“Miss Havenford,” he said.
She should have been flustered. Instead, something in his stillness eased the bristle in her nerves. He did not look her up and down, and he did not appraise her. His attention felt… tidy.
“Mr. Morton is newly come from Vienna,” Nicholas supplied when she could not think what to say. “Diplomatic business there, now home again with impeccable timing for our hostess’s famous ices.”
“I am less accomplished at ices than at quiet corners,” Peter said mildly. “Would you prefer one?”
“I…yes,” Maria managed.
He fetched it himself, not by command of a servant, and returned without fanfare. When she thanked him, he did not brush off the gratitude and only inclined his head, as if kindness were ordinary.
“Do you admire music, Miss Havenford?” he asked after a moment of polite silence. “Or do you bear it as one bears the weather?”
“I admire it when it forgets to perform,” she said before she could be careful.
Peter’s mouth softened.
“Then you will like the second violin. He thinks too much and cannot help it.”
She almost laughed, but she stole a glance at Nicholas. He had retreated half a pace, letting her have the space, his expression warm and unbearably hopeful.
He is trying, she thought, and her heart hurt. She wanted to tell him not to spend that effort on her. She wanted to say, if you knew where I learned to pray, you would not wish to stand so near. But she said none of it.
“Miss Havenford,” Peter said after another small silence, “if you prefer the terrace, there is a patch of air that belongs to no one. I can guard it from intruders while you borrow it.”
She found herself smiling.
“You are very polite, Mr. Morton.”
“I am frequently accused of it,” he said, mock grave. “It is my worst scandal.”
“Then you will not give the ton very much to do,” she returned, and was rewarded with a low chuckle that did not belong to a man intent on parading himself. He truly meant to be kind.
She glanced once more at the terrace doors, where the matrons had delivered their story. Peter followed her look, unreadable, then met her eyes. He held them without intruding.
If she ever dared something foolish, if she ever did the unthinkable in a dark corridor, she would need a gentleman whose honor would not ruin her for sport. A gentleman who would apologize when a door did not latch properly. Who would never boast of what he had not intended.
That is what the women were speaking of, wasn't it? A trap that can result in an elevation of status. Perhaps that would be her most swift path towards the outcome that she desired.
She stole a glance at Peter once again, who seemed to be none the wiser.
If I were to trap anyone, she thought, startled by the clarity of it,he would be the one.
CHAPTER 2
“This must be the room…” Peter’s bedchambers, yet he was not here.
Maria had never been inside a gentleman’s bedchamber before. This would be the first time, and a bold venture. Even though she herself did not quite understand the consequences of such an action.
She stood very still and listened to the house. In the corridor beyond the door, a footman’s shoes went past, then faded. Maria pressed both palms to her skirts to stop them from fidgeting.
Five days. She had done her best for five days: walking the rooms with Violet, sitting where she was put, smiling until her cheeks ached. She had tried to talk to men. Her throat had closed each time. She had managed to ask one gentleman whether he liked books and then, when he asked which, said “the… rectangular kind” and wanted to die on the spot. Another had merely turned his body toward her, and she had backed into a potted palm.
There were only so many ways to fail before one chose a different way.
She had not understood the mechanics of scandal, not really. People whispered as if it were a recipe: one bedchamber, one shriek, one forced wedding. But she was only still trying to wrap her head around all of it.
She told herself again that she would be the only one to pay. If she was ruined, then very well: she had been a burden long enough. A husband would solve it. She could not stay forever in Nicholas and Violet’s house, feeling like an extra chair nobody sat in.