Page 8 of Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart 5)

Tom ate half a pastry in one bite. “Señora Alvarez is a fine lady,” he said when he’d swallowed.

“She is indeed. Though not much inclined to talk about herself.”

“No.” He finished the confection in another bite.

The lad would understand about such reluctance, with the life he’d led. And he would keep any confidences he’d received, as he should. Arthur couldwishthat he was more forthcoming, however.

When Tom had consumed another tart, he said, “Shall I show you how we make thunder on the stage?”

This had been the excuse for Arthur’s visit. And in fact he was interested. But he also hoped for further conversation with Tom’s beguiling friend.

He never got that. Señora Alvarez had departed when they reentered the workshop. Arthur did discover that the noise of thunder was created by casting wooden balls down a wooden trough, the “thunder run.” The sound was surprisingly convincing. He took care to give Tom the attention and interest he expected, even as he plotted ways to learn more about the lovely señora.

And thus it was that on the following day, Arthur paid a call on his friend Mrs. Thorpe at the lavish town house of her banker husband. He was greeted with that lady’s customary aplomb—no sign of surprise despite the fact that he rarely made a personal visit. As always, Mrs. Thorpe’s black hair was immaculately dressed. Her rose-silk gown was a marvel of fashion, her face a model of classic beauty. Her blue eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence.

She sat in one armchair before the drawing room fireplace and directed Arthur to another. He noted again that seeing her felt rather like an audience with the queen. She certainly was a monarch of the theatrical world. When they had exchanged pleasantries, she waited with the poise of one of the greatest actresses of her generation. Arthur, on the other hand, was not entirely sure how to begin.

“Is it something about Tom?” the lady asked finally.

“No, no. He seems to be thriving.”

“He’s well liked at the theater.”

“As he seems to be everywhere.”

“Indeed. It is his gift.”

Arthur nodded. That was certainly true.

Mrs. Thorpe waited. That washergift, a serene stillness.

“I wanted to ask about a lady you might know,” he said.

“A lady?” His hostess raised chiseled brows and smiled. In another the expression might have been mocking. Yet there was something warm and engaging in her face. It was impossible to take offense.

“Her name is Teresa Alvarez de Granada,” Arthur said. He wasn’t surprised that she found his awkwardness amusing.

“Ah.”

“She paints backdrops for Drury Lane, so I thought perhaps you had…encountered her.”

“Yes, I am acquainted with Señora Alvarez.”

Arthur felt a rush of eager curiosity.

“What is your interest in her?” Mrs. Thorpe asked.

“I met her when I was visiting Tom.”

“Ah?”

The single word was weighted with implication. Chiefly, it pointed out that he hadn’t answered her question. And what was the answer? “I was struck by her manner. Surely she must be a Spanish noblewoman?”

Mrs. Thorpe examined him. Arthur had seen her evaluate other people, but he’d never been the subject of such careful scrutiny. “I do not know her lineage,” she said. “She has not chosen to confide it, and of course I would not pry.”

Arthur’s disappointment was sharp.

“Obviously that is not her position now,” Mrs. Thorpe added.

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