Royal Regard

Chapter Six, Part 1

Opening night of Il Barbiere di Siviglia at the Italian Opera House, Nick saw Lady Holsworthy—no, Lady Huntleigh—the second time. She and her husband visited the boxes of Lord Huntleigh's more important investors, and Nick was the guest of Lord Pinnester, who had brought Seventh Sea Shipping to the attention of the last king thirty years earlier.

Nick was quite taken with her shocking tales of their travels, though he was the only one amused, aside from Lord and Lady Pinnester, whose entire fortune had been built on the back of Huntleigh's company. From the whispering behind hands, Nick knew Lady Huntleigh's stories were fanning gossip all over London, but within the Pinnesters' hearing, nothing but counterfeit cordiality and feigned fascination with their travels.

When Lady Huntleigh told the story of a tribe of Black Africans mistaking her for a goddess, he found himself considering the implications of worshiping at her feet. Her anecdotes about their frigate outrunning and outgunning pirates took him back twenty years, though he had learned the hard way not to discuss such adventures in company. He thought perhaps he should take Lord Huntleigh aside to discuss the ramifications of such public disclosure, but was far too intrigued by the lady's narrative to suggest she not continue.

Nick was chagrined Lady Huntleigh had seen him in the company of the widowed Lady Rowena Astewithe, who set his teeth on edge. Allison had arranged his escort, trying yet again to marry him to any fertile woman with a pulse. He hadn't expected to see the Huntleighs, or he might have—

Might have what, exactly? he wondered to himself a few days later, as he surreptitiously changed the place cards at a small supper given by Lord and Lady Carrick. It isn't as though I can marry her, he thought, as he gave a viscountess a place at the table far higher than her position warranted, just to seat himself directly across from Lady Huntleigh.

I don't even want to be married.

Lady Huntleigh barely uttered a word to him beyond, "It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Grace," and he was entirely circumspect: he might have used a protractor to gauge the degree of his bow and a ruler to measure the appropriate distance between her hand and his lips. But she couldn't keep from staring when she thought he wasn't looking.

Improving matters, her husband had declined to attend at the last minute, citing ill health, leaving her in the care of her cousin's inattentive husband. Lady Huntleigh was preoccupied all evening and left early, against Lady Firthley's objections, but it was the first time he was able to converse with her beyond a polite greeting.

When they spoke just before the exodus to the dining room, Lady Huntleigh was shy, glances slipping away toward the walls, but couldn't avoid him with everyone else in the room engaged in other conversations.

"I had not remembered London being so cold in the springtime."

"It is chilly this year, to be sure." When he added, "The shawl you are wearing is lovely," she seemed to lose her breath and looked as though she wished to hide behind it.

"So kind of you to say."

As he caught her eye with an impertinent grin, bewilderment stained her cheeks. She was prettier every time he saw her, especially in her emerald-green gown with primrose trim, better fitting and better suited to her coloring than any previous frocks, bringing out the bronze tones of her hair and the gold of her sun-kissed skin.

She couldn't stop the heat rising from her chest to her forehead with each syllable of the four innocuous sentences they shared while the guests were being seated, so he did his best to turn his attention elsewhere. Taking too much notice would give him away.