Chapter Four

Arthur immediately regretted stepping forward. The poor woman looked terrified and guilty. She was, after all, his guest. A frisson of nerves ran through Arthur at that thought, the realisation that he would have to go out and greet his guests soon. He'd been avoiding the thought as best he could.

He wouldn't be alone, of course. His mother would be there, and Lucy, and naturally Thomas Elliot, Arthur's old friend.

None of that could quite tackle the cold feeling of anxiety, however.

And of course, it didn't change the fact that Arthur was standing alone in the library, with an unfamiliar, pretty young woman staring up at him with an expression of trepidation.

She had been about to take a book out of the shelf, and Arthur glanced at the spine. The title of unfamiliar, some dusty old botanic tome that he'd never read himself.

The woman – Miss Thornhill – cleared her throat, and stepped forward, fingers laced together, smiling earnestly and nervously.

"Your… your predecessor, the last Lord Lanwood, said that I could have a book from this library. I… I don't intend to keep it, naturally, only to read it, and maybe make some notes… ahem. I should certainly have asked your permission before coming in here. Lucy said it would be alright, otherwise I never would have dared…"

She was floundering a little now, and Arthur felt guilty. She was very pretty, although now was not of course the time to notice that.

She was looking at his scar, he knew it. It was, after all, the most noticeable thing about his face. Miss Thornhill was a petite woman, with rich chestnut hair pinned back in a simple knot. She had large green eyes, he noticed, a rare colour.

Stop, he scolded himself.

"You mistake me, Miss Thornhill," he said, hating how grim and heavy his voice sounded. "I did not mean to reprimand you for taking the book. If Lucy says you may take it, then of course you may. You may keep it, if you like. I don't believe anyone in the house has a great interest in botany, and anyway, there are other botany books. No, my concern was for your reputation."

She blinked. "My… my reputation?"

He was not handling this well. But of course there was no chance of simply backing out now. There were wide French doors just across the library, which led out onto the terrace. Arthur could almost feel the fresh air on his face. But he couldn't exactly go racing out of the room, mid-conversation. He had enough of a reputation for being strange and unfriendly without adding to it.

"If someone were to come in here now, they would be shocked to find you and I alone together," Arthur said, wishing he'd chosen any other subject to discuss. "Fair or not, reputations are fragile as glass. You know how unforgiving Society can be. If I may make a suggestion for next time, perhaps you should knock."

A flush spread over her cheeks. His words had been poorly chosen, as always, but it was naturally too late to take them back.

"Of course," she said, her voice clipped, barely disguising her offence. "Thank you for the warning, Lord Lanwood."

She turned on her heel, whipping the heavy tome out. A cloud of dust bloomed when she pulled it down from the shelf, and she coughed genteelly.

Now it was Arthur's turn to blush. "I beg your pardon," he muttered. "The servants are greatly overstretched with the cleaning, since we are opening up the house to guests and entertaining, so I, er, I told them to omit dusting the library."

"It is your house, Lord Lanwood," she responded coolly. "You must do with it as you wish. Do excuse me, and I am sorry for intruding uninvited into your private sanctum."

"But it's not my…" Arthur began weakly, but to no avail. Book tucked under her arm, Felicity was marching away, closing the door behind her when no doubt she really wanted to slam it. "… private sanctum," he finished with a sigh.

Oh, well done, Arthur. Well done, indeed, he thought sourly.

Tiptoeing to the door, Arthur inched it open, and peered out into the hallway. He could see the trim figure of Miss Thornhill striding away, head held high. As he watched, she paused halfway down, and took out the book from underneath her arm. She flicked through the pages, pausing at a spot halfway through.

"Interesting," she murmured to herself, under her breath, then walked on more slowly, reading as she went.

Arthur hid a wry smile. So this was Lucy's guest, the friend she'd so longed to see. Well, she had spirit enough to make up for Lucy's calmness and placidity. That was good.

Of course, he'd made a terrible impression himself, but that couldn't be helped.

Conversation and laughter echoed down the hallway, presumably from the half-opened parlour door at the bottom of the corridor, where sunlight spilled out into the hall. Suddenly, the thought of entering and greeting his guests filled Arthur with absolute dread.

No, he thought wildly. No, I can't. I can't, and I won't. Nobody can make me.

Rearing back from the door, he stumbled towards the French doors, flinging them open. A cool breeze rushed into the room, making the curtains flick and dance, and pushing back his hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes, revelling in the fresh air. His scar throbbed strangely, tugging at his skin. The surgeon had warned that it might happen, that such deep wounds tended to cause strange, long-term symptoms.

One symptom, apparently, was people treating you strangely and generally ignoring you.

A familiar voice caught Arthur's attention. It was his mother, talking in a low voice to somebody, possibly the butler.

"… in here? Yes, it's very like him, sneaking away when there are guests to be greeted. You know how Lord Lanwood enjoys his rest and privacy. Still, he really had better come out. I shall talk to him."

And then the handle started to twist.

Arthur thought quickly. He could stand there and do nothing, of course, and try and convince his mother that he would much rather stay here, away from people. It would not, naturally, have any effect. When Beatrice had set her mind on something, she was undoubtedly sure to get her way. And he really should go and greet his guests, before the soiree tonight.

The gathering which was going to be much larger than he had been led to believe.

Or he could save himself the trouble, and simply… simply slip away.

As the door opened, Arthur stepped neatly out of the open doors onto the terrace, and tiptoed away along the side of the house, leaving his mother calling his name in the library behind him.

***

"Looking very fine, your lordship, if I may say so," Julius commented, smiling complacently.

