He noticed, attuned after her conversation earlier, that her skirt was narrower than any other present. It flowed out the back, emphasizing her curves. Never one for frills and puffs, he found the dress pleasing. Although he missed those jet buttons.
Lady Villentia circulated, as he had, and drew the same conclusion, joining them at the window. In the hallway, his paltry charm had brightened those sad eyes, but they were dulled once more. He was tongue-tied at the loss.
It fell to the daughter of the house to formulate a greeting. “Lady Villentia, welcome. Is your room to your liking?”
“Very much so, Lady Florence. It is pleasing in both proportion and furnishing.”
“Oh, Lady Flo, please. Lady Florence makes me feel like someone’s maiden aunt.”
“Lady Flo, then.” Lady Villentia gave a half-smile of genuine pleasure, as if she rarely experienced kindness.
“The bed isna too high?” wondered Gavin, testing.
“I did not try the bed, Captain.” Her eyes narrowed at him in warning.
The younger girls were rendered speechless.
Gavin realized his gaffe. “A wee joke from earlier. Pay me no mind.”
Lady Villentia’s attention was caught by something outside the window. “Lady Flo, your father wouldn’t set his staff to gardening in such a storm, would he?”
“Certainly not.”
“Ah. So.” She said nothing more, but Gavin strained his eyes to see. Had she noticed someone lurking in the pouring rain? Had she spotted the real assassin or was she deflecting notice? He saw nothing.
“I was pleasantly surprised to find your father kept a dirigible, Lady Flo,” commented Lady Villentia.
“Oh yes, Father can be quite avant-garde. Not in his faith, of course, but he does have some progressive leanings. Hides them well, poor thing, but can’t seem to stop.” She glanced fondly at her father. “We’ve had members of the local werewolf pack to tea, and I know he meets on business with vampires in town. Of course, such interactions go hand in hand with the latest technology. Do you favor newfangled gadgets, Captain Ruthven?”
The Scotsman gave a rueful smile. “I too was surprised by the dirigible, but na pleasantly. I canna deny it – poor Lady Villentia played witness – I’m a terrible floater.”
“He was near as green as Lady Blingchester’s dress.” Lady Villentia’s tone said much on her opinion of said dress.
The girls tittered, raising their fans to look surreptitiously at the gown in question.
Lady Florence was sympathetic. “I understand your suffering, Captain. Brutal way to travel. And so slow.”
“Oh, but it’s such fun,” Miss Pagril disagreed.
“It’s unnatural, taking to the skies,” objected Lady Flo. “What do you think, Lady Villentia?”
The widow watched this mild disagreement with interest. She must be noticing the intimacy of the two lasses. The delicate little touches. The way they leaned into one another.
“Are you asking me to render judgment on floating as a practice, or merely my opinion?”
“Both,” said Miss Pagril, cheekily.
“Technology is difficult to pause, once it has taken flight. Only ask the Luddites. Floating is here to stay and cares not for my judgment. As to the other, I find dirigibles useful under certain circumstances, when one wishes to make a grand gesture, for example. I knew a gentleman once who floated up to a lady’s window, singing an aria, his arms full of roses.”
“Oh, how romantic!” breathed Lady Flo.
“What foolishness,” objected Miss Pagril.
“Perhaps.” Lady Villentia shrugged delicately. “But the lady was impressed and disposed to look upon the gentleman favorably. I call that a good use of a dirigible.”
“Was it a beau of yours, Lady Villentia?”
“Of mine? Certainly not. I should never hold with such silliness.”
Did she glance in his direction? Gavin was glad. His heart might favor tenderness with the fairer sex, but he was not inclined to sentimental codswallop.
Miss Pagril tapped Lady Flo on the wrist with her fan. “There, you see?”
Gavin was surprised to find he was enjoying himself, despite painful awareness of the pristine perfection next to him. The way Lady Villentia spoke, so careful, so clipped, and yet encouraging. It showed years of training. She smelled of peaches. Was that also training? She was like a white rose, all velvet petals and sharp thorns. But roses did not smell of peaches.
I’m no poet to be hunting lyrical descriptions. I’ll learn her given name and then think of her by that. I hope it isna somewhat awful, like Ernestine.
Or Beulah.
* * *
Preshea did not expect to enjoy herself. How was such a thing possible in the company of perfectly sweet girls and a perfectly decent gentleman? Well, perhaps not perfectly decent. He had wickedness buried within, to tempt her with talk of beds.
As a rule, Preshea loathed nice people. Add to that the fact that both ladies were a full decade her junior, mix in that they were female, and Preshea expected to be anywhere else in the room. Yet there she sat.
She had acquired female friends before, but in the manner by which she acquired pierced ears (necessary for her image and to prove to the world that she could). She never liked them and they had not liked her. They had tolerated her because friendship guaranteed that her cutting remarks were (slightly) more frequently targeted elsewhere.
There was nothing wrong with Lady Flo and Miss Pagril. There was nothing wonderful about them, either. Their manners were neat but their experience narrow and their conversation confined. In short, they were the kind of young ladies whom, under other circumstances, Lady Preshea Villentia would have ignored.