Page 22 of A Single Obsession

It was small consolation that her aunt also bemoaned his absence. Eliza feared it did not augur well for Beau when he returned from Newmarket.

At least she had persuaded Charlotte to come too. To face Lady Harting and Miss Whitlow devoid of moral support would have been unbearable.

Harriet had something intelligent to say about every piece of artwork they looked at, earning her approving smiles, whereas Eliza was totally out of her depth, and struggled to find anything to say at all.

“What vigorous pencil work,” Harriet said. “Wouldn’t you agree, your ladyship?”

“Indeed. A dramatic representation of Christ’s burial. What’s your opinion, Elizabeth?”

Eliza thought Jesus looked too old, but she didn’t think her aunt would approve of such a flippant comment. She shot a desperate glance at Charlotte for inspiration, but her sister shrugged her shoulders, showing she was just as clueless.

Eliza knew she had to say something. “I…I…”

The more she floundered, the hotter her cheeks became, and the superior look on Harriet’s face grew. “I…agree,” she said, as nothing else came to mind.

Her aunt looked down her nose at her niece with a pinched expression on her face, but after a moment, she moved onto the next picture.

Eliza let out a sigh of relief. She hooked her arm in Charlotte’s and they trailed as far behind her aunt and Harriet as they dared.

“I’m sorry,” Eliza whispered. “This exhibition is—”

“Over there.” Charlotte nodded toward a middle-aged lady with an intelligent-looking face. “Isn’t that Miss Austen?”

“Yes. I believe you’re right.”

“We should pay our respects,” her sister said with an eagerness that made Eliza suspicious. “Father would want us to. Please, Eliza.”

“What’s the urgency? What aren’t you telling me?”

Charlotte had the grace to blush. “The Austens are hosting a concert that Georgie’s been invited to…”

Eliza’s heart sank. Music was even worse than art. If Miss Austen extended the invitation to Charlotte, she would be bound to include her as well. Another evening of purgatory—and one she would avoid, if she could.

Drawing their conversation to an abrupt close, Eliza hurried to catch up with Lady Harting. Charlotte scowled at her, but she was unmoved and gave her full attention to the next painting.

“Good morning,” said a deep voice from behind them.

The whole party turned, and there was William with a broad grin on his face, delighted with himself for surprising them.

Lady Harting acknowledged her nephew, and he bowed to Miss Whitlow before offering each of his sisters an arm.

“What are you doing here?” Charlotte asked him as they lagged behind again so their conversation could not be overheard. “You aren’t in any trouble, are you?”

“No, you goose. A friend was driving into town, so I hitched a lift to come and see how you were doing. Georgie told me where you were, and I couldn’t wait for you to get back, so I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Humph. I don’t believe you for a minute. You wouldn’t have been in such a rush to find us if we were out shopping.”

William grinned at his twin. “You know me so well. I’ve been craving a chance to cast my eye over this year’s exhibition, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. But why on earth are you here? Since when did either of you enjoy looking at paintings?”

“We don’t,” Eliza said with feeling.

“Then why did you come?”

Charlotte put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I thought that was obvious. Lady Harting invited us.”

William’s face lit up with amusement. “Never tell me Beau is here, too?”

“No. Lucky for him, he’s at the races,” said Eliza, “but I thought he was going to be here, otherwise I would never have agreed to come.”