Chapter Ten #2
She had envisioned something like the musicals home.
They would be held in the afternoons, and a slew of ladies would be ready to display their skill.
Except for Caroline, who always dragged her heels to such an event.
She did not like to play, so she did not practice and was not very good.
It irritated Miss Sprite, as she felt it reflected badly on her.
“Oh I see,” the countess said. “A cozy party.”
“Old friends gathered together,” the viscountess said. “I see we are being signaled. We can go through to the dining room.”
Beatrix had no idea this was to be such a small affair.
Perhaps that had been best, as she would have dreaded it more than she had done, if she’d known.
It felt as if there was nowhere to hide.
She’d thought she would be one of many ladies and now it was just her to be stared at while playing the pianoforte.
How long would she have to go on with it?
At home, a lady would play a short piece to ensure everyone got their turn and to avoid boring her audience.
They were led to their seats in the dining room, with Lord Chester seated to her left.
The footmen brought round wine and Beatrix was grateful for it.
She could not help but to notice the knowing looks passing between her mother and Lord Chester’s mother.
They both seemed to entirely ignore that there was no spark between her and Lord Chester at all.
She and that gentleman sat like disgruntled children and their oblivious parents did not seem to notice.
She was beginning to think that they’d had the idea of a match for so long that they could not see what was in front of them. They could only see their long-held dream.
What she was to do about it, she did not know. As she had no other idea, she drank her wine. It was a Riesling, which she did not particularly care for, but it would settle her nonetheless.
“Countess,” the viscountess said, “this afternoon I read some of our old letters from the very beginning of our independent lives. I brought them with me for the nostalgia. Remember how it was? I’d already been delivered of a boy and then you wrote me the news. You had a daughter.”
“I imagine our hopes began right at that moment,” the countess said.
Beatrix suppressed a sigh and stared into her soup. When were they going to notice that their hopes had no grounding in truth?
“Wives, eh?” the earl said. “One never knows what they are writing about, but they are always writing. Parliament does not write half so much.”
“We are the glue that keeps the ton together, my love,” the countess said. “You keep the government together and we keep families together.”
Beatrix could hear Lord Chester’s sigh next to him.
“The point of it all, though,” the dowager said, staring hard at her grandson, “is to keep the blood clean. We do not sully a family’s blood with uncouth and uncultured people. That is the point of the ton.”
Nobody seemed to know what that comment was about, least of all Beatrix. Was it some comment on her? Or more likely, as she seemed to really dislike Lord Chester, it was a comment on him. Though why was a mystery.
The viscountess frowned. The dowager frowned back at her.
Beatrix put her attention to her soup. She really was a frightening old woman.
“Lady Beatrix,” Lord Chester said, “did you enjoy the Duchess of Ralston’s Secrets Exposed party?”
Beatrix set her spoon down slowly. “It was very original,” she said noncommittally.
“It always is original,” Lord Chester said. “Of course, this is the first time the duchess tasked the gentlemen with making comment, rather than the ladies.”
“My grandson did not wish to be included,” the dowager said.
That was the second time the dowager had mentioned that Lord Chester did not wish to be involved. Beatrix rather thought that was a fib. She suspected Lord Chester had simply not been chosen and the dowager felt pressed to save face over it. Otherwise, why mention it twice?
“The duchess knows I do not go in for such things,” Lord Chester said. “Playing with fire, if you ask me.”
Beatrix stole a glance at her mother. The countess had her spoon poised above her soup as if she was not certain she would take more but wished her utensil to be at the ready if she did.
“I only say,” Lord Chester went on, “the book that was hinted at? Do we dare imagine it was the book mentioned when we first dined together?”
Beatrix caught her breath. Why would he hint at such a thing?
“Of course, I certainly hope not,” Lord Chester said. “I would not like to think such a thing was being bandied about in the gentlemen’s clubs.”
“Hold your tongue,” the dowager said, “lest I cut it out.”
“Gracious!” the viscountess said. “Young people. They will say the strangest things these days.” She motioned to the footmen by the sideboard. “More wine. For everybody.”
After that, the dinner proceeded in a more regular fashion. Vague and safe topics were spoken of. Yet, underneath it all there was a tension that made Beatrix wish to jump from her chair and run from the house.
Did Lord Chester mean to hint that it was beginning to be widely known that she’d spoken of that book? Considering her father gripped his fork until his knuckles were white, she was afraid that was just what Lord Chester meant to hint.
How could she have caused such trouble by making one stupid comment? She’d been so determined to cause no trouble to her parents. She was to come, lay eyes on Lord Chester, be delighted, and get married. None of that had happened.
By the time the dessert trays were wheeled in, Beatrix was exhausted. She just wished to be at home and in her bed. Instead, she was going to have to play the pianoforte.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Despite how out of sorts his dowager was over it, Lord Chester was pleased that he’d managed to bring up the comment made about the mysterious book at the Duchess of Ralston’s Secrets Exposed party.
It was well to plant the idea that Lady Beatrix’s particular secret had been exposed and was talked about.
It could only put Monroe in a stronger position.
Lord and Lady Copperstone would know as well as he did that when a story like that went round, there was never any additional information added that might help or excuse the person being talked about.
There was no amusement in softening up a story.
Therefore, it mattered not that Lady Beatrix had in fact never seen a copy of Fanny Hill, but had only heard two footmen talking about it.
Nobody would bother to examine that she was an exceedingly sheltered young lady who had attempted to sound sophisticated by parroting something she’d overheard.
The gossip would simply be that Lady Beatrix Bell claimed to have read Fanny Hill and thought it marvelous.
After he’d accomplished that aim, the rest of the dinner was a dreary slog.
As the dowager glared at him, he wondered what Annie was doing.
She was likely on her second bottle of champagne by now.
Her maid would attempt to slow her down, but there was no slowing Annie down when she was bored.
There were currently no pictures on her walls, so he had no idea what she would destroy if she became out of sorts.
Though, he’d begun to notice that she never damaged her jewelry or anything else she held dear during one of these uncontrollable rages.
He was beginning to think she ought to take another part on the stage so that he was not solely responsible for her entertainment. It had been all well and good while she was staying with him in the house. Now, with his family circling him like hawks, it was more problematic.
They had moved into the drawing room and now they were all to suffer in silence as Lady Beatrix played the pianoforte. He liked music, but he did not like having to sit and listen to a young lady try her amateurish hand at it. Give him a professional orchestra any day.
At least he’d drunk two glasses of port after dinner. The ladies had departed and the earl and the viscount did not seem to have much to say to one another. Their wives might be lifelong friends, but they did not know the first thing about one another.
Lord Chester had drunk down a glass in one gulp and then signaled for another. He drank that just as fast. It had been a good guess on his part, as they did not stay much longer than that.
Lady Beatrix had begun to play a dreary piece in a minor key. He would need to work to keep his eyes open.
But perhaps he could close his eyes, as if concentrating on the music.
As long as he did not snore.
He folded his hands and let his eyelids drift shut as if he were entirely rapt by the music. He felt himself drifting off. A short nap would not be the worst thing.
A distant shriek snapped him wide awake. “Rufus! I am here, my darling!”
His eyes flew open. Was he dreaming? That sounded like Annie.