"Do you care for tea, Stoneridge?" Emily's clear tones rang across the room. "Unless you'd prefer claret. I know how you enjoy a glass at this time of day."
"I'll ring for Dennis," Elinor said calmly, reaching for the bell-pull. "Gentlemen, do you share my son-in-law's tastes? Or are you content with tea?" Her smile as she addressed them could have frozen hell's fires.
"Try one of these macaroons." Clarissa snatched up a plate from beneath the wandering hand of Countess Lieven and brought it over to her brother-in-law. "They're your favorites."
He was suddenly surrounded by Belmont women, the center of their attentions, ministering to his needs and his wishes as if he were the sun to their earth. It reminded him of a pride of lionesses protecting an injured cub. Mortification that they should witness his humiliation warred with gratitude. They didn't know what was behind the insulting reception he'd been given, but it seemed they didn't care.
"Viscount Franklin, were you also in the Peninsula?" Theo addressed the viscount, her arm securely linked in Sylvester's. The viscount, an upstanding gentleman of some thirty-eight summers, resplendent in his regimentals, quailed before the rage in the young countess's purple eyes. Her little white teeth flashed in her sun-dappled face, but it was the smile of a shark closing in on her prey.
Viscount Franklin had fought all his military battles in the political corridors of Horseguards and had never faced an enemy on a battlefield. He cleared his throat, and his booted feet shifted on the carpet. "As it happens, I haven't had the good fortune to serve overseas, countess."
"Oh, really." Theo raised an eyebrow. "Good fortune seems an odd choice of words, sir. I'm sure my husband and Lieutenant Fairfax would describe it differently." Her predator's smile swept the rest of the group. Edward, who'd moved from his perch to stand beside Stoneridge in his own gesture of solidarity, looked embarrassed and muttered something about the honor of his country.
Not a flicker crossed Stoneridge's impassive expression, but the irony of the situation struck him with full force. Theo had no idea what lay behind this ostracism, yet in her eagerness to defend him, she'd hit the target full square.
The viscount seemed at a loss as to how to respondto the countess's dripping sarcasm. His eyes drifted involuntarily to Edward's empty sleeve, the slashing scar across Lord Stoneridge's forehead.
Lord Wetherby broke the uncomfortable pause. "I understand you've acquired Melton's breakdowns, Stoneridge," he said stiffly.
Sylvester didn't bat an eyelid. "Yes, for a steal." He took a glass of claret from the tray that had miraculously appeared at his elbow. "But I'm also looking for a well-mannered pair for Lady Stoneridge to drive." He glanced down at Theo, who, having achieved what she'd set out to achieve, was looking pensive. Her hand was still firmly tucked into his arm, however, and he had the conviction she wasn't about to abandon him to the wolves again. Just in case he couldn't defend himself.
"Are you going to drive yourself about town, Theo?" Edward said, moving the conversation along general lines.
"Stoneridge has agreed to acquire a curricle for me," Theo responded. Her gaze swept the circle with a distinct challenge. "I trust that doesn't shock you, gentlemen?"
"You're to be commended for your skill, ma'am." Sir Robert bowed.
"Well, I trust I shan't overturn it," she returned, her smile now mischievous, bearing no relation to the fire and ice of a minute ago.
"If there was the slightest danger of that, my love, you wouldn't be driving it," Sylvester said blandly. "But I have complete faith in your ability… to do anything you set your mind to," he added, and a glint of humor touched his hard expression.
Before Theo could respond, a piercing voice behind them announced, "Stoneridge, there's something I most particularly wish to remind you about."
"Rosie, whatever are you doing here?" Startled, Theo turned to her little sister, who was regarding the earl intently from behind her glasses. A hair ribbon had come undone, her muslin dress had grass stains on it, and she was holding a jam jar, the palm of one hand carefully over the opening, presumably to prevent whatever it contained from escaping.
"I've just come back from the square garden with Flossie. We were gathering specimens, and Dennis told me you and Stoneridge were here," Rosie explained earnestly. "And I thought I'd take the opportunity to remind him that he'd promised to take me to Astley's at the earliest possible chance. I was wondering when that would be." Her round eyes remained fixed unwaveringly on her brother-in-law.
Sylvester laughed, and a ripple of amusement ran around the circle by the fire.
"Rosie!" Elinor had just noticed her youngest child's unconventional arrival and came hurrying across the room. "You're not supposed to be in the drawing room this afternoon. Look at you." She gestured in some chagrin to the child's appearance. "And whatever have you got in that jar?"
"Don't ask, ma'am," Sylvester said, still chuckling. "But I beg you to excuse her – she had a most urgent question for me."
"Oh, dear." Elinor sighed. "What was it?"
"About Astley's," Rosie told her, spreading her fingers slightly over the top of the jar and peering between them. "I hope it hasn't escaped. It's a stick insect, and it's very difficult to see if it's still there or not."
"Out, you horrible little girl!" Swallowing her grin, Theo swept Rosie toward the door, relieving her mother of further embarrassment.
"But when…"
"The day after tomorrow," Sylvester said to Rosie's anxious inquiry as she was borne inexorably from the room.
"We must be on time… I wouldn't want to miss the grand procession," Rosie declared as Theo thrust her into the corridor.
"We won't miss anything," Theo assured, and closed the door firmly.
Rosie's diversion had broken the intensity of the circle by the fire. Sylvester moved away to pay his respects to the patronesses, exchanging a few words with the young men hovering around Emily and Clarissa. His mortification burned deep, but he was bland and polite, doing what was required. He felt Theo's pensive eyes on his back and guessed at the swirling cauldron of questions she was just waiting to fire at him. Questions he couldn't bring himself to answer.
But in this respect he'd misjudged her. When they'd left Lady Belmont's salon and were once again in the relative privacy of his curricle, Theo made a few casual observations on the company and said not a word about what had happened. But her silence merely masked the rumbling turmoil of her thoughts.
Why had people reacted to Sylvester like that? What could he have done? It must be something that people considered shameful, but she couldn't force him to tell her if he chose not to. And he obviously chose not to. There was a chilly touch-me-not quality to his present silence, much stronger than the distance there'd been between them since they'd arrived in London.
She couldn't believe he'd done something dishonorable. Of course he'd tricked her into marrying him. But if she absolved her grandfather of dishonor in the business, then she had no choice but to absolve her husband. In one light they'd both sacrificed her for the estate, but in another light she could hardly be sacrificed for something she wanted more than anything herself.
No, the worst she knew of her husband was that he was arrogant and controlling and reserved to a fault. And those weren't good enough reasons for Society's ostracism.
The carriage turned onto Curzon Street, and Sylvester broke into her absorption, his voice politely neutral.