There was only one bowl of violets on the table, but the bowl was gold, and a beautiful shape, and the violets nearly as big as pansies. My eyes wandered to the pictures—Gainsborough’s, and Reynolds’, and Romney’s—of stately men and women.
“You met my other nephew, Lord Robert, did you not?” Lady Merrenden said, presently. “He told me he had gone to Branches, where I believe you lived.”
“Yes,” I said, and oh! it is too humiliating to write, I felt my cheeks get crimson at the mention of Lord Robert’s name. What could she have thought? Can anything be so young ladylike and ridiculous.
“He came to the Opera with us the night before last,” I continued. “Mr. Carruthers had a box, and Lady Verningham and I went with them.” Then recollecting how odd this must sound in my deep mourning, I added, “I am so fond of music.”
“So is Robert,” she said. “I am sure he must have been pleased to meet a kindred spirit there.”
Sweet, charming, kind lady! If she only knew what emotions were really agitating us in that box that night—I fear the actual love of music was the least of them!
The Duke, during this conversation, and from the beginning mention of Lord Robert’s name, never took his eyes off my face—it was very disconcerting; his look was clearer now, and it was certainly disapproving.
We had coffee upstairs, out of such exquisite Dresden cups, and then Lord Merrenden showed me some miniatures. Finally it happened that the Duke and I were left alone for a minute looking out of a window on to the Mall.
His eyes pierced me through and through—well at all events my nose and my ears and my wrists are as fine as Lady Merrenden’s—poor mamma’s odd mother does not show in me on the outside—thank goodness. He did not say much, only commonplaces about the view. I felt afraid of him, and rather depressed. I am sure he dislikes me.
“May I not drive you somewhere?” my kind hostess asked. “Or, if you have nowhere in particular to go, will you come with me?”