The wine was served to her in gold-rimmed crystal, and felt like smokey ambrosia as it slid warmly down her throat. But she made the mistake of glancing too soon towards Lord Winterly. Her lips parted. His eyes were roving down the contours of her throat as she swallowed, a powerful emotion fermenting in his gaze.
Had she not hastily turned and latched her own gaze to Mr. Black instead, she would have swooned right there on Victoria’s drawing room floor.
Mr. Black, though safer fodder on which to feast her eyes, was only slightly less jarring to her womanhood. Like Mr. Valko, he had eyes cut from the clearest crystal and he used them with unnerving effect, surveying the lavish room and all those who stood within it with a seasoned regard that negated the unlined face. His features were handsome but less refined than Lord Winterly’s—a shrewdness in the shape of his mouth whereas Lord Winterly’s lent itself more to cunning. The man to whom Mr. Black was speaking—seeing as Mr. Valko was now otherwise occupied with Milli, and Victoria was entertaining the Haywoods—was the fierce, violet-eyed man. Further away, beside the piano, was Lord Winterly, murmuring with the other three unnamed, and they in turn were nodding thoughtfully as they watched her. This, of course, only flustered Emma all the more. Unwittingly, she steered her attention back to the cold giant, and he, as though feeling the weight of her scrutiny, shifted his gaze towards her—it was more a collision of cold violence. Violet was certainly a color to wither the bones.
“Oh, do not mind Gabriel,” said Victoria, noticing the tense set to Emma’s shoulders.
Ah, so the grim-faced man has a name.
“He’s a growler,” she went on. “Never learned to smile, you know.” She then winked at him—brave woman. “I do believe he appeared in the world a full grown, motherless dyspeptic.”
Lord Winterly sent his sister a sharp look to match his friend’s.
Emma took a fortifying gulp of German wine. “Victoria, forgive me, I was not clever enough to catch the names of the men speaking to your brother.”
“The gentleman to my brother’s left is Dr. Vanus Pyne from Spitalfields, a police surgeon, and the gentleman beside him is his colleague, Dr. Troilus Wheatstone, a physician at the London Hospital. The other gentleman is Mr. Armi Morris, an associate of Mr. Black’s.”
Emma smiled, grateful to her hostess not only for the information but also for the discretion employed, for Victoria had spoken confidentially. And her uncle’s sonorous confabulating—something about proposing to import Mr. Black’s wines—was quite overpowering, deaf as he was.
At length, the butler materialized again and beckoned them all into the dining room with a ceremonious, “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Gore.” Victoria strode towards Mr. Black and linked her arm in his. “Shall we?”
It was now half past nine o’clock precisely. A very late dinner indeed, even by the standards of the beau monde, and they would likely not be finished with desert till midnight at this rate.
They were led into a dining room that was hardly less extravagant than the drawing room, though perhaps a little brighter. The candles were perched in the midst of the flower arrangements on lofty, gilt candelabra. The setting was beautifully complimented by golden chargers, sparkling crystal glassware, polished silverware, and starched napkins intricately folded into orchids. Emma was seated beside Mr. Morris, and Mr. Wheatstone placed himself to her left. Opposite her, Lord Winterly was pulling out a chair for himself, grinning as though reading the dismay she felt writ upon her face. Emma had expected, or hoped, that, as the host, he would take the seat of honor at the head of the long table, but it seemed to her that he had only waited to see where she was to be situated before choosing a place for himself.
The servant paused, blinking stupidly at his lordship. But he shrugged after a moment, presumably used to his master’s eccentricity, and continued filling the water glasses. Thus Victoria established herself at the head of the table and Gabriel availed himself of the other end. For her part, Emma wasn’t sure which was more intolerable: glancing up from her plate at Lord Winterly or, as in Victoria’s case, at that Gabriel fellow.
And why was Lord Winterly smirking at her? He had more than ample reason to snub her, seeing as he’d made no secret about overhearing her ungracious remark. Emma took a deep breath and resigned herself to a very stimulating night. A little more of Mr. Black’s fine wine was certainly in order if she was to weather Lord Winterly’s attention.
Milli was seated happily between Mr. Valko and Lord Winterly, practically preening herself with the good fortune of finding a place between two of the handsomest men in London. In truth the entire party was a handsome one, though she was obliged to exclude herself and the Haywoods; her uncle had allowed himself to go to fat and Aunt Sophie had ever been a drab, quiet thing.
As it turned out, there were to be only three courses, Victoria informed them, this being only an informal dinner party. The first course consisted of beautiful porcelain tureens of pea soup, a selection of entrées, and several silver platters of turbot and eel. The second course followed shortly thereafter and subsisted of a wide variety of meat dishes (including le rosbif and a roasted swan in currant sauce), vegetables, various other sauces, savories, and pastries.
By the time the dessert was served, she had taken no more than a few bites of fish and sipped sparingly at the water that filled her crystal goblet. She had been too absorbed by the effort of partaking in and following the conversation between Dr. Wheatstone and Mr. Morris. More to the point, she’d been wholly employed with avoiding Lord Winterly’s gaze.
The doctor was doing most of the talking and had proven himself to be even more of an abstemious diner than she, despite the succulent fare; even his water glass was untouched. Not Mr. Morris, though, who ate with gusto. The plates of the other guests were hidden by the table decorations, had she cared to measure the appetites of those around her. But her eyes had not strayed much from her plate to look, lest they collided with Lord Winterly’s. And Milli, from what Emma had overheard, had been too busy waffling nonsense into Valko’s ear to eat very much. Now here, at last, was the pyramid of fruits and cheeses, and soon Victoria would be leading the ladies back to the drawing room for coffee and tea whilst the men smoked their cigars.
“Miss Rose,” said his lordship suddenly, prompting a hush to fall over the table. Lord Winterly waited till she met his gaze before he continued. “You are much distracted by your plate tonight.”
It was most ungentlemanlike of him to notice, worse still to comment on it. Why, Aunt Sophie had scarce put two words together, which was not surprising, being as she was the unlucky neighbor to Mr. Gabriel Grimm (Emma had managed to glean his surname from the dinner discourse); how uncanny that he should possess a name befitting that majestic scowl of his. Mr. Black, who was seated opposite Aunt Sophie, had not moved his lips except to snarl at a carrot on his fork. So their end of the table had produced no conversation at all. Why should Emma’s reticence be commented upon?
“I take it,” Lord Winterly continued, gesturing to her two dinner companions, “the conversation is not as diverting as The Castle Of Wolfenbach?”
“Nothing is more diverting than Eliza Parsons,” said she, determined not to let him intimidate her. “Though, I admit, the society of Dr. Wheatstone and Mr. Morris comes a very close second.”