Chapter 11
A book makes poor company in a house full of people, but Adam could think of no other way to pass the afternoon.
The morning after Christmas, he joined the ladies on their trek to deliver Boxing Day charity, using the Sabbath as his excuse to avoid hunting with the gentlemen. It was true enough, but his chief reason had been the opportunity to corner his quarry. Esther managed to avoid him, even on the return walk, by attaching herself to the Belvoir ladies like a limpet and refusing to meet his eyes. After they returned, she had disappeared into the upper floors.
I can hardly pursue her to her bedroom, tempting though that thought is. With every day that passed, her father’s arrival came closer, and he had to speak to her first. If Baumann arrived, matchmaker in tow, without warning, she would feel trapped. She would refuse him in some humiliating fashion or accept him because she saw no way out. He determined to avoid both at all cost, but he couldn't pursue her.
Books it is. When he entered Hollystone’s massive library, however, he wasn’t alone.
“Hiding, Elfingham?”
The lord looked up over his book, rolled his eyes, and said, “Not hiding. Licking my wounds more like.”
“Shooting birds doesn’t appeal?” Adam teased.
“I’ve taken down much more challenging game but not as challenging as my current quarry.”
“Lady Sophia?”
Elfingham closed his book. “She avoids me at every turn. You?”
“Giving the poor birds a rest, and yes, I’m not having success either. Ladies can be damned elusive in a pile as massive as this one.”
The viscount smiled. “It’s bigger than some villages in Turkestan. I thought a house party would give me the opportunity I needed, but no.”
Adam nodded sympathetically. He explained Baumann’s plans and his concern. “I have two days to press my case and at least give her a choice. It’s damned hard to court a woman who won’t even speak with you.”
Humor shone from the viscount’s eyes, “You may have to overcome some of your gentlemanly instincts, Halevy.”
“She deserves better. I’d rather keep it above board—and dignified.”
Elfingham raised a questioning brow.
“The costume ball. I don’t see me prancing along next to your cousin in tights.”
“They want to force us into some sort of English mold,” the viscount agreed. “It won’t fit. They see me as a wild prince. I plan to give them one.”
The man’s quiet confidence filled Adam with envy. “Well done, you! I wish I had your choices. Somehow, I don’t think a village rabbi will have the same impact.”
“Perhaps your Esther would prefer a Persian king.”
Adam didn’t take his meaning at first. When it dawned, he gasped, and his mind exploded with ideas. “Ahasuerus!”
“As the Bible calls him, or Xerxes. Your objection isn’t to all costumes, I take it then, merely to foolish ones?”
“The king and Esther… it would be perfect, but I doubt that the Haverford attics will lend themselves to such a costume.”
“Perhaps not entirely but I have some things that may help. We could manage it quite nicely.”
“You would do that for me, Elfingham? I’m grateful.”
“James, please, if we’re to be co-conspirators.” He put out a hand to shake. “May I call you Adam?”
Adam took the man’s hand. “Happily, James. The women won’t be able to ignore us tomorrow night at least.”
“That they will not,” said James with a lupine gleam in his eyes. “That they will not.”
When she started wandering the halls midmorning, Esther told herself—and anyone who stopped to chat—that she wanted to take another tour of the fine art. In her heart, she knew better. For once, Adam ignored her, and she felt perversely curious about his whereabouts. He had gone off with Viscount Elfingham right after breakfast, and she found herself looking for him around every corner. At least he isn’t pursuing a lady. As if I would care!
She couldn’t imagine what captured the two gentlemen’s attention. Neither seemed the sort to avoid the rest of the guests, even to escape Lady Stanton’s overt bigotry, Weasel’s idiocy, and some of the others’ fawning delight in “our exotic fellow guests.” Hythe obviously bore Elfingham some offense, but he had been perfectly amiable to Adam, as had the Grenfords and many of the others.
Both appeared at luncheon, looking smug and pleased with themselves. Both followed some of the other gentlemen to the billiard room with every show of enthusiasm. She almost followed, but Felicity dragooned her into making final adjustments to their costumes.
The day dragged on, and when Adam appeared at tea only to spend a half hour chatting about politics with the Marquis of Aldridge, she had a hard time keeping her eyes away from the two of them.
“The marquis is lovely to look at,” Felicity moaned, “but entirely ineligible. A lady’s reputation is at risk merely being caught in conversation.”
Esther murmured polite agreement. It wasn’t the marquis who interested her.
Lord Jonathon Grenford joined their conversation. He insisted she call him Gren because, “everyone does.”
“I understand you are an art expert,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Hardly! But I've had cause to learn,” she replied, enjoying his flirting.
“Would you care for a stroll through the garden? The sun has blessed us this afternoon. A warm shawl might just do.”
Felicity had left them to speak to Cedrica. Did she dare? She took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her out of the French doors under his mother’s pointed gaze. She hoped Adam saw them but didn’t dare look back.
“I believe he watched,” Gren said. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”
Heat reached Esther’s brows. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said primly.
“Don’t you just?” Gren grinned. “Halevy misses nothing that you do.”
“That’s because my father sent him to spy on me.”
Gren’s bark of laughter startled the sparrows. “Come now, Miss Baumann. I don’t believe you are so innocent that you don’t understand the look in his eyes.”
She frowned at the young man’s words. Even if Adam wants me, he is disagreeable and, and—She couldn’t think what.
“Let’s give him cause to worry, shall we?” he asked, tugging her toward the hedges.
She giggled when he pulled her by the hand and dashed for the stables once they were out of sight of the windows. In the gloom of the barn, he led her directly to a stall near the back.
“Ah, there they are. Visiting Mama, are you?” he asked. Five—no, six—kittens of various colors wrestled in the straw while their snow-white mother looked on.
“Goodness! The one who haunts my aunt’s room is gray and white. That one is tiger striped, and the one next to him is black and white. Do they have multiple mothers?”
“Multiple fathers more like.” Gren reached down to pick one up. “Cats have no morals.”
Like some men. Not Adam, though. He will be a steadfast husband and always there when his wife needs him. Whoever she might be, some poor girl who lets a man run her life.
When they returned, he was gone, and he didn’t return when supper, a light repast since the costume ball loomed, was served.
Neither the giggling girls nor even Lady Sophia’s determined cheer distracted her when she followed them all upstairs to dress for the ball. Why couldn’t Adam be as obliging as Hythe? She wondered if he would appear at the ball in so much as a mask, or even if he would attend it at all.