‘Open engagements?’ Anna repeated. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that every red-blooded male capable of lifting a sword will be there looking to take Parker on,’ Bessmel explained with a smile. ‘Should make for a damn good show!’
Anna glanced at Sir Barrington in bewilderment. Surely Lord Bessmel was mistaken. Sir Barrington Parker didn’t give demonstrations. Everyone knew that. And if he did choose to spar, it would be with someone of his own choosing.
Could this be the Marquess of Yew’s doing? she wondered. Had he demanded this of Sir Barrington as well as everything he had already asked of Peregrine? ‘Is this true, Sir Barrington?’ she asked in a low voice. ‘Is this what you agreed to do?’
‘Not exactly,’ he murmured. ‘What I agreed to was a private lesson with Yew’s son, pointing out areas where he might improve. I certainly said nothing about a series of engagements with anyone who felt up to sparring with me.’
‘But I fear that is what everyone is expecting,’ Bessmel said, adding hesitantly, ‘are you going to back out?’
‘Surely it cannot be called backing out when one never agreed to it in the first place,’ Lydia objected.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ Sir Barrington agreed, ‘but I shall speak to Lord Yew about it when next I see him.’ Then, seemingly unconcerned, he turned his attention to their hostess again. ‘Baroness, that is an exceptionally beautiful necklace.’
‘Why, thank you, Sir Barrington.’ Julia caressed the deep blue stones with loving fingers. ‘My late husband bought it for me. He knew my partiality for sapphires.’
‘It is a remarkable piece of workmanship,’ Cambermere agreed. ‘I hope you keep it safely locked away.’
‘I haven’t thus far.’ Julia’s eyes widened. ‘Is London such a dangerous place that one need fear being robbed in one’s own home?’
‘Not as a rule, but I regret to say there have been a series of jewel thefts in London of late,’ Sir Barrington informed her. ‘I understand Lord Houghton’s home was broken into two nights ago and a number of valuable items taken.’
‘You should be on guard yourself, Cambermere,’ Bessmel said. ‘I dare say your daughter’s pearls are worth a pretty penny.’
‘They are, but I suspect to Anna, like myself, their value is far more sentimental.’ The earl turned to smile at her. ‘My wife loved pearls. She always said they drew their warmth from the one who wore them. I gave her that necklace on our wedding day.’
‘Was your wife born in June, my lord?’ Julia enquired.
Cambermere looked surprised by the question. ‘She was.’
‘Then she was fortunate to be able to wear them without tears. It is considered bad luck to give a bride pearls unless they are her birthstone.’
‘Then you must also have been born in June, Lady Annabelle,’ Sir Barrington said quietly, ‘for the pearls to glow so richly against your skin.’
Anna felt her cheeks grow warm at the subtle caress in his voice. ‘On the contrary, my birthday is in September.’
‘Then, like the baroness, you should be wearing sapphires.’
‘I say, Cambermere, these women could bankrupt us if they were of a mind to!’ Lord Bessmel said with a hearty laugh. ‘Now you will have to go out and buy your daughter a string of sapphires, just to appease the superstitious amongst us.’
‘I think not,’ Anna said quickly. ‘Sapphires are beautiful stones, but, like Mama, I prefer the warmth of pearls.’
‘I can understand why,’ Sir Barrington said as the others turned away to chat amongst themselves. ‘They are exceptional, as is the lady wearing them.’
Anna slowly raised her eyes to his face, aware of the fire in his eyes as his gaze lingered on her necklace. The low décolleté of the gown exposed far more skin than she was used to and she could almost feel the heat of his eyes burning her. When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers, the desire in them was plain. Was it any wonder her heart was beating double time?
Thankfully, Julia, catching the eye of her butler, said, ‘Dear guests, shall we proceed to the dining room? I do believe dinner is served.’
At the conclusion of an exceptional meal, the baroness led the ladies into the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy masculine conversation, good cigars and several fine bottles of port. Barrington, who enjoyed these sessions more for the information they provided than for the chance to socialise, accepted the offer of a light from Viscount Hayle, who settled into the chair next to his. Noticing the man’s obvious boredom, Barrington said, ‘Is the evening not to your liking, Hayle?’
Hayle slanted him a mocking glance. ‘I get tired of listening to men like Bessmel and Richards bickering over political situations about which they know nothing. It’s a waste of everyone’s time and, frankly, I’d rather spend the night gambling or in the arms of a mistress.’
Barrington drew on his cigar, taking a moment to study the other man through the rising curl of smoke. ‘I’m surprised Mr Rand didn’t come with you tonight. I thought he usually accompanied your sister to these kinds of events.’
‘He was invited but, thankfully, he declined,’ Hayle said tersely. ‘It’s bad enough having him around the house all the time, let alone being forced into society with him.’
‘You do not care for Mr Rand?’
‘Would you?’ Hayle fired back.
Barrington was startled by the flash of raw emotion he saw in the other man’s eyes and wondered if Hayle knew how much of himself he had given away. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’
‘Then you’re the only one who doesn’t,’ Hayle muttered. ‘All you have to do is look at Rand to know he’s no more my father’s godson than he is the bloody Prince of Wales’s.’
So, that was it. The son suspected the connection and wasn’t in the least happy about it. Barrington tapped ash from the end of his cigar. ‘I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t heard rumours, but I don’t believe anything’s been substantiated.’
‘Of course not. My father’s the only one who can substantiate rumours like that and you can be damn sure he’s not going to. Not now that he’s met the baroness.’ Hayle’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his father sitting farther up the table. ‘It’s embarrassing the way he carries on with her. God knows, he’s old enough to be her father.’
‘I take it you do not care for the fact that the earl and the baroness seem to like one another?’
‘I do not. It’s unseemly the way he follows her around, hanging on every word she says. He might just as well come out and ask her to go to bed with him.’
Barrington reached for his glass of port, intrigued by the depth of vitriol pouring from the other man. ‘I think you judge them too harshly. Your father is an amiable gentleman and the baroness is an exceedingly gracious woman. And as they are both widowed, why should they not enjoy one another’s company?’
‘There is a considerable difference in their ages.’
Barrington shrugged. ‘The baroness can’t be any more than twenty-nine or thirty, and your father is, what … in his late forties? There are far wider gaps in age between husbands and wives in society.’
Hayle