Page 35 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“Don’t judge him too harshly, I beg you.” Hope’s expression had softened. “William won’t say much, but he has hinted that the viscount has faced more than a few difficulties in his past.”
“In what way?” She shouldn’t ask, but she could not help herself.
“I’m not sure. I have the impression that it has to do with his family.”
Glory mulled that over as she watched him with the widow. Lady Tresham was making her interest plain. Keswick smiled and chatted, but there was a brittle quality to his laugh. And there was no sign of lightness in his brilliant blue eyes.
She stiffened as Lady Tresham laughed and reached out to touch his arm.
His dark head still bent to hers, but a moment later he pulled his arm back and slipped away. Glory felt her shoulders descend—and thought she recognized a similar relief in him as he moved to join Lord Tensford, conversing with another gentleman near the window.
“Glory, you are staring again,” Hope said gently.
“Oh. I shouldn’t, I know. But have you noticed?” she asked. “Lord Keswick is all affable charm, but I think he wields it like a tool. Or a shield,” she mused.
“He does tend to keep people at a distance,” Hope admitted.
“He never seems to truly relax unless he’s with Tensford. Or Mr. Sterne.” Yes, she rather thought she could see from here that tension had left his expression and his stance looked looser.
“They share a very close friendship,” Hope admitted. “They are more like brothers than friends, I believe, and the relationship extends to a couple of other school friends. They are all very close.” She straightened. “Oh, here we go, now. Miss Munroe is ready to begin.”
Glory listened politely as her friend sang. She had a nice voice, with just a hint of a fuzzy edge that had all the males paying attention. But Glory was thinking about what Hope had just said. A close group of friends must be a blessing, a good thing. So why was Tensford open to adding a marriage and true closeness with Hope to his life, but Keswick appeared to be closed to the idea of growing emotionally intimate with anyone else? Trying to be discreet, she glanced over to see if the viscount was as enthralled with Miss Munroe’s performance as so many of the other gentlemen.
Apparently not. He was frowning and gazing around the room, as if he were looking for something. Or someone.
Glory joined in the applause as her friend’s song ended. Mr. Sterne stood to escort her from the open stage area. He brought her over to their corner and they both took seats.
“That was lovely, my dear,” Hope said.
Glory echoed her compliments. “You should sing us a Scots ballad next time,” she encouraged. “One of the ones your grandmother taught you.” She smiled at the others. “I’ve heard a few of her songs and they are lovely.”
“I wasn’t sure they would be well received in such company,” Miss Munroe glanced at Hope.
“I don’t see why not. You can sing anything you choose, my dear, and we’ll all be enthralled.”
“Have you traveled to Scotland?” Mr. Sterne asked.
“Oh, aye,” she replied with a smile. “Have ye?”
He looked charmed. “No, but I would like to. I am interested in conducting research on some of the plants local to the northern areas.”
Hope looked over at Glory, slightly worried. Glory shrugged. It was not the usual drawing room conversation, but Miss Munroe seemed to find this a perfectly rational reason to travel. In moments, they were off in a discussion about the use of heather to cure digestive ailments and its superiority as a stuffing in mattresses.
Hope watched them, bemused, but Glory merely raised her brows. “Who is entertaining us next?”
“It looks to be Miss Parscate. I believe she is to play the pianoforte.”
Any response Glory meant to make died away as Keswick suddenly appeared before them, a gentleman in tow. Suddenly her brain ceased working and her lungs labored to draw in the air that had turned effervescent with sparkling potential—until she remembered that all of the potential was for discouragement and dismissal.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” her sister said. “Lord Keswick, have you tried thehors d’oeuvres? The salmon mousse cups have been well received.”
“They are delicious, my lady,” he said with a twinkle. “Although they are not, of course, colcannon and brown bread.”
She laughed. “Perhaps at our next gathering.”
“Lady Tensford,” he said in a scolding tone. “Sir Blackwell has not yet been introduced to your sister.”
“Well, that will not do. Glory, if I may present Sir Blackwell? Sir, my sister, Lady Glory Brightley.”
