15. Chapter 15- Bradford
The following evening, Bradford’s carriage pulled up to Lord Cavendish’s townhouse at quarter to seven.
Light blazed from nearly every front-facing window.
Bradford exhaled a laugh. It appeared that rumors of Cavendish’s affluence hadn’t been exaggerated.
Though there were many who played at being wealthy, all it took was driving past their dark, cold houses at night to glimpse the truth.
Anticipation had Bradford climbing the stone steps quickly. He supposed that their walk in the park the day before counted as an outing, but this would be the first time Lily accompanied him in public. To his knowledge, she hadn’t honored any other gentleman in such a marked way.
Perhaps he should have felt caution, that she might get the wrong impression with regards to his intentions.
But it was difficult to feel anything other than a deep sense of satisfaction and rightness.
After all, he knew her better than all the young dandies who darkened her doorstep.
Why shouldn’t he take her to the theater even though they were just friends?
A smattering of feminine laughter reached his ears when he crossed the threshold of the house, and when the butler announced Bradford to the parlor, several faces lifted expectantly at his arrival.
He paid little attention to them, for there was Lily, looking radiant in a peacock-green silk gown, sapphires glimmering in her ears.
“Lily,” he said, bowing in her direction. “You look radiant tonight, as always.”
She shook her head as if she didn’t take his compliment seriously, but her cheeks pinkened ever so slightly. “Bradford, I hate to impose upon you by asking, but were you in earnest when you said you’d secured an entire theater box?”
“Indeed.” He nodded, and Lily seemed to wilt a little.
“I told you so!” a blonde said triumphantly from the corner, jabbing her finger into the air.
Lily gave an apologetic wince of a smile. “Bradford, may I please introduce my sister, Margaret, my sister, Beatrice, as well as Miss Rachel Warrington and Miss Sylvia Barrows.”
Bradford bowed to them each in turn, doing his best to remember who was who. Margaret was blonde and full-figured. Beatrice was slender with Lily’s ash-brown hair. Miss Warrington was blonde with blue eyes, and Miss Barrows had reddish-brown hair.
Bradford might not have been the shrewd investigator Mr. Thornton was, but he couldn’t help but notice all of the young ladies were dressed for the theater.
“Do you quite mind if—” Lily began, twisting her fingers together.
“Of course he doesn’t mind,” Margaret said, insouciantly twirling a set of mother-of-pearl opera glasses.
“He would hardly be able to admit it if he did,” Beatrice added slyly.
Bradford couldn’t help but laugh, even though he was a bit disappointed he and Lily wouldn’t be alone. He gave a flourishing bow. “I would consider myself the luckiest of all gentlemen if you ladies would accompany me to the theater this evening.”
“It’s very forward of you to ask,” Miss Warrington deadpanned. “We’ve only just been introduced.”
“And on such late notice, too,” Beatrice said, grinning.
“But I suppose we will take pity on you,” Miss Barrows added with a cheeky smile, her red curls bouncing. “After all, how would it look—an entire box with only two people in it?”
The number of them required that two coaches be employed. Thankfully, the ladies had considered his invitation a foregone conclusion and had already called for theirs. By a stroke of fate—or sisterly conniving—Lily ended up in the other carriage with Miss Barrows and Miss Warrington.
Bradford rode with the other two Preston ladies, who sat across from him and unabashedly stared at him.
“Very kind of you to think of us,” Margaret said, getting comfortable in the padded seat.
“And it’s fortuitous that we have this time together to get to know one another,” Beatrice said, a saccharine smile on her lips.
“Very fortuitous,” Margaret agreed. “Especially since you’ve visited our sister every day since the Season started and now she’s singled you out by agreeing to visit the theater with you.”
“Alone in an empty box, no less.”
Margaret nodded sagely. “And perhaps you didn’t think we noticed that she slipped out the other morning for a walk. Rumor has it she didn’t walk alone.”
“Not that her maid would say anything about it,” Beatrice said, still with that smile on her face. “Mabel is exceedingly loyal. But we have our ways of finding things out.”
“Indeed. For while she would never gossip about her mistress, neither would she ever tell a lie to the other ladies in the household.”
“Especially if she were backed into a corner in the stairwell by two of them at once.”
“Not that we would ever intentionally do such a thing.”
Beatrice gave a hum of agreement.
Bradford barely bit back a smile. “What is it you’d like to know, precisely?”
“Your intentions,” Margaret said, immediately.
“My intentions are wholly honorable.”
“So you intend to marry her?”
Bradford laughed. “I intend to get to know her.”
The sisters exchanged an inscrutable look.
“I suppose that tells us all we need to know about your fortune,” Margaret said.
