Chapter Four
“Viscount S was enthralled with a young debutante at the Sampson ball, and word around the servant’s grapevine is that he extended his stay in the city, which bodes well for any aspiring viscountesses,” Mrs. Plimpton read out loud from the week-old pamphlet as their carriage made its way across town for the Williams garden party, looking incredibly pleased with herself.
“He only danced with me once,” Daisy reminded her, though she had a smile as she reached over for the society papers.
“But he did seem enthralled,” Mrs. Plimpton reminded her with a knowing smile.
“He seemed uncertain of himself. I daresay he isn’t used to dancing, which is to be expected, given his upbringing.”
“They may dance differently in the country. Or he could be out of practice. Perhaps rendered nervous by how stunning you looked in that dress,” Frances offered, to which Daisy shot her sister a grateful smile.
“Either way, he’s a viscount, so it hardly matters whether he can dance. You would be set for life.”
“I know dancing isn’t required once you’re married, but surely a title doesn’t overrule everything?” Frances questioned, thinking of the rude things Mr. Brooks’ friend had both said and done at the Sampson ball.
Mama huffed. “There is very little that can’t be forgiven for a title.”
“I’m afraid society agrees with Mama,” Daisy said before reading aloud.
“Though he hadn’t attended a ball since long before he inherited the title, the Earl of L graced us with his presence at the Sampson ball, even making it onto the dance floor, though not with anyone worth mentioning.
Beware, my dears, with those green eyes and that enviable fortune, no one is safe from his seduction.
Then again, who wouldn’t want to catch an earl? ”
“He would be an excellent match for you, Daisy.” Mama nodded approvingly, as if Daisy was the one who needed convincing.
“Was he as handsome in person as the papers say?” she asked.
“He never got close to anyone he wasn’t related to, though many other mothers did try to get their claws in him. Rather pathetic,” Mama replied.
“I was asking Frances.”
She froze.
“Her eyesight is no better than mine,” Mama warned, clearly offended.
“They had a conversation by the refreshment table.”
“You never mentioned it,” Mama reproached, nudging Papa. He’d been asleep, or at least pretending to be, for the ride thus far.
If anyone had seen Frances nearly crash into Lord Lark, she certainly wouldn’t find a match, and her parents would never forgive her clumsiness.
“It wasn’t worth mentioning.” Frances shrugged, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.
“This means you’ve been introduced?”
“Barely. The encounter lasted all of a minute.”
“What was he like?” Daisy pressed.
“His relations did most of the talking, but he was polite,” Frances said, remembering the sadness in those green eyes when he’d steadied her. The papers failed to mention they were equally likely to break one’s heart as to seduce.
“You met the dowager countess as well?” Their mother was beside herself.
“Briefly, while I filled your plate, which I made a point to tell them wasn’t mine.”
Not that Frances expected praise, but her mother looked like she’d momentarily lost her familiarity with the English language.
“I heard the earl is friends with the viscount. If Mama has her way, then you and I could both—” Daisy was teasing, but Frances didn’t like where things were going.
“The earl wasn’t interested in anyone, Daisy.”
“Perhaps you could introduce him to Daisy this afternoon. If he attends,” Mama suggested.
It wasn’t like Frances thought herself worthy enough to even entertain the thought of someone like the Earl of Lark–she would have laughed at anyone who suggested it–but she felt a prick at how quickly her mother decided to use her introduction to set him up with Daisy.
“Or we could let Frances wear the pink dress next time, and see what happens.”
Frances looked over, worried Daisy was mocking her, as Iris always had, but she wore an affectionately teasing smile, probably hoping that, for once, Frances would be the object of their mother’s fussing.
“Don’t be silly, Daisy. The pink dress was made specifically to fit you. But this is very interesting. Well done, Frances. I can’t fathom why you wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Because it wasn’t worth mentioning,” Frances repeated as her parents exchanged looks.
“I thought for sure she would have been watching him,” Daisy whispered as their parents did the same on the opposite seat.
“Not while you danced with barons and viscounts.”
“I was underwhelmed by the viscount. Very distracted, hardly any conversation. Even Mr. Brooks was better. I’m surprised he gave up so easily.”
“You weren’t interested in him, anyway.” Frances assumed he hadn’t so much given up on Daisy as not yet found the courage to face the Plimptons after what she’d overheard. Not that she would tell anyone.
