The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide

Chapter Six

The perfect young lady never snorts or guffaws—or, heaven forbid, draws attention to herself when amused. If she finds something particularly humorous, she will always have the good grace to cover any unbecoming outburst with her fan...

T he reading salon was an experience. That was the only way Amelia could think to describe it. The spacious drawing room was positively teeming with ladies, aside from the brave few gentlemen who had graced them with their presence. The Duke was not yet one of them. The Dowager and Lady Worsted held court in the centre of the room and the other ladies clamoured to be seated as close to them as they could, like chickens frantically pecking at freshly thrown corn and twice as noisy. There must be close to twenty people crammed into the room, which led Amelia to believe that it was not quite the ‘intimate and cosy meeting of like minds’ she had been promised.

Several extra chairs had to be brought in to accommodate everyone and, sensing that it was likely to be a very long night, Amelia commandeered one of them and positioned it in the far corner of the room, where she judged few would notice that she intended to while away her time reading something worthwhile. She had tucked a pamphlet on the horrors of child labour inside a copy of Lord Byron’s poetry, but Sir George had pulled his chair close to hers, so the factory children would have to wait.

‘Is it always this crowded?’

Sir George scanned the eager faces and then smiled. ‘To begin with no, but then Bennett began hunting for a wife and all at once we were overrun with eligible young girls who declared an overwhelming interest in the written word. This, my dear Miss Mansfield, is a gathering of a few genuine literary stalwarts, the diehard hopefuls and what is left of the Potential list.’

Now the rush to sit closest to the Duke’s mother made perfect sense. ‘Who are the lucky five still in contention?’

Sir George crossed one leg over the other and made himself comfortable. ‘Why don’t we have a bit of fun? You strike me as a very clever girl. See if you can work out who the remaining five are, and if you guess them correctly I shall tell you a bit about each lady.’

‘I do love a challenge. But if I guess them correctly I would like to be rewarded with some interesting gossip about the young lady rather than a dull biography.’

‘Agreed.’

‘All right, then, let me see...’

After reading his silly book, Amelia had a wealth of information about what the Duke would find acceptable when selecting a bride. If any one of these ladies was still on the list, then her demeanour and manners would be perfect. Good posture and a subtle sense of fashion were a prerequisite. The perfect bride would never draw unnecessary attention to herself in bold colours or showy confections. That meant that the young lady wearing the unfortunate frothy dress in a vile shade of orange was definitely just hopeful. Next to her sat a regal blonde in an understated gown that was slightly deeper than powder blue. The colour must have been specifically chosen to complement her fine eyes. Aside from the clothing, the girl also kept subtly glancing towards the doorway. She was looking out for him. ‘That one is a Potential . Two chairs left of Her Grace.’

Sir George chuckled, clearly enjoying their game. ‘Indeed she is,’ he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘That is Lady Bulphan’s granddaughter Priscilla. Good breeding there, or so I am led to believe. Flawless reputation. Even-tempered.’

‘That is hardly interesting gossip. She sounds dull.’

‘Oh, she is, my dear. Dreadfully dull. There really is nothing else to say about her.’ Sir George was clearly unimpressed with Priscilla. ‘Except that her father is also a member of Liverpool’s cabinet and a valuable political ally.’

‘The lady with the reddish blonde hair next to Lady Worsted is also one from the list.’

Sir George shot her an impressed glance. ‘What gave her away?’

‘She is hanging on the Dowager’s every word like a loyal puppy, yet Her Grace is merely requesting that the footman needs to bring in more chairs.’

‘That is Lady Eugenie. She is the daughter of a marquis and very eager to please. Now that you come to mention it, with all those ringlets she does resemble a spaniel. I had never noticed it before. You are very astute, Miss Mansfield. Rumour has it that Lady Eugenie’s grandmother was a simple farmer’s daughter, although, as yet, there is no proof of such a scandalous association.’

‘Good gracious—a farmer’s daughter! I am surprised the Duke even speaks to her.’

‘Ah, but her father is the ambassador to Holland and England does a lot of trade with the Dutch East India Company.’

