watched the footman serve yet another course, the last, thank God.
Across the table and a few places up to her left sat the viscount, who was obviously occupied with the lady to his right, an attractive blond. Nora was very happy when the dinner was over and they could join the ladies in the drawing room. “The dancing will follow after the gentlemen have had their port,” announced Lavinia as she led the ladies off.
Miranda seemed to be holding her own with two young women, although Nora could tell she was nervous by her subdued expression and lack of gestures. When Miranda talked, she talked with her eyes and hands as well as her tongue, and tonight both were very still.
Lady Lavinia started over to Nora, accompanied by a rather fierce-looking old lady dressed in a bright purple silk leaning on a silver-headed ebony cane. Lavinia hoped that Lady Harriet Thomas would help put Mrs. Dillon in her place. She was utterly at a loss when both ladies recognized each other, smiled, and moved to embrace.
“Lady Harriet, I am so happy to see you here. I did not notice you at the dinner table.”
“Nor I you, my dear Mrs. Dillon.”
“You know one another?” Lavinia asked.
“We have met once or twice at Miss Baillie’s house,” replied Nora. “She is a dear friend of mine, and also of Lady Harriet’s.”
“I am convinced that Miss Baillie’s latest play is a tragedy to rival Shakespeare’s,” declaimed the elderly countess. “And how is your new novel coming along, my dear?”
“What I write is nothing to compare to Joanna’s, as well you know.” Nora smiled. “But I am pleased with it.”
“Ah, do not belittle yourself, Mrs. Dillon. A good story, an entertainment, is as important as a masterwork. Many’s the night a frothy novel has saved me when my arthritis kept me awake. Much as I appreciate Miss Baillie’s serious work, I hardly think I would turn to tragedy when my joints are aching!”
Nora chuckled. “So I am better than a sleeping draft, am I?”
Lady Harriet shook her cane. “Now, don’t get huffy, Mrs. Dillon. You know what I meant. Come, take my arm and let me introduce you around.”
Lavinia was left outmaneuvered and openmouthed in surprise. How could she have known Mrs. Dillon could have met and obviously charmed one of the most intimidating old dragons of society? Instead of being interrogated, Nora was being introduced. So much for her attempt at embarrassment. And once again she was half-ashamed of herself. She did not want this match. Her son, the Earl of Alverstone, could not marry a country nobody, but she had to admit that in her own way, Mrs. Dillon was the equal of anyone here, in manner, if not in birth.
Miranda was being well taken care of by Jeremy, surrounded by his closest friends and protected from the more superficial and malicious young women whom Lavinia had invited. Miranda was still listening rather than talking, but she sat out very few dances.
Nora watched her daughter from across the room. She had been very grateful to the old countess, and had been introduced to several men and women she genuinely liked. But after the first few questions and answers, it was clear there was not enough in common to keep the conversation going. She could hardly, after all, discuss her problems with her latest novel, or trade recipes with women who probably didn’t even know where their kitchens were. She could and did answer questions about Miss Baillie, but then someone would remember a piece of gossip and Nora would stand silent, politely smiling as they chattered on about Lord So-and-so.
In the ballroom, she found herself in an in-between position, too young to be keeping the dowagers company and too old to be with her daughter, and ill-at-ease with the matrons her age. She had discovered that the blond lady next to the viscount was Lady Maria Hill.
“Now that Cynthia has remarried, I would not be surprised if Maria becomes his latest widow,” was the gossip on the
Across the table and a few places up to her left sat the viscount, who was obviously occupied with the lady to his right, an attractive blond. Nora was very happy when the dinner was over and they could join the ladies in the drawing room. “The dancing will follow after the gentlemen have had their port,” announced Lavinia as she led the ladies off.
Miranda seemed to be holding her own with two young women, although Nora could tell she was nervous by her subdued expression and lack of gestures. When Miranda talked, she talked with her eyes and hands as well as her tongue, and tonight both were very still.
Lady Lavinia started over to Nora, accompanied by a rather fierce-looking old lady dressed in a bright purple silk leaning on a silver-headed ebony cane. Lavinia hoped that Lady Harriet Thomas would help put Mrs. Dillon in her place. She was utterly at a loss when both ladies recognized each other, smiled, and moved to embrace.
“Lady Harriet, I am so happy to see you here. I did not notice you at the dinner table.”
“Nor I you, my dear Mrs. Dillon.”
“You know one another?” Lavinia asked.
“We have met once or twice at Miss Baillie’s house,” replied Nora. “She is a dear friend of mine, and also of Lady Harriet’s.”
“I am convinced that Miss Baillie’s latest play is a tragedy to rival Shakespeare’s,” declaimed the elderly countess. “And how is your new novel coming along, my dear?”
“What I write is nothing to compare to Joanna’s, as well you know.” Nora smiled. “But I am pleased with it.”
“Ah, do not belittle yourself, Mrs. Dillon. A good story, an entertainment, is as important as a masterwork. Many’s the night a frothy novel has saved me when my arthritis kept me awake. Much as I appreciate Miss Baillie’s serious work, I hardly think I would turn to tragedy when my joints are aching!”
Nora chuckled. “So I am better than a sleeping draft, am I?”
Lady Harriet shook her cane. “Now, don’t get huffy, Mrs. Dillon. You know what I meant. Come, take my arm and let me introduce you around.”
Lavinia was left outmaneuvered and openmouthed in surprise. How could she have known Mrs. Dillon could have met and obviously charmed one of the most intimidating old dragons of society? Instead of being interrogated, Nora was being introduced. So much for her attempt at embarrassment. And once again she was half-ashamed of herself. She did not want this match. Her son, the Earl of Alverstone, could not marry a country nobody, but she had to admit that in her own way, Mrs. Dillon was the equal of anyone here, in manner, if not in birth.
Miranda was being well taken care of by Jeremy, surrounded by his closest friends and protected from the more superficial and malicious young women whom Lavinia had invited. Miranda was still listening rather than talking, but she sat out very few dances.
Nora watched her daughter from across the room. She had been very grateful to the old countess, and had been introduced to several men and women she genuinely liked. But after the first few questions and answers, it was clear there was not enough in common to keep the conversation going. She could hardly, after all, discuss her problems with her latest novel, or trade recipes with women who probably didn’t even know where their kitchens were. She could and did answer questions about Miss Baillie, but then someone would remember a piece of gossip and Nora would stand silent, politely smiling as they chattered on about Lord So-and-so.
In the ballroom, she found herself in an in-between position, too young to be keeping the dowagers company and too old to be with her daughter, and ill-at-ease with the matrons her age. She had discovered that the blond lady next to the viscount was Lady Maria Hill.
“Now that Cynthia has remarried, I would not be surprised if Maria becomes his latest widow,” was the gossip on the
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