Page 48 of Under a Dancing Star

I don’t understand the slight, or why she’s looking at Ben and Klaus like they have crawled out from beneath a rock, but I feel a strong shudder of dislike pass through me and I eye the woman with distaste.

“You’re right, of course,” I agree. My mother would know that trouble was brewing from my casual tone, but this crowd are blissfully unaware. “But then, unlike so many of the aristocracy, my parents are not related. Criminal what all this snobbish inbreeding has led to, don’t you think?” My question hangs in the air like the challenge that it is.

A horrified silence is broken by the sound of laughter. Ursula finally turns away from the window. “Wonderful, Bea.” She exhales a stream of smoke. “Wonderful.” Her eyes snap around the room, landing on Frances with an expression of open dislike. “I think I need a drink,” she says shortly, and she leaves the room, with Klaus in her wake.

“Lady Bowling and I met in Milan,” Leo says quickly, his words spilling into the tense silence. “I suggested she and her friend Sir Hugh stop off here on their way to Rome. We’re having a few people over for dinner tonight to welcome them.”

“I see,” I say. “So you are just … passing through?”

The smile Frances gives me is ice-cold. “Unfortunately, yes,” she says in wintery tones. “Such a shame we won’t get to know one another better.”

“Yes,” I agree with a smile that shows my teeth. “Such a shame.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Odious woman,” Ursula hisses while pouring drinks. “These frigid, fascist types make my blood boil.”

Across the terrace, the fascist in question is serenely accepting a glass from my uncle. They are surrounded by people I don’t know, a smarter set than we typically see at the villa.

“Who are all these people?” I ask.

Ursula snorts. “They’re your uncle’s friends,” she says derisively. “Dull, dull, dull, and painfully bourgeois.”

“I wonder where Ben is?” I say. After the scene in the drawing room he slipped away and he hasn’t returned since.

“I’m sure he will be here soon,” Klaus says. “He’s probably just trying to get used to the idea of Sir Hugh being here.”

“Who is this Sir Hugh?” I ask.

Klaus looks surprised. “No one told you?” I shake my head. “Sir Hugh Falmouth. The artist, you know?”

“Sir Hugh Falmouth?” I repeat, startled. Even I’ve heard of that Sir Hugh. His paintings hang in the National Gallery; we’ve got books about him in the library at Langton.

Klaus nods. “He is an old friend of Filomena’s, I believe. He was caught up with Lady Bowling in Milan somehow, and Leo brought the pair of them back with him. I understand he has been resting after the journey.” Klaus’s eyes light with amusement. “I believe your uncle considers his visit quite the social coup.”

In fact, Uncle Leo has been strutting around with the self-satisfaction of a peacock and this does rather explain that.

“Gosh, even Mother and Father will be impressed when I tell them.” It will, I think, be something about this trip I can actually share with them. “But why doesn’t Ben like him?” I ask, puzzled.

“There is a history between them,” Klaus says. “I don’t know exactly what.”

“I can’t believe I’ll get to meet Hugh Falmouth,” I say wonderingly.

“Well, brace yourself,” Klaus whispers, his lips close to my ear. “He’s coming this way right now.”

I follow Klaus’s eyes and see that Filomena is approaching, her hand tucked into the crook of a man’s arm. He looks about sixty and his hair is completely white, swept back from a high forehead. There is a roguish twinkle in his blue eyes. A silver-topped cane is hooked over the arm that isn’t holding Filomena, though he moves easily, jauntily even. He must have been startlingly handsome in his youth, and he still has a commanding presence. He is dressed impeccably in a light evening suit, and as I watch, he leans in close to Filomena to say something to her, something which makes a languorous smile break out on her lips. My uncle follows behind the two of them with Hero at his side. He is beaming from ear to ear.

“Ah, Beatrice!” Leo booms. “There you are!” He insinuates himself between Filomena and the dapper gentleman. “Sir Hugh, allow me to present my niece, Beatrice Langton – of the Northumberland Langtons.”

It’s such a strange, formal introduction that I hesitate, not quite sure how to respond. It feels like I’m being presented in an Austen novel, like I should curtsey.

“My dear.” Sir Hugh solves the problem by stepping forward and taking my hand. “What a delight to meet you.”

“Sir Hugh,” I murmur.

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” The man himself chuckles, squeezing my fingers. “This Sir Hugh business – but I’m afraid after the knighthood some rather shameless young friends of mine began calling me that and then it stuck.” I look down at my hand in his. He has lovely hands, I notice, neatly manicured and graceful.

“And these are the other young people we have staying with us,” Filomena says, “Klaus and Ursula.”