Amelia smiled as she patted Lily’s shoulder. “My dear, it just so happens, today you are in luck.”

Chapter Five

Blue was the color of the evening.

As she surveyed the Morland drawing room, Lily noted that each person present was wearing that color, in one shade or another. Her own simple gown was fashioned of indigo silk, a dark shade suitable for mourning. Amelia wore a lovely periwinkle satin. The glimmering hue did wonderful things for her eyes. From where he stood beside his wife, lightly touching her waist, the duke’s impeccable tailcoat looked black. But up close, Lily would have guessed it to be a very deep blue.

And then, rounding out the party, there were five officers of the Royal Navy, each attired in formal uniform. Everywhere she turned, gold braiding and buttons caught the candlelight, sparkling like stars against a navy blue sky.

Unfortunately, the scene was lacking one particular shade of blue—the intense cobalt hue of Julian’s eyes. They’d delayed dinner half an hour already, and still he hadn’t appeared. Lily oscillated between fear for his health and a desire to cause him personal injury. How could he abandon her like this? Didn’t he understand what a challenge this night would be for her? She hadn’t attended a dinner party with strangers present in months. And never without Leo. All around her, discussion bloomed, branched, wilted and died, germinated entirely new topics of debate. She was lost in the thick jungle of conversation. From the apologetic looks Amelia kept sending her, Lily knew her friend would have liked to be more help. Unfortunately, her duties as hostess kept claiming her attention.

Lily was on her own.

Well, wasn’t this exactly what she kept insisting to Julian she could handle? And handle it she would.

Squaring her shoulders and readying a polite smile, Lily sought out a familiar face. The fair-haired officer standing by the window was Michael d’Orsay, one of Amelia’s five brothers. Lily had known him as a cowlicked boy in Gloucestershire, and now he was Lieutenant-Commander d’Orsay.

“It’s so lovely to see you again,” she said. “What great fortune that your ship has just returned. And how good of you to bring your friends.” How resourceful of Amelia to invite them, she added to herself. What better place to find a group of clean-shaven, respectable, eligible men desperate for a dinner invitation, than naval officers just returned from six months at sea?

“It’s good to see you, too.” His expression went grave. “I was so sorry to hear the news of Leo.”

“Thank you. I know you can understand the pain of losing a brother.” Hugh d’Orsay had been killed at Waterloo.

“Yes. But Leo’s death … so unexpected. Tragic.” Sadness etched his face, making him look far older than his eight-and-twenty years. Of all the d’Orsay brothers, she and Leo had been closest to Michael, since they all three were of an age. He and Leo had gone off to Eton together.

She didn’t want to ignore Michael’s feelings, but she couldn’t bear to talk about Leo right now. As rarely as she went out in society, this happened too often for her comfort. Whenever Lily began to feel that her own wounds had scabbed over, along would come an acquaintance for whom Leo’s death was a new development. And that person would want to talk of him and mourn him—as was only natural, for her brother had been loved by many—but once again Lily would feel ripped apart. She couldn’t cope with that tonight, not atop everything else.

She looked around the room, casting about for diversion. And she found it. All thoughts were promptly driven from her head by a flirtatious smile. The smile belonged to a tall, well-formed officer plastered with insignia and gold braid. He was not an especially handsome man, but neither was he ill-favored. He had intelligent, playful eyes.

And he was headed straight for her.

Nerves danced in the crooks of her elbows. To Michael, she whispered, “Did you tell your friends about my impairment?”

He shook his head in apology. “Should I have? I wasn’t certain if …”

Before she could answer, the officer had joined them.

“Come, d’Orsay,” he said, eyeing Lily. “I can see you mean to keep this enchanting lady to yourself all night. I shall have to pull rank and command an introduction.”

Lily kept her eyes glued to Michael’s mouth. Names were especially hard to catch, as they came without context.

“Lady Lily Chatwick, may I introduce my superior officer, Commander …”

Oh, drat. She missed it. Was it Merriman? Or perhaps Barryman? Lily’s eyes flickered over the man’s attire as he bowed. Maybe his name was engraved on a buckle or his scabbard. But then, wouldn’t it seem worse to be caught boldly ogling a man’s person than to simply have missed the name?

She offered her hand. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Commander.” She had that, at least. Thank heaven for military ranks.

And thank heaven for Amelia, who came to her rescue moments later, when she and the duke approached the group.

Amelia touched Lily’s arm, drawing her aside. “I’m not certain I can delay dinner much longer. Shall we continue to wait for Mr. Bellamy?”

“No.” Lily sighed with disappointment. “Don’t delay.”

The Duke of Morland’s mien was, as usual, censorious. “I loathe that man,” he said, just before tipping a glass of whiskey.

Lily felt horrible. She knew the duke hated parties, and here she’d forced him to host one on ridiculously short notice. And now the guest of honor—or rather, dishonor—had not even bothered to show his face.

Amelia called for her guests’ attention, inviting them into dinner. Suddenly the commander was at Lily’s side, offering his arm along with a quick salvo of words that soared straight past her. She merely smiled and nodded by way of response, sending up a fervent prayer he hadn’t just confided he had a wasting illness, or remarked on the culinary skill of cannibals in Lesser God-Knows-Where.