It was easy to spot the next two. Both were blonde, politically well connected, dressed in pastels, and both were clutching well-thumbed copies of The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide to Selecting the Perfect Bride . Amelia took an instant dislike to both ladies for grovelling. ‘Please tell me that we are not going to be subjected to passages from your nephew’s book?’

‘I dare say one or two pertinent chapters might be dissected. They usually are if Bennett makes an appearance.’ Amelia’s face must have given her away. ‘Is your disapproval for Bennett or his admirers?’

‘His admirers. Obviously.’ How on earth could a man write such narrow-minded, nearsighted drivel? Now that she knew him a little better, some of those words felt a little at odds with the author. It seemed implausible that a man who dealt in important affairs of state, and spoke so passionately about cleaning up the slums, would seek a wife who parroted his own book back at him in order to catch his eye. Surely he would prefer a clever girl? ‘It strikes me as desperate to lower oneself by grovelling for attention in such an obvious way. I dislike sycophants.’

‘Ah.’ Sir George was watching her in blatant disbelief, his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘And pompous dukes who write etiquette manuals, perhaps?’

Amelia ignored him and went back to studying the women in the room to cover her unease. Why was she so bothered that those silly girls were intent on fawning over him so pathetically? If he enjoyed that kind of attention, then it confirmed all of her worst fears about the man. Then he would be shallow and self-absorbed, even though she had seen the tiniest glimpse that he might not be, and that bothered her.

Conscious of Sir George’s scrutiny, Amelia redoubled her efforts to unmask the remaining Potential . After several minutes of surreptitious study, she was forced to admit defeat. ‘I have no idea who the fifth is.’

‘Lady Cecily is not here yet. She likes to make an entrance. She won’t arrive until the readings have started or until she has judged that Bennett might be here.’

‘That way, he will have to turn to look at her.’

‘Precisely.’ He looked very impressed. ‘It also means that she can position herself closest to him. I quite admire her industry. In fact, industry is quite a pertinent word for her. Her father is a powerful industrialist and as rich as Croesus too. Owns ships, factories, deals in stocks and bonds. He is a great supporter of Bennett’s political aspirations.’

‘Is she blonde too?’ The Duke clearly had a penchant for them. Even Lady Eugenie erred more on the side of reddish blonde than ginger. Sir George regarded Amelia thoughtfully for a moment.

‘She is.’ Of course she was. He would marry someone golden like him, and they would go about making perfect, angelic, aristocratic, golden children to match. ‘Does that bother you?’

Amelia stiffened at the suggestion. ‘Why on earth should his choice of bride bother me? I have no interest in the outcome.’ Sir George began to smirk knowingly, but fortunately further conversation was prevented by the Dowager calling the gathering to order.

‘Good evening, everyone! We have a feast of entertainment this evening and so many of us that I doubt that we shall have time to get through it all. Our first reading is from Lady Eugenie.’

The slightly ginger blonde stood up and began to read a passage about unrequited love from a novel. It was clearly intended to be a declaration of her affections to the absent duke. Once the dramatic reading ended, one or two observers asked a few polite questions and they moved on to the next. Several dreary but heartfelt presentations followed that soon bored Amelia to tears. Certain that nobody was paying any attention to her, she quietly opened the book in her lap and began to read her pamphlet.

It was some time later when she felt a distinct shift in the atmosphere. A quick glance upwards confirmed her suspicions. The Duke of Aveley had arrived. He might well have meant to slip in quietly, but there was no mistaking the sound of rustling petticoats and creaking corsets as the unattached ladies suddenly sat up a little straighter, their eyes widened falsely to show them off to their best advantage and small secret smiles were pasted on their apparently rapt faces as they listened to the poem being read to them. One by one, they stole a glance at him, hoping to catch his eye, yet all to no avail. The only person he deigned to look at was his mother as he quietly ensconced himself against the wall closest to the door, looking every bit like a man ready to bolt at the first opportunity that presented itself. A position, Amelia noted, that was perfect for observing the Potentials , as if they were prime horseflesh and he was a buyer at Tattersalls. Dispassionate. Objective. Removed.

