CHAPTER 10
Sarah was good to her word about the next night’s dinner.
Eva produced Mr. Fitzallen with his aristocratic connections, and Sarah produced three young men who might be suitable matches for Rebecca.
Two elderly female friends rounded out the table.
The last two performed their social duties quietly, politely, and unobtrusively.
Eva had allowed Sarah to press one of her dinner dresses on her to wear. Eva did not resist very long, and enjoyed slipping into the primrose silk. Her decision to appear better than she might had nothing to do with Gareth Fitzallen’s acceptance of the invitation to join them. Nothing at all.
The meal proved a much better one than Eva had enjoyed in her own home for many years. Sarah spared no expense, and even served turtle soup. Servants hovered and offered and poured nice wines. Wesley, Sarah’s husband, showed impressive social grace in presiding over it all.
The three gentlemen invited for Rebecca’s sake were all youthful members of Wesley’s industry—the casting of small objects in a variety of metals.
For the first twenty minutes, they all seemed more intent on talking to one another than to any of the ladies at the table.
Then Sarah took matters in hand. All but tapping the table for attention, she exerted her hostess’s prerogative to address each one and to pose questions, always including Rebecca in the conversation that ensued.
Eva watched carefully, to see the reactions to her sister.
That all three gentlemen were impressed went without saying.
Only a fool would not recognize her beauty.
Rebecca, on the other hand, seemed to favor the quietest of the three, Mr. Trenton.
Eva hoped that was not because Mr. Trenton, with his large dark eyes and longish dark hair and somewhat careless dress, appeared to be impersonating a French poet.
Concentrating on the table’s conversation allowed her to ignore as much as possible the man sitting beside her, placed there by Sarah in her ignorance.
Also seated next to Wesley, Gareth appeared more than content to converse with his host, however.
It went without saying that Wesley proved more than happy to gain better acquaintance with a man with Gareth’s connections.
“You have an admirer.”
The low comment entered her right ear. Gareth had taken advantage of his host’s distraction, caused by his wife’s insistence he give an opinion on the state of the banks.
“If you speak of yourself, now is not the time—”
“What conceit. I am referring to Mr. Bellows across the table. He pretends to watch his hostess, but his gaze drifts to you.”
Did it? She had not noticed.
“He is too short for you,” Gareth said.
“While of middling height, he appears tall enough.”
“You can do better.”
“He is here to meet Rebecca, not me.”
“In either case, you should know he is new to his position, and his income cannot be more than three hundred pounds a year. Of course, that fellow over there who has attracted your sister’s eye probably has even less.”
“If Sarah invited them, I am sure they have great expectations, and their futures hold promise.”
“She invited them as a cover for her real candidate. Mr. Mansfield down there is worth at least two thousand a year. He owns his own company. He has been watching your sister with great interest, rather like a man inspects a gelding at auction.”
That was not good news. Of the three of them, Mr. Mansfield was the oldest. At least as old as Gareth, whom Rebecca had decreed to be “too old.” Also of the three, he had the least polish, even if his coats looked expensive and his cravat had no doubt seen the hands of a valet.
A bit rough-boned in his face, not at all middling in height, and by nature intimidating in his manner, he would never have as much appeal to Rebecca as the French poet, who, fortunately, had not noticed how interesting Rebecca found him.
“I called on you when I returned, as I promised.” Gareth’s voice came very low now. Eva gazed straight ahead, pretending to listen to the conversations crossing the table. “Then Erasmus explained you had bolted.”
“Is that why you came to Birmingham? To make that apology? It could have waited. You did not need to inconvenience yourself.” The implication of his words sank in. “And I did not bolt. This visit had been planned long before—a long time.”
A lengthy pause, extended enough that she almost deciphered the context of an exchange between Rebecca and Mr. Mansfield, one in which Rebecca seemed to be disagreeing with the gentleman about something. Mr. Mansfield took Rebecca’s earnest rejection of his views calmly and with vague amusement.
“You are a confusing woman, Eva. Almost vexing,” Gareth said. “I expected my efforts to behave as a gentleman to be met with grace if not relief. Instead, you are so snappish I wonder if I regret the indiscretion more than you do.”