They filed into the dining room, and Amelia indicated the place for each guest. The duke, of course, took the head of the table, and Amelia sat at his left hand, with Michael at his sister’s other side. On the duke’s right, the commander took the place of honor. Lily sat at his right, directly across from Michael.

Amelia said, “Six gentlemen and only two ladies … what an unbalanced group. A poor reflection on me as a hostess, I’m afraid.”

Michael replied, “Certainly a more favorable ratio than we’re accustomed to having at sea.”

To Lily’s left, the commander said something in reply. However, she turned her head too late. Once again, she missed his words entirely.

Michael noted her puzzlement and explained, “The good commander says you and my sister are uncommonly lovely. So lovely, you’re each worth three of other ladies, and therefore the balance is exact.”

Lily smiled. “Only until Mr. Bellamy arrives.”

If Mr. Bellamy arrived. She slid a glance toward the empty chair at her right. His absence was upsetting her own balance, greatly. She stared at the vacant seat with angry desperation, as though Julian might materialize on the striped damask if only she willed it fiercely enough. He’d promised to come. He’d given his word.

Looking beyond his empty chair, she flashed a halfhearted smile at the three young lieutenants holding down the far end of the table. They immediately ceased casting doleful looks at their empty plates and grinned in return. So young, so hungry. If any of them were older than twenty, Lily would be astounded. When she’d been introduced to them earlier, they’d practically tumbled over one another to take her hand. Now she gave them a polite nod of greeting, and they all replied at once, speaking and laughing amongst themselves.

Hopeless.

Beneath the table, she balled her hands in frustration. This never happened to her with Julian. He was much easier to lip-read than most people, simply because he was so expressive. She didn’t catch his every word, but she could always gather his meaning. He seemed to intuit how to make it easier. He rarely forgot to face her when they conversed, never spoke too quickly or in confusing circles, repeated himself before she even had to ask.

But then, Julian did have one advantage over these men. He knew she was deaf.

She acted on the decision swiftly, before she could reconsider. Placing her hands on the table, she rose to her feet. The men looked to one another, then began to push back their own chairs and stand, in accordance with etiquette.

“No, please.” Lily motioned for them to stay seated. “I have something to say, and it will only take a moment.” She resisted the urge to put a hand to her throat, hoping those years of work with speech tutors would serve her well. “My old friends know this, but just so my new friends are equally aware … I lost my hearing several years ago, while stricken with fever. I’m deaf.”

The mood of the guests altered instantly. In the space of a moment, they’d gone from casually admiring her to examining her with keen curiosity. Rather like garden show attendees who’d moved on from a pleasing clump of pink tea roses to an exhibit of carnivorous spotwort from the Amazon. All around the table, heads tilted and jaws went slack.

She breathed in, then out. “I do read lips, but it’s difficult for me to follow conversation in a group. All I ask is, if you mean to talk to me, please face me and speak clearly. If you merely wish to talk about me, well … Now you know, you may do so with impunity.”

A ginger-haired lieutenant chuckled, then smothered the laugh with his palm. A horrified expression overtook his eyes.

“It’s all right,” she assured him as she took her seat. “Please do laugh. I meant it as a joke. There’s no need to mince around my feelings.”

The commander drew her attention with a light tap on her wrist. “But we are officers of the Royal Navy, my lady. Your protection is our duty. It would be the height of rudeness for any of our number to speak over or around you.” To his lieutenants, he said, “If any one of you wishes to speak—to anyone, for any reason—you will stand and face Lady Lily. One at a time, mind you.”

“Really, Commander,” Lily said, “that isn’t necessary.”

“Perhaps not. But it should prove amusing.” He gave her a little wink as he reached for his empty wineglass. “We shall put these new officers to the test.” He tilted his head and called around her, “Lieutenants! Who among you will take wine?”

Lily swiveled her head in time to catch the three young men exchanging frantic glances. Finally, the ginger-haired one rose to his feet, faced Lily directly, and said, “I will take wine, sir. And be glad of it.”

The second one stood. “Sir, if it please you and our esteemed hosts, I, too, will take wine.”

The youngest of the three, a pup who wore his dark hair in the ruffled style Julian had made popular, stood, grinned, and said simply, “Me!” before retaking his seat.

Lily laughed, more from nerves than amusement.

The commander touched his sleeve to hers, giving her a merry look before barking out, “Lieutenants! Red or white?”

The ginger-haired one took the lead again. “Red.” He smiled at Lily. “Naturally.”

“White,” said the second.

The third shot to his feet. “Both, if I may.”

The table and plateware shook with the officers’ laughter. At the head of the table, Lily thought she saw the duke frown.

Amelia caught her eye. Do you mind? her expression tacitly asked.

Lily shook her head in the negative. The game was a bit theatrical, she supposed, and no doubt the commander was flaunting his authority to impress. But she would choose to interpret his idea as considerate, not crass. Perhaps he meant to sacrifice his lieutenants’ pride to make her feel more comfortable, so any laughter or embarrassment in the course of the meal would be at their expense, not hers.