In case he caught her eye and assumed that she was also competing for his attention, Amelia quickly focused again on her pamphlet, risking only the occasional peek beneath her lashes at the golden Duke assessing his harem. He paid no woman particular attention, she noticed, watching them all with polite indifference. The Duke of Aveley clearly did not feel the need to woo anyone. The Potentials , on the other hand, fell over themselves to out-simper and out-primp their rivals. There was so much batting of eyes that Amelia was surprised that she did not feel a breeze from all of the exertion. Yet he took it all arrogantly in his stride as if this attention was nothing less than he was due.

A few minutes later, a blonde goddess burst through the door, dressed in seashell-pink silk and clutching a slim leather volume to her chest. This must be Lady Cecily, then. Her attempt at looking flustered did not fool Amelia one bit. There was a cold, hard look of calculation in the young woman’s eyes as she glanced at His Royal Pomposity. ‘I hope I have not interrupted anything?’

Oh, no, you don’t , thought Amelia uncharitably. You would enjoy nothing more than distracting any attention away from another young lady. She shared a meaningful glance with Sir George, who must have thought much the same because his usually smiling mouth was a little pursed.

‘Not at all,’ said the Dowager. ‘We had just finished discussing a poem, my dear.’

‘Perhaps I should read next, then? As I am already standing?’ Lady Cecily bestowed her sweetest smile towards their hostess. ‘Unless you had already selected someone to go next?’ When nobody else spoke up, she opened her book at the page that she had marked with a ribbon. Although not before she had placed her perfectly proportioned figure in the Duke’s direct line of vision.

‘Here we go again,’ muttered Sir George quietly into Amelia’s ear. It was only then that she noticed Lady Cecily’s choice of literature and inwardly groaned. She was going to shamelessly read from The Discerning Gentleman’s Drivel .

It started innocuously enough, but the moment the other Potentials began to listen to Lady Cecily’s rendition of the Almighty’s words, with expressions of awe and wonder on their pretty faces, Amelia decided to go back to her pamphlet. They might wish to worship at the altar of Aveley, but she had no intention of humouring them while they did so. Valiantly, she tried to shut out the sounds, but snippets kept permeating into her brain and curdling her stomach until she thought she might burst from the effort of it all.

All accomplished young ladies should read. However, their choice of literature is telling. Most novels are acceptable, so too are books filled with illustrations of flora and fauna. A young lady’s mind should not be filled with anything too scientific or academic to comprehend...

Amelia rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, in her irritation she had also snorted. Quite loudly, it seemed. All eyes in the room suddenly swivelled towards hers incredulously. Lady Worsted tried, and failed, to stifle a grin. Lady Cecily-With-Potential paused and positively glared at her, and even the Duke himself honoured her with a glance. One of his eyebrows lifted in question but, to his credit, he appeared more amused than insulted by her unintentional outburst.

‘Did you have something to add, Miss Mansfield?’

The wretch asked this with a completely straight face. Demurely shaking her head and then pretending to cough made a knot of unpleasantness form in Amelia’s gullet, but she did it for the sake of Lady Worsted. ‘I apologise for the interruption—I had a frog in my throat. Please do continue.’ For good measure she smiled sweetly at Lady Cecily even though her stomach tightened in protest.

The Potential smiled politely back at her, but there were daggers shooting from her blue eyes.

It is essential that a good wife has a basic knowledge of politics. As your hostess, she will need to ask pertinent questions designed to stimulate worthy discussion between your male guests...

‘Pah!’

Amelia truly had intended to keep quiet, but the sound came out of its own accord, fuelled by her growing annoyance at the man’s imperiousness and the pathetic adoration of his women. Next to her, she heard Sir George muffle a giggle and would have nudged him firmly in the ribs were it not for the fact that she was the centre of attention again.

‘Come now, Miss Mansfield. You obviously have something to say. We all insist that you say it.’

The Duke’s expression was still bland, but there was something swirling in his silvery blue eyes. Challenge? Humour? Sarcasm? Well, if he was going to have unreadable eyes, then she would have no option but to meet the challenge.

‘As you have asked, Your Grace, I would like some clarification of your intent in that passage. I am curious to know which topics you feel the female sex would have trouble comprehending.’