Chapter Eight #2
Her shoulder stiffened beneath his arms. “I—”
“If a man approaches you boldly enough to state that you must be hungry for any man’s … touch, shall we say, I would imagine a response along the lines of ‘Not your touch, goblin,’ or ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to go vomit’ might suffice.”
She snorted. “I’m going to write those down and carry them with me.”
“Good. If I may, in my thirty-one years of life I have observed that one thing thick-skulled bullies and cockish churls can’t account for is a lady who is smarter and braver than themselves. It baffles them. And in the ensuing silence, feel free to walk away, swishing your skirt as you go.”
Iris lifted her head to look up at him, her hazel eyes brown in the dim room. “Aunt Margaret is encouraging me to be more social, with the idea that if I lose the Duke of Trent’s contest, someone else will scoop me up.”
Beckett stopped the forward lean he’d been contemplating.
What the devil was wrong with him? Instead he shrugged, releasing her.
“You haven’t asked me for advice, but I say you should dance and speak when and with whom you wish.
You have your own plans, whatever Trent’s spinning about, so please yourself. ”
One hazel eye twitched. “I’ve been thinking about Trent. A match with him does make a degree of sense.”
His jaw clenched, something uglier than anger cutting into him before he could push back against it.
Deliberately he backed up a step, keeping his mouth shut until his sensibilities had caught up to the louder part of him that didn’t like even the idea of a lady not yet thirty—this lady—being shackled to an old man more in need of a nursemaid than a wife.
He took a deep breath. “Do what serves you best, Iris. That is what I recommend. I’m not acquainted with Trent, so I cannot speak to his character.
I will only suggest that you proceed with him as I’m doing with Pauline, making her acquaintance before I decide anything.
It’s not only our own lives we’re responsible for any longer. ”
“Precisely.” She smiled, rolling her shoulders as she turned for the door. “Would you mind leaving the room first? I’ll wait a moment before I emerge.”
“Certainly. As far as the ton is concerned, we are parents whose children are friends. We don’t want that changing.”
“That is what we are, yes?”
“Yes. Of course it is.”
“I stopped by the gaming room—both gaming rooms—and he’s not there, either. He wouldn’t have left, would he?” Lady Pauline Grenedy kept her expression faintly amused, as if having a chat about someone’s poor fashion choices.
The Dowager Lady Hentrose wore a smile, as well. “I have no idea, my dear. I very much doubt he would spend his time wagering, as he would rather be at home doing nothing, but as he’s danced with you, I don’t know that he considers himself obligated to remain here.”
“I don’t mean to speak ill of anyone,” Pauline returned, nodding, “but is there something that can be done about the girl? Perhaps not another relation, but a school? He spends so much time doting on her, and every time I turn around she’s there, glowering at me.”
“I have been trying to get him to send Rebecca to a boarding school for the past four years, Pauline. He won’t listen to me.
I doubt he’ll listen to you. I suggest you wait until you’re married and then begin tickling his ear about how much better it would be for Rebecca not to be so dependent on her father.
Something about independence and being smothered. ”
“I mean to begin that the moment the pastor pronounces us wed. You had the right of it when you said children were like leeches. Does it ever stop?”
“No. Beckett doesn’t demand anything of me any longer, and he hasn’t for years, but it seems to me he went directly from wanting to show me insects to claiming a disdain for everything about me.
It’s a mother’s lot to go without pause from being the center of a child’s life to a …
a devil who intrudes not out of an abundance of care, but for some selfish reason or other. It’s quite maddening.”
“I don’t look forward to it. At least knowing all of that I’ll be able to deal with the girl and whatever child comes after her.” She shuddered, covering that with a sip of Madeira. “I wish we hadn’t had to encourage the idea that he needs a son, Georgiana.”
“He’s already convinced himself he doesn’t require a wife for companionship. A son and aiding in the raising of his daughter were the only things left. And don’t bemoan it overmuch; it seems to be working.”
“Oh, I agree. I only wish it hadn’t been necessary. He’s a handsome man, and I certainly don’t object to sharing a bed with him, but I don’t have to tell you that pregnancy can ruin an entire Season, not to mention what compromises in wardrobe a lady has to make.”
“And we never receive credit for our sacrifices, either.”
“It’s practically criminal.”
The dowager marchioness put her hand over Pauline’s.
“It is so lovely to have found a kindred spirit, my dear, when I had begun to despair of ever convincing Beckett to marry again. Without my influence, he would pay no mind at all to who will inherit the marquisdom, his properties, and his money after him.”
A genuine smile curved Pauline’s mouth. As much as she loathed the idea of babies everywhere, of children underfoot making noise and messes, the thought of her as-yet unconceived son becoming a marquis, taking command of the extensive Hentrose properties, being bowed to and consulted and respected by everyone, and her on his arm knowing what she had accomplished behind the scenes in order to make all of it possible, gave her happy shivers.
“It’s early yet, my lady. But he’s on our path.
