own home. However. What was I saying…?”
There was a momentary silence until Lady Brendel offered politely, “When you and Mr. Southey chanced to be in London at the same time…”
“Oh, indeed, yes, how absurd of me to lose my train of thought….”
Since Mr. Jennings’s train of thought, once set firmly in motion, ran very well on its own, Robert felt no obligation even to appear to be raptly attentive to his words. Instead, he allowed his mind to wander back to his last sight of Sabina Bromley. Did she really despise him as much as that look seemed to say? Was she able to forget, for he certainly could not, the very different look she had given him the day before on the canal bank? She had told him that she loved him; she had initiated the declaration.
Why, if she did not mean it?
He told himself that he had every right to be as angry as she was at his “betrayal”—she had, after all, deceived him about her loss of memory. To be sure, she had not recognized him as a member of the Ashton family, and he had deliberately led her to believe he was someone else. Yet, why had she concealed her own identity in the way she did?
“My dear Robin,” Lavinia was saying, “I wish you would let me plan a ball, or at least a small dinner party, for you.”
He was fairly certain that he had not heard any introduction to this topic, so he asked, quite naturally, “Whatever for?”
“It must seem unusual that we have not yet done so,” Lavinia explained, as to a slightly dim child. “It should not be thought that your arrival was not an important family occasion—which of course it was, and it must be seen to be so by the rest of the world as well.”
“I am perfectly capable of announcing myself. I will even, if it will allay your social concern, say that I did not wish any fuss to be made about my return.”
“Yes, but it isn’t just that,” Lavinia went on. “You have not met our neighbors for years, some not at all. There are a number of pretty, eligible young girls—”
“Oh, no, Lavinia! I will not have you parading matrimonial candidates through my own home for my inspection. That is the outside of enough.”
“But surely you will wish to marry and settle down now that your military career is at last at an end. You said as much when you first arrived.”
And so he had. That had been rash of him, Robert now knew, but at that time he had had only one candidate in mind, and she had now declined the post.
A thought occurred to him. Could she have known who he was, after all? He did not guess that she had not really lost her memory—even when they were play-acting and she had drawn a picture that seemed very much like her life as he was aware of it. Could he have been equally obtuse in thinking she had not recognized him?
But the puzzle remained—why?
Lady Brendel had by this time entered the conversational lists. A formidable aristocrat with an aquiline cast of countenance and a penchant for varying shades of purple in her garb and personal adornment, even to the feathers in her turbans, she began describing in excruciating detail the various entertainments she had had the pleasure of attending or hosting in London last season and in which she had every intention of indulging herself again.
“Perhaps, Robert, you would like to spend a little time in town with us?” she offered. Robert made an effort not to wince, but she must have sensed his withdrawal, for she went on, “Or with my other daughter and her husband, Lord Northrup, who would be equally glad to have you. You may even come to us during the summer, when London is thin of company, of course, and it is always possible to arrange a small entertainment at home. Would that suit you better?”
“Thank you, Lady Brendel, but I fear I would damage your reputation as a hostess beyond repair.”
Lady Brendel smiled at this witticism. “Dear me, no—as if anyone could! That is, you surely would not do so.”
Robert knew better than
There was a momentary silence until Lady Brendel offered politely, “When you and Mr. Southey chanced to be in London at the same time…”
“Oh, indeed, yes, how absurd of me to lose my train of thought….”
Since Mr. Jennings’s train of thought, once set firmly in motion, ran very well on its own, Robert felt no obligation even to appear to be raptly attentive to his words. Instead, he allowed his mind to wander back to his last sight of Sabina Bromley. Did she really despise him as much as that look seemed to say? Was she able to forget, for he certainly could not, the very different look she had given him the day before on the canal bank? She had told him that she loved him; she had initiated the declaration.
Why, if she did not mean it?
He told himself that he had every right to be as angry as she was at his “betrayal”—she had, after all, deceived him about her loss of memory. To be sure, she had not recognized him as a member of the Ashton family, and he had deliberately led her to believe he was someone else. Yet, why had she concealed her own identity in the way she did?
“My dear Robin,” Lavinia was saying, “I wish you would let me plan a ball, or at least a small dinner party, for you.”
He was fairly certain that he had not heard any introduction to this topic, so he asked, quite naturally, “Whatever for?”
“It must seem unusual that we have not yet done so,” Lavinia explained, as to a slightly dim child. “It should not be thought that your arrival was not an important family occasion—which of course it was, and it must be seen to be so by the rest of the world as well.”
“I am perfectly capable of announcing myself. I will even, if it will allay your social concern, say that I did not wish any fuss to be made about my return.”
“Yes, but it isn’t just that,” Lavinia went on. “You have not met our neighbors for years, some not at all. There are a number of pretty, eligible young girls—”
“Oh, no, Lavinia! I will not have you parading matrimonial candidates through my own home for my inspection. That is the outside of enough.”
“But surely you will wish to marry and settle down now that your military career is at last at an end. You said as much when you first arrived.”
And so he had. That had been rash of him, Robert now knew, but at that time he had had only one candidate in mind, and she had now declined the post.
A thought occurred to him. Could she have known who he was, after all? He did not guess that she had not really lost her memory—even when they were play-acting and she had drawn a picture that seemed very much like her life as he was aware of it. Could he have been equally obtuse in thinking she had not recognized him?
But the puzzle remained—why?
Lady Brendel had by this time entered the conversational lists. A formidable aristocrat with an aquiline cast of countenance and a penchant for varying shades of purple in her garb and personal adornment, even to the feathers in her turbans, she began describing in excruciating detail the various entertainments she had had the pleasure of attending or hosting in London last season and in which she had every intention of indulging herself again.
“Perhaps, Robert, you would like to spend a little time in town with us?” she offered. Robert made an effort not to wince, but she must have sensed his withdrawal, for she went on, “Or with my other daughter and her husband, Lord Northrup, who would be equally glad to have you. You may even come to us during the summer, when London is thin of company, of course, and it is always possible to arrange a small entertainment at home. Would that suit you better?”
“Thank you, Lady Brendel, but I fear I would damage your reputation as a hostess beyond repair.”
Lady Brendel smiled at this witticism. “Dear me, no—as if anyone could! That is, you surely would not do so.”
Robert knew better than
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