Page 64 of In Compromise with the Earl
Bloodless and faint, she made to reply but a snide voice—that of her father’s—cut in. “I do believe she is in shock of having the first man she had kissed walk into the room holding another lady’s arm. Isn’t that right, daughter of mine?”
Icy sharpness of the Dowager’s betrayal jammed themselves into her stomach. She should have expected this from the Dowager who hated her, but she began to wonder if her father had a part in it too.
Oswald’s eyes shifted. “Is it true? Is Amalie’s fiancé the one who you kissed?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I…I don’t know if I can—”
“It’s going to be fine,” Oswald said, his determination the only thread of sanity she could hold unto. “No one else needs to know.”
Her stomach felt hollow when she turned to her father who stood there, his pretentious cane in hand while he cocked his head at them. Dressed in his dark dinner jacket and matching trousers, the only speck of color he had on were his blood-red waistcoat and impeccably tied cravat.
With her legs feeling like wooden clumps, she managed to descend the last few steps and stand before her father. William’s expression was mostly blasé but his mouth had a mocking curl to it. “So, you are Tennesley.”
Oswald nodded once. “Kingsley. I have heard a lot about you.”
“All dastardly things I presume,” he said humorlessly. “I have no illusions that you have not heard about my lifestyle.”
“I have,” Oswald said.
A moment later, William’s eyes darted between the two before his brows lifted to his hairline. “That’s…all?”
“I’m sorry,” Oswald said easily. “Were you expecting a holier-than-thou comment from me? You will not get one. Now, may we please adjourn to the dining room. I wager my Mother is waiting.”
The hairs on the back of her head were permanently up as they walked into the lavish dining room that seemed to run the length of the Hall. The room’s decor had muted but elegant gold-filigree wallpaper and ivory silk curtains.
The chairs of the sixteen-seat table were covered in cream satin and the chandeliers dipped with clean crystals, hundreds of candles casting their glow through them and giving the room a soft air of elegance and style. Candelabras were on the silk-covered table and gleaming crystal glasses and shining tableware were ready for them.
“Ah, there you are,” the Dowager said, he eyes glancing to Lord Kingsley behind them. “Viscount Kingsley. Welcome to my home.”
William bowed. “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, My Lady. I assume you were as surprised as I was at the match our children have made, hm?”
“Very,” she said stiffly. “Um, Lord Valentine, Lord Westlake and Miss Amalie, please let me introduce, Aphrodite Bristol, my son’s wife.”
Aphrodite did not enjoy the way Stephen’s eyes widened but he regained his composure quickly and his lady didn’t notice. Politely she curtsied, and before the Dowager could say a word she said, “Pleased to see you again, My Lord.”
He bowed. “And you, My Lady.”
“You two are acquainted?” the Dowager asked.
“Yes, they are, or were,” William chimed in snidely. “A long time ago.”
“We were childhood friends,” Aphrodite said after glaring at her father. “Our Estates were close. I’m please to meet you, Miss Amalie.”
“You too,” Amalie replied, her warm gray eyes wide and unsuspecting. Now she understood why Oswald said he could not have formed a relationship with her—she was like pretty porcelain, so delicate. She greeted the older man who levied an assessing but not accusing look to Aphrodite.
“Pleased to meet you as well,” he inclined his head. Oswald introduced her to three other people, but Aphrodite would have to pay a Devil’s ransom if someone asked her what their names were. She felt her trepidation growing as the table filled, it was impossible to ignore the various glances made from her to Lord Westlake.
When they were all seated, footmen came around to serve them champagne. The Dowager rose, and the table quieted. “Good evening, my friends and new acquaintances,” she said. “I have the pleasure of bidding you welcome, and I thank you for helping me and my home celebrate the newest union of my son and his wife. I do ask you not to make the same error I had when I heard her name and thought of her namesake.”
There was gentle laughter up and down the table, but shame burned up Aphrodite’s neck. Nevertheless, she lifted her chin, kept the smile on her face and even tipped her flute to the Dowager.
“They had a private wedding you see and I was not a part of it so this is my way of acknowledging the union,” she said pleasantly. “Please join me in wishing them a happy marriage and wonderful life together.”
Polite wishes came from both ends of the table and Oswald voiced his thanks for both of them. As he was seated next to her, she rested a hand on his thigh because this all felt like a horrible night terror, and she needed something to ground her.
The soup was served and while the broth was fragrant and delicious, it tasted like ash to Aphrodite. While she had little evidence that the Dowager had set her up to be embarrassed with Stephen’s presence, the suspicion rested in her heart like a lead ball. To make matter worse, her father was there, still smirking over his wine.
“So,” Lady Amalie asked, “Lady Aphrodite, would tell me how you and dear Oswald met?”