We’ll see him through the church door well before the end of the Season. ”
“Just be cautious, my dear. He’s evaded capture—recapture—for ten years. You must be perfect, or we’ll both lose him.”
All this effort … Well, she’d waited a very long time for the right man to come along.
This past spring she’d been summoned by the dowager marchioness and had answered all the older woman’s questions with ease because she’d sat through this same interview a dozen times before with a dozen different mothers—for men she’d ultimately rejected.
This time the man had been worthy of her and so she did her research, learning the names of relations, of properties, of his late wife and young daughter, and anything that might flatter matriarch Georgiana Raines personally.
If he’d been childless this would have been absolutely everything she’d ever wanted, but one nine-year-old girl was not going to spoil her plans.
Her future was a garden, and all she needed to do was a bit of pruning.
A few years away at school, and then a marriage to some baron or other—or better yet, a foreigner—and Lady Rebecca Raines would be a distant memory, even to her once-doting papa.
Pauline’s sisters had married a baron, a knight, and an earl, respectively.
Her wedding a marquis—and a man far more handsome and wealthy than any of their husbands—would both put her social standing above theirs, and prove wrong their oft-repeated theory that the youngest sibling had the least worth.
And to think, they’d been speculating that she’d remained unmarried for too long, that in another year she would be setting herself after a banker or tradesman just to escape spinsterhood.
Ha. Patience. That was what the marriage game took.
Patience and planning and a keen mind and well-honed skills of observation.
As she took a last turn on the dance floor with Lord Hammersmith she spied Beckett again, over by the dessert table.
He was a fine, fit man, but if he didn’t stop eating sweets at every soiree he was going to become one of those thick, jowly lords who breathed through their mouths.
That would never do. At dinner tomorrow evening she would begin a gentle nudge away from sweets, the eating of which she would subtly blame on the girl.
Every inch of space she could put between them now would make sending the daughter away easier.
The dance ended, and with a curtsy to her partner she strolled over to the dessert table. “I thought I might find you here,” she said, smiling.
He finished eating a biscuit. “It’s either sweets or drink,” Beckett commented.
“I am not fond of the constant tumble of soirees every Season. I need nothing from them, and all they offer is noise, wasted time, and some very frivolous conversation. And while I’m in favor of frivolous conversation, there are much better settings for it. ”
“You might enjoy your time here more if you participated in the dancing, you know. I don’t believe anyone enjoys standing about, even if sweets are available.”
“Last time I went about asking for partners I was nearly killed by a herd of debutantes.”
“Dance with me, then,” she pursued, just keeping from rolling her eyes.
Parties, dancing, chatting were all moves in the chess game of Society.
The better one played at each, the higher one’s standing became.
It was only those born to important, wealthy titles who found the game boring or frivolous, because they’d already won.
“There’s another waltz after this quadrille. ”
“I have a partner for the second waltz.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“And we’ve already had two dances this evening.
Weren’t you the one suggesting we avoid the appearance of us having settled anything before we’re ready to do so?
Three dances in one evening would have everyone asking us when we mean to stand before a parson. ”
Yes, but I only said that we should be leisurely because you wanted to hear it.
She kept the smile on her face, nodding.
“Of course. I actually have a partner myself, though I am willing to turn him away if necessary.” And now she would have to collect a partner.
That was why she preferred slightly embellished truths to outright lies.
The truths were much simpler to defend. “With whom are you dancing, if you don’t mind me asking? ”
“Mrs. Iris Silbern.” He furrowed his brow. “You met her the other day.”
“Oh, yes, your neighbor. The one with the boy. I’ve seen her about this evening, but I thought her a lady’s companion. How lovely of you to improve her evening.”
Beckett looked at her, his mouth a straight line that to her screamed displeasure. “You and I are not betrothed, Pauline.”
Oh dear. She’d said something amiss. “Of course we’re not.” She put a chuckle into her voice, not certain why or how the conversation had run off the road and into the hedgerow.
“Even if we were betrothed, it wouldn’t be your responsibility to see me partnered for every dance, or to comment on the women with whom I choose to take to the floor. As I’ve said, I’m after a partnership. Nothing more.”
So she was being too attentive. Easily remedied.
“We are becoming friends, Beckett,” she said, giving him a small curtsy.
“I enjoy seeing my friends enjoying themselves. If you’re happy with biscuits and giving your neighbor cause to smile, I’m happy to abandon you for a turn about the room.
” With a nod and another smile, she pirouetted and strolled away, making for the hallway where she could find herself a partner for the waltz without him seeing.
As for Mrs. Silbern, she was a temporary neighbor and a temporary nuisance.
Once the girl was gone the boy would have no reason to be about, and neither would the boy’s mother.
In the meantime, she had a few particular friends to invite to a dinner at Raines House, a waltz to dance, and a certain dressmaker’s shop to visit tomorrow for a fitting before opening hours.
When one had a wedding gown made before one became engaged, one needed to be discreet about it.