“I suppose not. Though I prefer being the one who decides we won’t suit.”
“You would suit with anyone, Daisy, but it doesn’t mean you should.”
She sighed. “After Mary and Iris, I doubt either of us will have any choice.”
“I imagine we’ll see Lord Bradley today.
His sister married the younger Mr. Williams, didn’t she?
” Frances tried to lift her sister’s spirits, though she herself would not look so dreary if their parents were attempting to pair her with Lord Lark.
There were men – or titles – their mother got excited about, and Daisy certainly had no trouble imagining herself as a countess, but Lord Bradley was the only man Frances had ever seen her sister truly interested in.
She’d gone shy, blushed, and couldn’t stop smiling for days after meeting him.
“The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” Daisy lied, but the smile was there. “Unfortunately, this weather will turn my hair into a mess. Perhaps next time you would consent to putting one of your flowers in my hair as well?”
“You look beautiful, and you know it,” Frances pointed out, though she appreciated Daisy making an effort to connect. She took the pink carnation from her own hair and fixed it into Daisy’s. “But you can never go wrong with some floral accents.”
“What about him?” Rebecca asked, nodding to a young gentleman as they took a turn around the gardens. Nathaniel much preferred the outdoors to stuffy ballrooms, but it was much harder to avoid society when there was no music or dancing to occupy them.
“He thinks he is.” Nathaniel shrugged dismissively, but he also pulled Rebecca closer.
“If he is not a rake, would he therefore be a prospective suitor?”
Unlike the mamas having similar conversations with their daughters, assessing their options, Rebecca was using it as a game to find out more about men and what Nathaniel did when he wasn’t with the family.
He should put an end to that line of questioning, for propriety’s sake, but he preferred talking to Rebecca over anyone else at the party.
“No, there are so-called rakes who quietly live their lives, with an unwavering code of honor that inspires misguided romanticism. Then there are men who call themselves rakes, because it flatters their pride to think they are capable of wooing any woman. Of ruining them,” he added delicately.
“Which means he is worse than a rake, because he doesn’t abide by any code,” she understood. “Which one are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Not out of those, but if I was looking for someone honorable, devoted to their family, smart, charming…I would continue, but I’m not sure your ego could take it.”
“Having grown up with me, I doubt you believe even half of that.”
“It is precisely because I grew up with you that I know that.”
“You don’t want someone like me, Becca. You need a respectable man with a comfortable income, who dotes on his mother, honors his father, and grew up in the country.”
“What do you have against the city?”
“It encourages men to value diamonds over substance, and you deserve a man who loves you for both.”
“Says the man who believes love matches are a myth.”
“I said they don’t end well,” he argued. “No matter who you choose, they will obviously love you. My only hope is that you feel the same.”
“Now who is forgetting what they learnt from us growing up together?”
Nathaniel smiled, about to reiterate that it gave him the advantage in that area, but he saw his younger brother, James, walking over from the company of Lady Markham and Miss Caulder.
“That was fast,” he said to himself, getting a questioning look from Becca, before she also spotted James. The four Sutton boys had their father’s dark curls paired with their mother’s green eyes, but while James was seven years younger than Nathaniel, he was also four inches taller.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Nathaniel greeted.
“I was avoiding these events after you and Teddy basically declared me the next earl, but an heir can never compete in the presence of the actual title.”
“I didn’t know you were so fearful of commitment.”
“I’m not opposed to it. I merely doubt I’ll encounter the woman of my dreams when she is thrust upon me by her ambitious parents.”
“Where will you encounter her then?” Nathaniel inquired. “One of your private parties?”
“The very nature of them implies that no one is looking to get married, at least not to another guest. And they, at least, know how to hold their tongues.” James gave him a pointed look, possibly because though more mischief happened at the weekend parties James attended, Nathaniel’s nightly adventures were more often reported on.
“My reputation helps both our cases,” he defended himself.
“As does the mistaken belief that James spends all his nights at home, taking care of his siblings while Nathaniel seduces all of London,” Rebecca pointed out.
“To think this is coming from one of those siblings.” James eyed her.
“You dote on us,” Rebecca said quickly. “You both do. And I think your pristine reputation is entirely deserved, James.”