His eyebrows jumped upon his forehead. “Pardon?”
“It must be secure if you’re actually trying to get to know her.”
“I’m comfortable enough.”
Beatrice tsked. “We’ve been over this, Margaret. If he were after money, he wouldn’t be visiting Lily. He’d be visiting that dreadful Miss Rullond.”
“I don’t think she’s dreadful. I think she’s dreadfully misunderstood.”
“Her visage says otherwise,” Beatrice grumbled.
“But I do suppose you have a point,” Margaret said, speaking to her sister as if Bradford weren’t within clear earshot. “If he were a fortune hunter, he would have chosen an easier target. The aforementioned Miss Rullond, or even me.”
Beatrice’s forehead wrinkled; she gave a mulish expression as if she were thinking of the perfect reply.
But Bradford had been waiting for an opening; with these two about, there was scant opportunity to speak. “Forgive me for pointing it out, but isn’t speaking of funds considered gauche?”
“Perhaps by those who’ve never been poor. But once you’ve experienced such a thing, it’s one of the first practical questions one wishes to know about a gentleman,” Margaret said.
“Heaven gird your suitors, then,” he teased lightly.
Beatrice smiled. “You’ve seen the parlor. My sisters have no shortage of eligible visitors.”
Bradford thought it strange that she didn’t include herself in the statement; she was very nearly as pretty as Lily.
“We’ve already gotten off track,” Margaret said. “We have but a few miles to ask our questions.”
“Very well. I’m at your disposal,” Bradford said.
“You are widowed, are you not?”
Ah, right to the heart of the matter. “Yes.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Margaret said.
Beatrice nodded her agreement, and Bradford was surprised that they both appeared to mean it.
“And you have a daughter?” Beatrice asked.
“Rebecca. She’s six.”
“Is she dreadful?” Beatrice narrowed her eyes.
He laughed. “Not at all. Not unless she’s tired and hungry, that is.”
Margaret waved a hand dismissively. “That can be said of nearly any person, not just those aged six.”
“Do you chew with your mouth open?” Beatrice asked, her eyes narrowed.
“Only when I have a terrible cold. Though I have the sense to do so only in the privacy of my rooms, thank goodness.”
“Is your laugh ridiculous?” Margaret asked.
“If you keep asking silly questions, I’ve no doubt you’ll soon find out.”
“That was a silly question,” Beatrice said with a nod. “No one on this earth realizes their laugh is ridiculous. Otherwise they’d change it.”
“That cannot possibly be true,” Margaret said, frowning. “Miss Pennington hee-haws like a donkey. Surely she realizes she sounds a fright.”
“I don’t think she does, or she’d stop laughing like that. A laugh isn’t like an unfortunate nose that cannot be changed.”
“How would you know?” Margaret said. “Have you ever tried to change your laugh?”
“I haven’t found the need—my laugh is unremarkable. But here, I shall demonstrate.” Beatrice took a deep breath and gave a low hah-hah-hah.
Bradford couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she sounded. Both sisters frowned in his direction.
“Well,” he said, grinning, “what is the verdict? Do I hee-haw like poor Miss Pennington?”
Beatrice sniffed. “You have an exceedingly pleasant laugh, as I’m sure you well know.”
Margaret turned to her sister. “It’s one thing to change one’s laugh momentarily. It’s quite another to do so on a consistent basis.”
“I’ll concede that it would take some concerted effort, but so does any meaningful change.”
“It’s impossible.”
Beatrice gave a sly smile. “What are you willing to wager?”
“Pardon?” Margaret blinked.
“I’ll wager that I can laugh like that all evening. If not, I won’t make a joke at your expense for a full day. If I win, I want your pink satin dressing gown.”
“Why on earth would you want that? You have the same one in green.”
She shrugged. “I’d prefer it in pink.”
“Fine,” Margaret said, her eyes narrowed. “Though I’m only agreeing since you won’t be able to laugh like that all evening. You’ll slip up and forget.”
They gave a prim shake of the hands and turned back toward Bradford. He took their focus as indication that they weren’t through questioning him.
“Do you care for our sister?” Beatrice asked.
“I like her well enough. She and I are friends.” Bradford felt the truth of the words as he said them. His and Lily’s current relationship felt like that rare, fast thawing of old friends getting reacquainted. And yet friendship didn’t seem to encompass it, not fully.
“That’s all right, then, I suppose,” Margaret said, sounding distinctly disappointed. She wrinkled her nose. “Claire and Michael are friends, and we all know nothing romantic is coming of that.”
“What else?” Beatrice drummed her fingertips along her jawline.
Margaret leaned forward eagerly. “Are you by any chance a masked highwayman? Or a secret duke possessed by the need for revenge?”