“Who’s the young peacock, Northfield?” Taviston asked without preamble.
“Taviston! Are you enjoying yourself so far?” Northfield seemed to deliberately ignore his question.
Rolling his shoulders, Taviston forced himself to relax. It wouldn’t do to give Northfield the wrong impression.
“I am indeed, but I am not familiar with some of your guests. Who is the young peacock over by the window?” He tried to keep his jaw from clenching as he spoke. He wasn’t sure what had ignited his temper, but an angry irritation washed over him.
Northfield grinned at him. “He is hardly a peacock, Taviston. And he’s really not all that young either. Just a few years behind us.” Unfathomably, delight shone in his friend’s eyes.
“Nevertheless, I am not acquainted with him. Who might he be?” Usually, he tolerated Northfield and his roguish behavior, but right now it was making him decidedly waspish.
Northfield glanced over at the window and Taviston’s gaze followed. Miss Forster and the gentleman were having an animated conversation. The brown-haired young man had a charming smile on his face and Miss Forster was chuckling at something he said.
His friend turned back, expression serious. “That is Xavier, Lord Wareham. The marquess of Halstead’s eldest. He’s a fine fellow, by all accounts. I did warn you about Jane’s matchmaking, remember?”
Taviston stared at Northfield, glanced over at the enthusiastically talkative couple, then looked back at his friend. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Or rather, he couldn’t think of anything to say suitable enough for drawing room conversation. Jane and Northfield were truly trying to pair up Miss Forster and this Lord Wareham? Could he have been so wrong about their plans? Of their own volition, his eyes found their way back to the lady in the garish dress. She was completely enthralled with whatever Wareham was rattling on about. Taviston’s stomach began to roil again, as it had the other night when he had been talking to his brother.
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That drew his attention away from the couple. Was he becoming ill?
Northfield looked at him with an expectant gaze but was fortunately distracted by Jackson’s deep voice penetrating the room. “Dinner is served.”
“You look peaked, my friend. You are obviously in need of nourishment. Do enjoy the meal.” Northfield threw him a sunny smile and walked over to his cousin’s side.
Jane was calmly pairing up her guests to proceed into the dining room. As the highest-ranking male present Taviston knew he was expected to escort his hostess. As she came to take his arm, he glanced behind them and noticed, with another stab of annoyance, Miss Forster hanging on the arm of Lord Wareham. Damn precedence, anyway.
Chapter Sixteen
Surprised by the dark look she received from Taviston, Victoria proceeded down the hallway toward the dining room. Whatever was that all about? He walked stiffly and didn’t appear to be feeling well. Why couldn’t he have begged off for the evening?
She hadn’t thought he would be here. Very well, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here. But of course, he was a close friend of the marquess. It was stressful enough attempting to charm eligible gentlemen, but doing it with the duke present was much, much more difficult.
As Lord Wareham pulled out her chair and seated her, she realized dinner was going to be taxing as well. She was seated between the earl and Mr. James Stanwick, another young man Jane had apparently invited for her. Both of these gentlemen were very kind, though neither vied for her attention in any overt manner. Unfortunately for the two of them, she still thought Taviston the handsomest man in the room. It was completely unfair the way her mind refused to see him in any other light.
Lord Wareham, with his brown wavy hair and youthful good cheer, was a handsome enough man. But he didn’t measure up to the blasted duke. And poor Mr. Stanwick had two disadvantages. No, make that three. First, he was a bland-looking fellow; second, he appeared to be younger than she; and third, he was decidedly dull. What had Jane had been thinking? No, she couldn’t fault Jane, who was onlytrying to help. Perhaps Mr. Stanwick improved upon acquaintance.
Smiling at something Lord Wareham said, she made a vague comment and brought the subject to a close. Then she turned to Mr. Stanwick on her right. In between sips of vermicelli soup, she conversed with him. If nothing else, this dinner enabled her to practice her social skills.
Taviston sat on the opposite side, down the length of the table. The Brownes were also down there, on the same side as Victoria. She relaxed a little, knowing she wouldn’t have to interact with any of them. Thus far she had been able to avoid speaking with Taviston. But she had been more than aware of his eyes following her around the room.
She looked up now from her soup to find his darkening grey eyes glowering at her once again. What on earth was wrong with him?
Mr. Stanwick blathered on beside her. “I believe there is a possibility it might yet storm this evening. The clouds are decidedly ominous and the temperature, while a few degrees warmer than yesterday...”
Victoria nodded in agreement as he continued to drone on, but her thoughts turned back to Taviston. She felt as if he were sending her a message she couldn’t quite grasp. Well, she was perfectly capable of sending enigmatic messages of her own. Deciding to amuse herself by joining the unknown game, she threw her own fierce glare down the table toward Taviston. As he jerked back in surprise and sloshed a spoonful of soup onto the table linen, Victoria hid a smile.
Confident that she had earned her first point in this mysterious game, she returned her attention briefly to Mr. Stanwick and then, as the next course was served, she began speaking with Lord Wareham again.
Taviston wasn’t eating much and he plainly ignored Miss Stanwick, on his right, and only gave Lady Smitherton, on his left, scant attention. Victoria hoped he was feeling all right. She had never known the duke, in their short acquaintance, to be anything but polite and proper, at least toward people other than her. She did seem to bring out the worst in him.
As she took a bite of boiled salmon, Lord Wareham began telling her of his university days. After swallowing, she said, “Oh, my lord, I should love to hear of one of your more daring escapades.”
The earl launched into what was most likely an amusing tale. Victoria would never know though because she chanced to look at Taviston again and his grey eyes, now the color of thunderclouds, directed ominous sparks her way once more. She gave an inward shrug. Fine, we will continue to play this ridiculous game.
Pasting her biggest smile on her face, she beamed his way. He scowled and shook his head slightly, probably trying to clear away the puzzlement that had crept into his eyes.
Victoria wasn’t sure how to score the point, but since he sat staring at his plate for the next thirty seconds, she silently declared herself the winner.