Page 8 of A Lady's Curves
“If you knew your staff was underpaid, why did you do nothing to correct the situation?” One of the many questions floating in my mind.
Turning, he walks to the threshold and stops. I think he’s going to ignore my question when he turns back and locks his gaze with mine. “That would have required leaving my comfortable hiding place and rejoining my life, Miss Wittman. I don’t generally like to do that. I should have been born a simple farmer or a man of science, but fate is cruel and made me an earl.”
“Perhaps Mr. Bellston did you a favor.” I wish I could take it back the moment I’ve said it.
“You think I deserved to be cheated and for my estates to go neglected?” There’s an edge to his voice that is at once intriguing and frightening.
Closing the gap between us, it feels as if my shoes are filled with stones. “No. Not that. Nor do I think your staff deserved their treatment. However, his actions did get you to leave Scotland and join your life, even if it was unwillingly.”
Those beautiful green eyes darken and he lowers his gaze. “You have seen my disposition, Ann. Do you really think society has any place for me?”
Before I can formulate a response, he walks out and a moment later, the front door closes.
My problem is that I do think he has a place in society. I just can’t figure out why I think so or what that place is.
Chapter Four
Oscar
Ihave not attended a ball since I was twenty-two and my mother forced a season on me. Once she realized I was hopeless, she let me stay home with my experiments. I remember the anxiousness caused by swarms of people and the mothers with young daughters of a marrying age. That familiar knot twists in my stomach as we enter the Markelson Ball.
Louisa’s hand tightens around my arm. “Uncle, I may be sick.”
It wouldn’t do to tell her that I may join her, so I pat her hand. “You look beautiful and we shall get through this together.”
Her large green eyes stare at me. “Do you really think so?”
I force a smile. “I do. One step at a time, my dear. You’ll dance with a few gentlemen, Miss Wittman will make sure they act the part, and I will escort you home in a few hours.”
Ann steps out from behind us and whispers, “You mighteven try to enjoy the process. You like to dance. I know you like music. Have a good time.” She gives me a hard look.
Looking terrified, Louisa releases my arm and strides to a group of ladies around her age.
“I thought my sister might make an appearance.” I scan the room. “I don’t see her. Perhaps she really does trust you. I’m certain she doesn’t trust me.”
“You might try giving her a reason to.” Ann steps back so that she’s partially hidden by a potted tree. The things are all over the room, creating privacy.
“Are you hiding?” I can’t help frowning at the navy-blue gown that covers almost every inch of her and looks as if it should be worn by someone twice her age.
“What are you scowling at, and no. I’m keeping my place. I’m a servant, not a debutante.” Somehow, she makes herself even smaller.
“You know, when you said you had appropriate clothes for a ball, I didn’t expect you to wear some maiden aunt’s frock. Though you can make anything look lovely.” I long to touch her, but keep my hands clasped behind my back.
Lifting her shoulders, she cocks her head. “You just complimented me.” She stares into the crowd. “Thank you. I gave away my party gowns long ago. What I have is suitable for my current position in life.”
I wish I could hide under the tree, but I’m a brutishly large man and all I can do is draw attention to myself. Before I can ask why someone who, based on her educated language and manners, was raised in society, never found a husband, a familiar voice calls my name.
“Oscar. You look…” My mother stares a full two beats. “Undisheveled.”
Leaning down, I kiss her cheek. “Hello, Mother. I have a valet. He is to blame for my tidy appearance.”
Mother is tall and slender with slightly graying brown hair done up in an elaborate style with diamonds and emeralds wrapped around a bun at the top. She looks as regal as ever. “You hired a valet? I hope I don’t sound condescending, Oscar, but I’m proud of you.”
It’s impossible not to laugh. I like that my mother is happy with me even though I cannot take the credit. “Miss Ann Wittman of the Everton Domestic Society is the one you should compliment.” I gesture to Ann.
Ann steps out from her hiding place.
“Miss Wittman, my mother, the Dowager Countess of Kendall.”
