Chapter Fourteen #3
By the time they arrived, even as spacious a house as Radbourne Park was stuffed to the bursting point, despite the Salisbridge girls and several mothers and daughters sharing their rooms. It was fortunate, Irene thought, that the duke, though leaving his sister at Radbourne Park, was himself going to stay with a friend who lived not far away and would simply ride over each day to partake in the festivities.
Even Lady Odelia could not persuade the duke that familial duty required him to reside with his family at Radbourne Park.
Lady Calandra, standing beside Irene, cast a laughing glance at her and raised her fan to murmur, “What Aunt Odelia does not realize is that her presence is one of the reasons Rochford would rather be elsewhere.”
Irene smothered her grin. “Still, it does seem too bad that he must ride over here each day.”
“Nonsense,” Callie, as she was called by her brother and Francesca, replied.
“He will enjoy things far more as they stand. He will get to talk to Mr. Strethwick about all those boring subjects that he enjoys, like plants and rocks and things with long Latin names. Besides, Mr. Strethwick, being a scholar and very little aware of the world, shows Rochford no deference except for his brain, which Rochford quite enjoys. He gets so tired of everyone fawning over him because he is a duke. Not, of course,” she added, “that he doesn’t like being a duke, because he can be quite toplofty, too, if someone offends him, and he never gets anything but the very best. But really, I think he is often rather lonely, too. ”
Irene glanced at her in some surprise, for she had never met anyone who appeared more self-contained and aloof than the duke.
“Oh, dear.” Calandra looked a little conscience-stricken. “There, I have said too much, as I so often do. My brother would not like for anyone to think that he felt—well, anything, really.” Her irrepressible grin popped back onto her face.
“I will not give you away, I assure you,” Irene told her. “Nor will I think any the less of him to find that he does not go through life feeling nothing.”
Irene found that she rather liked the pert girl, who displayed none of the haughtiness that might be expected of one in her position. Was she, too, here to enter into the bridal race? The thought left Irene with a strangely cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.
But she pushed the thought aside and took Calandra up to her bedchamber, regaling her with the entertainments that Francesca had planned for the next few days. Afterward Irene returned to her own room, for there was little enough time left in which to get ready for supper.
The dress she had chosen earlier was laid out on the bed, but when she looked at it and thought of going down to supper in this plain frock, while all about her the women would be dressed in their prettiest finery, she realized that she could not bear to do so.
She might be here only as an assistant matchmaker, but she was suddenly determined that she would look her best while doing her job.
She rang for the maid and went to the wardrobe to pull out one of her new dresses, a silk evening gown of a dark green that would not flatter most complexions but that looked wonderful against her coloring.
Once her maid, with a smile of approval at Irene’s rejection of the plainer gowns she had been wearing recently, went off to get rid of any wrinkles in the chosen dress, Irene went down the hall to Francesca’s room to ask Maisie for help with her hair.
She went downstairs an hour later, secure in the knowledge that she would look as attractive as any woman there.
She walked into the anteroom where everyone had gathered and cast a glance around.
She immediately spotted Gideon, who was standing near the windows talking to Miss Surton—though, to be truthful, it looked as though it was Piers who was doing most of the talking, to which the pretty blonde was responding with much giggling and flirtatious wafting of her fan, while Gideon stood by looking grim.
Gideon turned to look at her, and for an instant Irene thought that he would leave his group and come over to her, but then he pulled his gaze away and turned back to Piers and Rowena.
Francesca joined Irene and turned to survey the room before them. “Well,” she said, “what do you think of our candidates?”
Irene took a moment, looking about the room before she began. “I think that the Salisbridges are too proud.”
“Oh, I assure you that either of them would accept him,” Francesca replied.
“That is not what I meant,” Irene replied. “I fear that Gideon will reject them. Miss Surton is far too giggly. As for Miss Hurley…” She cast a speaking look at the young woman in question, who was at the moment engaged with her father and Rowena Surton’s brother in a discussion of broodmares.
“I know.” Francesca shook her head despairingly.
“I tried to dissuade Lady Odelia from including her. I fear that it will take an avid rider to the hounds to favor Miss Hurley—or to find favor with her. But Lady Hurley is Lady Odelia’s godchild, and she was most determined to push her at Lord Radbourne.
But what about Miss Ferrington? What do you think of her? ”
Irene studied Miss Ferrington. “She is not such a beauty as her mother.”
Francesca let out a chuckle. “Is there none among my girls that you like? I thought Miss Ferrington a very good possibility. She is not a beauty, perhaps, but she is quite above average, don’t you think? And pleasant, as well.”