She felt herself flushing, furiously, mostly because he touched on the embarrassing truth that she had not regretted it nearly as much as she should.
Worse, she resented a little that he had proven so predictable in his own reaction.
Guilt, apologies, total retreat—one did not expect a man with his reputation to be so ordinary after an indiscretion.
He was supposed to delight in such things.
She tried to compose a good retort, but just then Wesley turned his attention back, and Gareth’s own moved to his host.
Down the table, she heard Rebecca say, “I doubt that there is anything for which you and I have common sympathy, Mr. Mansfield.”
Across the table, Sarah sighed.
* * *
Wesley Rockport was a man of business. Gareth knew such men well.
Successful ones like Rockport took on the veneer of gentility bit by bit.
His host had been doing that for some years now, so the distinctions between him and a gentleman remained only those of birth and occupation.
Which were the only two things that gentlemen said mattered.
Really successful men like this eventually set their sights on the modes and trappings of the aristocracy.
When that happened, after they had built or bought their estates and big houses and furnished it all as decreed by a professional decorator, they turned their attention to the long, empty gallery.
Gareth was more than happy to find them art to fill those walls.
Rockport did not want to talk about art though.
He wanted to discuss shipping and insurance and probe at Gareth’s connections to businessmen and markets on the continents.
Gareth spoke freely about it all. He had nothing to lose in doing so.
He hardly gave away secrets. Anyone who traveled, paid attention, welcomed new friendships, and asked questions would know as much as he.
When called upon by Rockport, he gave the man the better half of his attention. Most of the rest remained on the woman by his side. A sliver of his mind, however, noticed the rest of the party and heard their own conversations. That sliver eventually heard fair-haired Mr. Bellows address Eva.
“You are very quiet tonight, Miss Russell. I hope that all our talk is not overwhelming you.”
“I much prefer listening to my sister, Mr. Bellows. She is far more informed of the world’s events than I.”
“Admirably so. However, if I may say, there is much to be said for a quiet woman, Miss Russell, such as yourself.”
“I do not think anyone would describe me as quiet, Mr. Bellows. The role of observer that I take tonight is not a common one for me.”
“I think Mr. Bellows is saying that women should restrain themselves from voicing opinions as freely as your sister,” Gareth could not resist inserting himself. “That is a rather outmoded way of viewing things, sir. Even the Iron Duke has ladies with whom he discusses politics.”
Bellows appeared flummoxed for a moment, but regained his footing soon enough. “Well, I am a simple man with simple notions, not a duke, so a duke’s predilections do not count much for me.”
“All the more reason to admire a woman who is not simple. One like the young lady holding her own with Mr. Mansfield, for example. With her blood and her intelligence, imagine the sons she will give a man. That does not even factor in that she is as beautiful as an angel, and the sort of woman to make men of the highest station envious of her husband, whoever he will be.”
Eva abruptly rearranged her position in her chair.
In doing so her elbow jabbed Gareth sharply in his side.
“My sister has many fine qualities, of course. Far be it from me to list them all, lest I be thought too proud of her. It is generous of you to do it instead, Mr. Fitzallen. However, I am sure Mr. Bellows does not require your tutoring on the matter. You have a charming tendency to think no one knows his own mind as well as you might know it for him.”
“Have I crossed a line? My apologies, Bellows. Forgive me.”
Bellows barely heard him. The lesson had been heard and swallowed. Bellows turned his attention to Rebecca quite thoroughly, and jumped into the breach once her little argument with Mansfield drew to a friendly end.
Gareth returned his attention to his host. So much for Mr. Bellows.
* * *
“Mr. Mansfield is worth at least two thousand a year,” Sarah explained to Rebecca once she, Eva, and Rebecca were alone after the men had withdrawn. She led them all to her drawing room upstairs while she talked.
“I would not care if he were worth ten thousand,” Rebecca said.
“Oh, yes, you would, my dear. Yes, you would.”
“He has the most antiquated notions. He does not think women should be educated.”
“And who does, I ask you?”
“Forward-thinking men and women. Me.”
Eva followed them and the conversation into the drawing room. The elderly ladies retreated to a corner to chat. Sarah dropped onto a divan and patted the cushion next to her, beckoning Rebecca.