Surveying the crowd, I searched for Daniel. Guests made their way into the room, happier now that they’d been both fed and introduced to prospective companions. Many stood at the back, seemingly reluctant to claim seats, either because they’d just been sitting to dine and wished to stretch their legs or because they were waiting to see where others sat so they could position themselves to advantage.
By the end of the week, the hesitation would be gone. Announcements would be made. There was no guarantee, of course. But there was hope.
I would need to branch out, make more acquaintances if this endeavor were to succeed. Placing all my expectations on the first man I met was foolish. But the others could wait for tomorrow. Tonight, I wanted to relish in the hope—something I had not felt in too long.
I located Daniel near one of the windows, conversing with a gentleman. Both wore matching scowls. They were, no doubt, discussing the ridiculousness of such a gathering and bemoaning their need to see their sisters married.
I caught Daniel’s eye. He nodded his acknowledgment. The man next to him eyed me and said something to Daniel, who narrowed his eyes and said something in return. The man must have complimented me for Daniel to assume that protective older brother expression. The man wasn’t bad looking. A little shorter than I would have liked, but I wasn’t here to be picky.
Perhaps branching out wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
There were too many people between us for me to easily reach Daniel. Besides, Mrs. Hickmore had the right of it—relations did seem to get in the way of such things, and Daniel was the rule rather than the exception. But neither could I take a seat; the room was still too empty, and it would not do to sit alone and appear undesirable. I turned and feigned interest in the portraits, resolving to study the paintings until the assembly was called to order. Then I would find a seat. Away from Lord Williams. And hopefully near Mr. Northam.
The portrait before me of a woman with a thick lace collar and dark bushy brows bore no resemblance to the man in the next portrait, sporting a tiny nose and a large clefted chin. As I scrutinized the next few paintings, I realized that none claimed a resemblance to Mrs. Hickmore’s round face or Mr. Hickmore’s large features. I wondered if this entire wall of paintings represented a collection of strangers, portraits brought haphazardly together, bought for a discount because those who had commissioned them disliked them or couldn’t pay for them. I strolled slowly, studying the men in outdated ruffled collars and women in now-unfashionable high-necked lace, until I stumbled upon one of the smaller pictures.
Its oversized frame was easy to ignore, the filigree flaking in one corner to betray a grimy gray beneath. But the lone girl, arms spread wide, face lifted to the sky as though sunlight instead of rain spilled down from the low black clouds, held me captive. No darkness of feature hinted at secret disappointments. No downcast eye told of a past she despised. No doubt creased her brow. Instead, she radiated peace and confidence. She radiated freedom.
I had once been that free. But I could not change Edward’s infidelity, nor could I go back in time and protect myself from the disappointed hopes of love. I could only promise never to repeat the situation. I would not be deceived again.
Renewed resolve rippled through me. This was why I was here. To shed my past and claim my future. One day, when my heart was safe, I would again be free.
“Miss Brinton?” A hand touched my back.
I turned, returning to an awareness of the room. Nearly everyone had been seated and the loud chattering had died to whispered murmurings.
Mr. Northam offered me a smile. “I believe they are ready to begin. Would you care to take a seat?” He indicated a few chairs nearby.
I glanced quickly around. Lord Williams was seated toward the middle of the room. I was in no danger from him this far away.
I returned Mr. Northam’s smile, his expensive cologne wafting around me like the warmth of a welcoming fire. “I would like to very much, yes.” He directed me to the chairs.
“Are you prepared for the showcase?” he asked once we’d settled.
I raised my brows at his choice of words.
“Do you not agree that in every performance there is a desire to exhibit oneself to advantage?”
“I suppose.” Yet there were times when a presentation of musical skill was not for display but for the pleasure of passing time amiably. Perhaps Mr. Northam did not care for such things.
His shoulder brushed mine when he leaned closer. “Have I offended you?”
“Not at all. But I confess, I am a lover of music in whatever circumstance it is presented.”
“As am I. I did not mean to imply that I do not enjoy music. I enjoy music a great deal, when there is true skill. I find it more difficult to appreciate mediocrity when it is forced upon me in a setting such as this.”
This I could agree with. I smiled. “Yet you did not stay away.”
His shoulder brushed mine again, this time with seeming intent. “No, I did not.”
We lapsed into silence as a young woman arose and performed a minuet on the pianoforte. Then commenced a steady stream of singing and playing. A man performed on the violin with some talent, much to the delight of several young women. When a woman who looked barely sixteen attempted an aria that seemed particularly unpracticed, Mr. Northam’s attention shifted down the row. I followed his gaze and found Lord Williams frowning at us.
Was the entire week to be overshadowed by his disapproval?
“What was my cousin so desperate to speak to you about?” Mr. Northam asked.
“He warned me against you.”
Mr. Northam met my gaze with interest. “Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Yet here you are.”
I settled further into my chair. “Here I am.”
We listened in silence a moment more before he said, “Tell me, Miss Brinton, do you play?”
“I do,” I admitted, caught off guard. “But I am not much of a performer.”
“Do you sing?”
“Only when alone.”
He smiled at my response. It was easy to picture him breaking hearts when he smiled like that, warm and with a hint that he knew a secret he might be willing to share. “Then I will not ask you to sing. But will you do me the honor of playing something?”
I laughed quietly. “Most certainly. Perhaps tomorrow when the room isn’t quite so crowded.”
“There is a lull. You could play now.”
I realized the young woman had finished her performance and the crowd awaited the next.
Yet had he not just exclaimed how much he disliked such a display? “You wish me to perform in front of all these people?”
“You come across as someone with great skill at the things you do. I think most of this audience would appreciate hearing from you.” He stood and held out his hand.
This was too unexpected. I shook my head. “Please sit down.”
“It is too late. People are beginning to stare.”
I glanced around. People were beginning to stare. And had I not come for this? To see if there weren’t a few gentlemen in this crowd who would suit me? While it would only take one, there was that notion of eggs and baskets and all that.
“Very well.” I took Mr. Northam’s proffered hand and stood.
“What will you play?” he asked, guiding me to the piano.