopped,