Julius was a flaxen-haired, plump youth, who was not quite as experienced a valet as he claimed. Not that Arthur minded. Aside from a little help in shaving, and perhaps with pulling on his tighter coats and getting out of his boots, he didn't much care to be dressed up like a doll. He had not had a valet in the army, naturally, and much preferred it that way.

Gentlemen, however, always had valets, and lords certainly did. Beatrice had pointed that out often enough, and eventually Arthur had hired Julius.

Julius was a decent enough young man, who kept Arthur's clothes clean and pressed, but didn't bother him too much about following the latest fashions or allowing himself to be dressed and generally babied.

Tonight, though, a great deal rested on how Arthur looked. There was nothing to be done about his scar, or his unsatisfactory manners, so he'd better look the part of a gentleman, if nothing else.

Julius had done a good job. Arthur's hair was well-styled, shining in carefully careless waves over his forehead. He wore a midnight-blue velvet suit, wearing a paler blue and gold waistcoat underneath, and his Hessians were polished to a high shine. His cravat was done in one of the newer styles, which Julius had picked out of a magazine, and frothed around his neck like a waterfall. A delicate sapphire cravat pin sparkled in the depths of lace.

"Thank you, Julius. You've done well. I know I don't give you much to work with."

"That's not true, your lordship," Julius responded brusquely. "If you'll forgive my saying so, you don't need any padding or corsets. That makes things a great deal easier."

Arthur gave a wry smile. His reflection copied him, looking surely paler and more nervous than he must look in real life. Or so he hoped, at least.

"Well, I suppose I'd better go down," Arthur mumbled, half to himself and half to the valet.

Julius nodded, picking non-existent lint off Arthur's shoulders.

"May your evening be a resounding success, your lord."

"I certainly hope so."

Before he could give himself time to rethink the matter, Arthur marched himself downstairs. If he could get downstairs before the guests started to arrive in earnest, then perhaps he could find himself a quiet corner, somewhere to sit unnoticed, and…

Too late.

The foyer was full of people, all of them pushing and shoving past each other to get into the vast ballroom, chattering and laughing, the noise and heat rising up like a wall.

Arthur stopped, halfway down the stairs.

Like a bad dream, the guests' heads turned slowly to face him, the chatter dwindling away.

He could almost feel their gazes running over him like a tide of spiders, taking in every detail. He was glad he'd let Julius do his best with his clothes tonight. Aside from the scar, he'd look like a perfectly passable Lord Lanwood.

The moment passed. The guests kept moving. It wasn't as if they could come stampeding up the stairs to greet him, certainly not if they hadn't been introduced. No doubt his mother would want to introduce him to plenty of people, and others would find a way to get introduced.

He reached the foot of the stairs and plunged into the crowd before he had the chance to change his mind. The crowd thinned out a little once the hallway gave way to the wide ballroom, but as more and more guests arrived, what little space there was would disappear.

He couldn't see Beatrice, nor Lucy. Thomas and his sister, Susan, were meant to be here tonight, but he'd never find them in this crowd. Perhaps if he'd allowed himself to be introduced to the Thornhills, he would have at least one friendly face in the crowd. At least nobody was trying to talk to him yet, although plenty of people were staring.

On cue, as if he'd summoned it, a heavy hand came clapping down on his shoulder, making him jump and stagger forward.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the brand-new Lord Lanwood," came a deep, familiar voice. He didn't have to look to know that the speaker was grinning smugly.

"Lord Vincent Griffin, what a surprise to find you here," Arthur responded, keeping his composure as best he could. "I thought you were in London."

"A man likes a taste of the countryside every now and then. And what do you mean, you're surprised to see me here? It's a fine lord who doesn't know who's invited to his own home. Do you let that mamma of yours manage your affairs?"

Arthur bristled, jerking his shoulder out from under Lord Vincent's grip, turning to glare at him.

Lord Vincent was often described as a dizzyingly handsome man. He had large blue eyes with long black lashes, smooth cheeks, and thick and well-styled black hair, and daintily arched eyebrows. He managed all of this without seeming like a dandy, or even too fashionable. He always wore a wide smile, one that never quite met his eyes if a person looked long enough.

Arthur and he had gone to Eton together. They were not friends.

Lord Vincent grinned at Arthur's baleful expression, taking a long sip of his champagne. "Decent stuff, this," he said, holding up the glass. "And what a fine house. I'd never have thought you would make a fine lord of the manor, Arthur. Or would you prefer Lord Lanwood?"

"I don't much care what you call me," Arthur responded.

Lord Vincent only smiled wider, gaze flicking over Arthur's scarred face. Arthur fought not to flinch.

"How's that old wound of yours? I declare, the scar seems to get worse every time I see you."

"Thank you," Arthur responded sardonically. "What a kind thing to say."

"Oh, don't be so prickly. It doesn't suit you to be vain, Arthur. I must say, I wouldn't have thought a soiree like this would be to your taste."

He drained the last of his champagne, watching Arthur over the rim.

"An earl is expected to entertain," Arthur managed, getting a tight smile in response.

"Hm. No doubt, no doubt. Now, I hear you have a Miss Thornhill staying with you?"

A prickle ran up and down Arthur's spine. "What of it? Are you acquainted with her?"

Lord Vincent pursed his lips, hiding a smile.

"Acquainted? No, not yet, but I will be. Well, I shall leave you to enjoy your night, my lord."

He gave a mocking, flourishing bow, and disappeared through the crowd, leaving Arthur feeling alone and entirely unsettled.

Think nothing of it, he thought. Miss Thornhill can take care of herself.