“Oh, how very lovely you are, Miss Langley.” Hetty thought she owed this enthusiastic compliment to Lord Harry, who, she decided, would have been far more outrageous in his flattery.
Miss Caroline looked again at Miss Rolland, surprise widening her eyes. She wasn’t used to receiving such frank praise from another lady. Indeed, she wasn’t used to receiving any praise at all from another lady. She revised her opinion, forgot her affected drawl and smiled pertly. “You are a flatterer, I fear, Miss Rolland.”
“Oh, have I offended you? Truly, Miss Langley, you are one of the loveliest ladies I have yet seen in London.”
“She only arrived yesterday,” Miss Maude said.
“Oh no, Miss Langley, I’ve been here quite some time now. Your dear sister jests.”
It occurred to Miss Caroline that such frankness and candor, such generosity of spirit, should be encouraged. After all, she had nothing better to do at the moment, and conversing with such a homely girl as Miss Rolland might very well make her appear noble and virtuous to the dowagers who had jealously proclaimed her to be conceited.
She ignored her sister and said, “Do come sit with me, Miss Rolland. I think I would like to know you better.” Hetty nodded and trailed after Miss Caroline to a small sofa by the fireplace. If she continued to fill Miss Langley’s ears with compliments, it would at least keep her from further notice by Lady Melberry’s other guests.
“Now, Miss Rolland, you must tell me all about yourself,” Miss Caroline said, patting Hetty’s hand as she sat down beside her.
Hetty knew very well that Miss Caroline could give two farthings about her and so prepared to give a very limited account of herself. She had scarce time to open her mouth, when she realized that Miss Caroline’s attention had riveted itself to the drawing room door. She saw her lips part ever so slightly and her vivid eyes sparkle with excitement. Hetty followed her gaze and stiffened.
“His grace, the Marquess of Oberlon.” Higgins’s voice was deeply resonant, bringing everyone’s attention to the gentleman who stood with negligent ease beside him.
Hetty, who had never before seen the marquess at such close range, was aware that her own eyes had widened in surprise. At a distance, she had believed him swarthy and tight-lipped, had imagined his dark eyes cold and hard. Had he displayed horns and a pitchfork tail, she wouldn’t have been overly taken aback. But now, with only the narrow room separating them, she saw that his deeply tanned face was quite pleasant to look at and that his dark eyes were warm and alight with amusement. When he laughed at one of Lady Melberry’s remarks, Hetty found his smile so disarming that for an instant she forgot who he was. He was a monster, he had to be, to show the world such a pleasant face and jest so easily, and yet be so evil beneath.
Miss Caroline grabbed Hetty’s hand and whispered, “Is Lord Oberlon not the most dashing, handsome man you have ever seen, Miss Rolland? Ah, I feared he wouldn’t come tonight, for he isn’t known to come to such insipid affairs as this. He has just returned from Italy, you know, so I dared to hope. He is Lady Melberry’s nephew, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Hetty said. She resolutely turned her back upon Lord Oberlon and nodded stiff-lipped, for Miss Caroline to continue.
“Lord Oberlon’s father, like Lord Melberry, was very influential in the ministry before his death several years ago,” Miss Caroline said behind her gloved hand. “Of course, my mama and Lady Melberry are the dearest of friends. Poor man, such tragedy he’s borne. He needs pleasure; he needs beauty.” She rose, her movements intensely feminine, the look in her eyes predatory. “Ah, you must excuse me, Miss Rolland, but I really must pay more attention to our kind hostess.”
Really, Miss Caroline, Hetty thought, you think to gain his attention? Perhaps he’ll give it to you, but there will be a price. She watched Miss Langley move quickly to where Lady Melberry and Lord Oberlon stood in amiable conversation. She herself sat back to watch Lord Oberlon with forced objectivity, but she could not. The familiar hatred welled up inside her. Here he was carefree and quite at his ease, laughing, damn him, while Damien lay dead, forgotten by all save his family. Poor man, indeed. How ironic it was that she should finally be in the same room with him, not as Lord Harry but as Henrietta Rolland. The fates must be against her.