Page 42 of Impeccable
“She did ask where you were, so you will likely have to suffer her attention at some point.”
“Then I shall require more punch. Or perhaps something stronger.”
Heloise linked her arm through Evie’s and led her to a cabinet, where a footman was pouring a variety of wine. Evie asked for madeira, and Heloise requested sack, then they moved away.
Upon taking a sip, Evie briefly squinted one eye. “Not as good as the Phoenix Club.” As soon as she mentioned the club, she noticed Lady Witney watching her from across the room. They made eye contact, and Evie muttered an oath, jerking her gaze back to Heloise. “She Who Will Not Relent is coming this way.”
“I will endeavor to help you keep the conversation away from the Phoenix Club.”
Evie snorted softly. “I shall admire your efforts, even when they fail.”
Lady Witney swooped in like a bird of prey. “There you are, Mrs. Renshaw. I thought perhaps you’d left.”
“No, I’m quite enjoying your festive gathering.” How could she not after her sojourn with Gregory upstairs? She noted him entering the drawing room at that moment, but did not turn her head.
Even so, her eyes must have given her away, because Lady Witney turnedherhead. “Ah, Gregory. I wondered where he’d got off to. He promised to help manage the guests today.”
Evie didn’t like that she’d noticed they were both absent. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make any connection, though she’d wondered if anyone at Witney Court had noted Gregory’s frequent absences. After so many months of mourning, was his behavior odd? She had to trust that he was managing the situation. He said he most often used the excuse of going for a ride.
Lady Witney drew Evie back to the present as she addressed Heloise. Evie stared at the marchioness in slight shock. “Mrs. Creighton, I hope you and Mr. Creighton are enjoying yourselves. I fear Lord Witney has been occupying your husband’s time this past quarter hour or so. They’re in his study.”
“I’m aware,” Heloise said. “Alfred is more than delighted to discuss matters of architecture and improvement. One of the reasons he purchased Threadbury Hall was for its potential, as much as for its rich history.” She sipped her sack, looking every bit the respectable society matron she deserved to be. That shewas.
Evie had to stop thinking, however privately, that she and her sister were pretenders, that they didn’t belong because of the choices they’d been forced to make. They were of noble blood, and it wasn’t their fault that they’d grown up in poverty. If they hadn’t been forced from their homeland, they would have enjoyed lives precisely like the ones they were leading now. Except they would have been able to do so openly and honestly, and without fear of judgment or disdain. Instead, Heloise was the former courtesan who was unwelcome in many social circles, while Evie chose to hide her past and take on a new identity that didn’t allow her to be her full self.
Alas, that was the price she had to pay to live in comfort and acceptance. She gave it without hesitation because it meant she belonged, even though it required deceiving many of those closest to her.
Lady Witney turned her gaze to Evie. She’d made her point of giving attention to Heloise and could now get back to her quarry. Evie took a long sip of madeira.
“How do you find the shopping in our quaint hamlet?” the marchioness asked. “It’s not London, of course, but the milliner does make rather cunning hats.”
“I’ve found that to be so,” Heloise said. “In fact, I’ve commissioned several. I fear Mr. Creighton may ask me to limit my spending there.” She laughed, and Evie joined her.
It took Lady Witney a moment to laugh too, and when she did, the sound was high and stilted. If Evie liked her, she would have offered to help her work on her polite conversation and reactions.
Evie suddenly felt rather uncharitable. Perhaps there was a reason for the marchioness’s disagreeability and her desire to feel important. One never knew what another was coping with. It was possible that becoming marchioness had completely overwhelmed her. It was also possible that she really was a shrew.
“Do you have a favorite milliner in London?” Lady Witney asked, directing the question to Evie instead of Heloise, even though it had been Heloise who had commented on the merchant in Witney.
“The one Heloise uses,” Evie said with a bland smile.
“Oh, lovely.” Lady Witney turned her expectant gaze to Heloise, who—Evie could tell—was gritting her teeth.
“Weaver’s on New Bond Street.”
A gentleman in his middle forties sporting bushy eyebrows and long sideburns, approached them. Evie resisted the urge to thank him for the interruption. “Afternoon, ladies. Pardon my intrusion, but I wonder if we’ve already been introduced?” He asked the question of Evie, his small, dark eyes focused on her, his gaze swiftly dipping to her bodice and back to her face again.
Perhaps this interruption was not all that welcome.
He did seem vaguely familiar, but Evie didn’t particularly want to play the “how do I know you?” game with him.
“This is Mrs. Renshaw,” Lady Witney said. “Mrs. Renshaw, perhaps you and Mr. Arbuthnot met in London?” The marchioness gave him a dazzling smile. “Are you a member of the Phoenix Club perhaps? Mrs. Renshaw is one of the patronesses.”
Evie worked not to shake her head. The marchioness had beensoclose to not mentioning the club in this entire conversation.
Arbuthnot, whose name did not summon any recognition, shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. Spend my club time at Boodle’s.” He took a swig of ale.
That Evie couldn’t place him was bothering her. “What brings you to the area, Mr. Arbuthnot?”