“Yes, she is. But do you not think that she is, well, a trifle bland?” Irene pointed out.
Francesca smothered a smile and went on.
“Miss Surton is quite pretty, even if she is a bit silly. And Salisbridge’s daughters are not unattractive.
Flora has more looks than Marian, of course, but Marian is quite acceptable, I would think.
After all, Lord Radbourne is not looking for love in the arrangement. ”
“No, that is true,” Irene agreed tartly. “And certainly he would not find it with either of those two.”
“Irene, you are most disapproving of them all,” Francesca said with an innocent air. “One might almost think that you are jealous.”
Irene turned to look at her friend, her eyebrows shooting upward. “Jealous? I? I cannot imagine where you would get such a notion.”
“Then it is not true? You have not formed a…tendre, shall we say?…for Lord Radbourne?”
“No. I have not formed a tendre or anything else for Lord Radbourne,” Irene shot back. “You are very much mistaken.”
“I suppose I must be. It just seemed to me that over the last few days Lord Radbourne has shown a preference for your company.”
“Given the fact that the rest of the company is his family, whom he does not like, I do not think that indicates any great liking for me.”
“And what of you?” Francesca asked. “How do you feel about him?”
Irene opened her mouth to make a hasty retort that she did not care for him at all, but then she glanced at Francesca and finally, somewhat reluctantly, said, “I do not know. But it does not matter, in any case, for we are not going to marry. You know well my thoughts on matrimony, and Lord Radbourne is interested in the sort of marriage that I could not accept. So it really makes no difference how I feel.”
“Doesn’t it?” Francesca asked softly.
“No,” Irene told her firmly. “It does not. I am here to help find Lord Radbourne a wife—some other wife. I believe that he has finally accepted that I am not the proper candidate for that position.”
“I see.” Francesca nodded, looking at Irene shrewdly.
“Well, I will be glad for your help. Everyone liked the idea of a ride about the estate tomorrow, but all the mothers are inclined to stay at home. So I will have four men and six young women to oversee, and I feel quite certain that Lord Hurley will be of no use whatsoever in that regard. I would enormously appreciate your help to chaperone them.”
“Yes, of course,” Irene agreed. “I intended to do so.”
She watched as Gideon’s group was joined by his great-aunt, who brought with her Lady Salisbridge and her daughters.
Gideon turned his attention to them, making a perfectly acceptable bow.
The conversation looked as if it was slow-going, but he remained, and if his expression was not enthralled, at least he did not appear as if he might bolt at any moment, even after Piers slipped away from the group.
Gideon was, Irene thought, making an effort. He was trying to get to know Francesca’s candidates, the first step in choosing his wife. She was aware of a little prick of pain in her chest at the thought.
Was Francesca right? Was she jealous of these women and the attention Gideon was paying them?
She told herself that was ridiculous. She had not dismissed any of the women as unacceptable for Gideon for any reason other than the ones she had given Francesca.
She simply did not think that he would want any of them.
None of them were right for him. None of them were good enough.
With, of course, one notable exception.
“Lady Calandra,” Irene said to Francesca, almost forcing the words out.
“What?”
“I was just saying that I find the duke’s sister quite attractive and very pleasant, not at all bland or boring. She is a woman I am sure will meet with Lord Radbourne’s approval.”
“Oh, Callie.” Francesca waved a hand in dismissal.
“She is not someone I selected for Lord Radbourne. There isn’t the slightest reason for her not to marry exactly as she pleases.
She has an extremely nice portion, and she is the daughter of a duke.
Nor would Rochford ever urge her to marry unless she truly wanted to.
She is the apple of his eye, no matter now stern he likes to pretend he is with her. ”
Irene tried to ignore the fact that her chest suddenly felt much lighter. “Then you do not think she would choose Lord Radbourne?”
“I would not believe so,” Francesca replied, then added, “I suppose it is possible, but, well, I would think he is a trifle dour for her. And in any case, they are related, are they not? Not first cousins, of course—is it second or third? But I do not think she would even regard him as a potential match. I invited her and Rochford merely because they are relatives, and I thought having them here might make it seem more normal. Less like a…well, what it is.”
“Oh. Well.” Irene struggled a little to keep her lips from twitching up into a smile. “Pity.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Francesca added drily. She leaned in a little closer and murmured, “My dear Irene, I think that you must be rather better at lying to yourself than you are at lying to others.”
Then, with a smile, she walked away.