Mind Diver

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Gillian and Edward returned to the party, they discovered that a fourth man, a new arrival, had taken Edward’s place in conversation with the earl.

Gillian watched as the earl smiled and nodded his head with a subtle reverence as the man spoke. The man appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. Gillian found that guessing a person’s age in this century was not an exact science. What with all the layers of heavy face powder and the resulting bloom of acne, for all she knew the man might be no older than she.

As she approached the group, the man noticed her and his expression brightened. “Ah, and what have we here?” he said, sweeping his hand in Gillian’s direction. “Are ye secreting your gentler, fairer guests for a reason, Lord Jordal?” The man smiled at her, his full lower lip curling under. Gillian noticed flecks of powder peppered the shoulders of his dark blue coat, presumably from the tidy bagwig he wore. Gillian detected a soft Scottish burr in the man’s determinedly clipped voice.

The earl offered a wry smile to the group. “It would appear that my colleague and partner in business, Mr. Alywinth, has elected to do the ‘secreting’ of my lady guests. But this one,” a sidelong glance at Gillian, “I doubt likes to remain hidden for long. It is, I think, her avocation to be adored by all.”

Hmm, Gillian thought to herself, tossing a brief glower at the earl. Mean Comment Number Three, eh? “Well,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes in a parody of innocence, “I suppose it’s better than being scorned. Although,” touching a finger to her cheek and glancing upward, “I do detect a bit of scorn in the present company.”

“Well,” the older man declared, “then I, Tobias George Smollet, shall see to it that the said ‘scorn’ is vanquished and sent upon its way. So long as the object of this groundless contempt concedes to join me in a glass o’ claret later.”

Gillian gave a small curtsy and bowed her head. “I shall be grateful of your aid on my behalf, sir, and I do consent to have a sip of claret with you. However,” glancing at a still-scowling Lord Jordal, “I do not think that the host can be banished from his own party.”

Edward Alywinth and Tobias Smollet both burst into laughter, Edward clapping Lord Jordal on the back. “Oh, that’s a good one, Taylor.”

Christopher Jordal’s eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his lips barely lifting in a smile. “Surprisingly, the girl has bested me, I think. Taylor Ashworth, let me introduce you properly to your...benefactor. Writer and world-traveler, Tobias George Smollet, as he has presented himself.”

“At yer service, dear lady,” Tobias Smollet said, bowing his head.

“And where,” Lord Jordal asked, “have your travels taken you of late, my friend?”

“Ah,” the writer beamed, “I have just returned from a tour of France and Italy. Why, from my lodgings in Boulogne, I could see the white cliffs of Dover. All grist for the imagination, of course.”

Lord Jordal turned to Gillian, and in a falsely sympathetic tone, said, “This talk must be frightfully boring to you, Taylor. You may take your leave at any time if you so wish.” Looking at his companions, smiling, “We won’t take offense.”