Page 55 of Mentor to the Marquess
Icy fingers touched the back of her neck. “You are quite warm for a corpse. I believe I could pose you in a seat.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her out of the chair. She squealed and kicked her legs until he put her back on her feet. The moment he released her, she flitted across the room and out the door, only slowing when she reached the staircase.
Constance stood at the bottom of the steps, staring at the door. Mr. Ringwell stood by her, dressed in a fetching, brushed wool suit.
“At least he made an appearance this time,” Thel said when he joined her. There was more than a little bitterness in his tone. Olivia could not blame him. Far from recoiling from her inappropriate suitor after Mr. Dawson’s show of anger, Constance had become even more infatuated. They couldn’t even have the brief respite of home, as there was no longer a reason for her to avoid speaking of him now that her relatives were aware of her betrothal.
Olivia’s hopes to separate the couple were dimming by the day. Constance had shown little interest in anyone but Mr. Dawson and Mr. Ringwell. The former for obvious reasons and the latter because her history with her childhood friend had so far prevented her from cutting him outright.
There was another knock at the door, softer this time. Constance darted forward. She flung open the door and took Mr. Dawson’s arm, all but dragging him inside. The slight smile on Mr. Dawson’s face did not waver until Mr. Ringwell stepped forward to greet him. Then his smile vanished.
“Mr. Ringwell,” Mr. Dawson said icily.
Mr. Ringwell gave a slight incline of his head before Constance pulled Mr. Dawson into the ballroom, where the rest of her family waited.
Thel and Olivia followed, and as such were able to view each family member’s reaction when they saw Mr. Dawson.
The duchess’s eye twitched. Thel’s brothers glowered. Their wives hovered behind them, chatting and acting as if they were not part of the party.
Except for one.
A blonde woman in a gold gown stood apart, glaring at Olivia with such a fierce expression of hatred on her face that it took her aback.
“Don’t mind Celina,” Thel said. “Felix had his own plans for Constance’s future and when I refused to cut ties with you, I fear she was the one who suffered.”
Olivia was not so sure. When she turned, it was as if she could feel the woman’s gaze digging into her back.
As they took their places around the table, she was relieved to find she was sitting far from the woman.
A bell chimed, and a line of servants entered the drafty dining hall. A shallow bowl of tomato-based soup was placed in front of her. She picked up the appropriate spoon and took a sip, but the texture was too thick for her liking.
“Mr. Dawson,” the duchess said from the head of the table. “My daughter has told me of your family’s business. I confess some interest. There aren’t many men of business in our family.”
The slight insult did not appear to bother Mr. Dawson, although Constance’s cheeks turned a deep shade of red.
“My father left most of the labor to our trusted employees in America,” Mr. Dawson said.
“He sent you away, did he?” the duke asked. He harrumphed. “Not much of a father to ship his son off and split the family apart.”
Mr. Dawson shifted in his seat. “He was not well and did not wish me to witness his decline.”
“Oh, dear,” the duchess said. “William, apologize at once. You know as well as I that you would have done the same in the elder Mr. Dawson’s position.”
The duke grumbled an apology, which Mr. Dawson gracefully accepted.
The duchess leaned back in her chair with a smile. All evidence so far suggested she approved of Mr. Dawson, who had displayed impeccable manners.
“I did not think the rail business was terribly profitable,” Thel’s brother, Lord Felix Vaith, said.
“On the contrary, several of my father’s business ventures have proven quite lucrative,” Mr. Dawson said.
Lord Felix aggressively cut through his chicken. “Indeed? I had thought that the enormous workforce necessary to operate such a business would result in thin margins.”
Mr. Dawson shook his head. “Not at all, Lord Felix. However, I would not want to sour the appetites of the ladies present. Perhaps we could discuss this after dinner.”
Bright spots of red appeared on Lord Felix’s cheeks. “Yes. Of course.”
Olivia looked back and forth between the two men. Something about the tone of their voices struck her as false, as if they were having a separate conversation from what she was hearing.
