Chapter Twenty-Three
Why could he never say the right thing?
James sliced through the steak while the guests chattered among themselves.
In her place at the opposite end of the dinner table, Cordelia looked out of sorts, but she engaged in conversation with Countess Stiles, and more than once he saw her smile.
But when Earl Stiles addressed Cordelia, fear flared in her eyes.
The end of the meal, when James could speak to her and apologize for his appalling behavior of earlier, couldn’t come soon enough.
What the devil had possessed him to accuse her of having no understanding of love?
She had the greatest understanding of all, given that she had been deprived of it for most of her life.
And, after a moment’s reflection and an observation of Sir Iain’s posturing in the billiard room, James found himself agreeing with his wife that Georgiana was too inexperienced in the ways of the world to permit Sir Iain to court her.
There would be plenty of time when she embarked on her first Season next year—a Season for which he had Cordelia to thank, given that her fortune would be funding it.
I’m an arse. A stupid, bloody, utter…
“Arse.”
“I beg pardon, Lord Bedford?”
He glanced up to see Lady Marlow staring at him.
Shit.
She arched an eyebrow. Ye gods, could she read minds? Many women had the unsettling ability to discern what a man was thinking, especially if it risked giving offense.
Though, in the case of his wife, James had given offense.
“I-I was remarking on”—he hesitated—“the utter…”
Arse.
“…utter…farce that was Lady Tissingham’s ball. The…the musicians were out of tune.”
“I didn’t see you there,” Lady Marlow said. “I recall Miss Peabody’s remarking on how ungallant it was of you not to attend, given that her dance card had your name on it for the first two dances.”
Bugger. Caught in the act.
“Though,” she continued, with a wink, “perhaps you were hiding on the terrace to avoid getting trampled. Lord Darlington partnered her, and I saw him limping shortly after. Mind you, I’m in agreement about the ball.
The cold collation was woefully inadequate: the ham ran out before half the guests could have their share.
Though perhaps that was due to the voracity of the appetite of certain guests. ”
“Guilty as charged,” a voice said.
James glanced to his side to see Sir Iain staring at him, his pale eyes almost colorless in the candlelight.
“I beg pardon?” James said.
“Lady Tissingham is most obliging when seeing to her guests’ appetites,” Sir Iain replied. Then he leaned forward, his eyes glittering as he licked his lips. “Though not as obliging as our hostess. Your wife’s charming, Bedford.”
At the opposite end of the table, Cordelia paused, her fork in midair.
“Most accommodating,” Sir Iain said. “But she’s always had a talent for making visitors feel welcome.”
“You’re acquainted with the viscountess, Sir Iain?” Lady Marlow said. “I never met her before today, and my acquaintance is extensive.”
“I’ll wager Lady Bedford’s acquaintance is wider,” Sir Iain said. “What say you, Bedford?”
James’s stomach curdled as Sir Iain raised his glass and winked.
“Sir Iain!”
Earl Stiles spoke in a booming voice, and the murmur of chatter ceased. Sir Iain glanced toward him, eyebrows raised. Beyond, James could see Cordelia’s ashen, wide-eyed expression.
“I say, Stiles, old chap,” Sir Iain said, “what the devil’s the matter?”
Stiles glanced at Cordelia. “Lady Bedford and I were discussing horses,” he said. “She doesn’t have a mount of her own, and I recall that you’re looking to sell that brown mare of yours. A private sale is always to be preferred than one via Tattersall’s.”
“I have no horse to sell, Stiles,” Sir Iain said. “Besides, isn’t Lady Bedford more likely to be a vendor than a purchaser of horseflesh?”
Cordelia’s fork landed on her plate with a clatter. She glanced about the company, a hunted expression in her eyes.
Then Countess Stiles leaned forward and her wineglass tipped over.
“Oh!” she cried. “Look at the mess I’ve made. I’m so sorry.” She gestured to a footman, who scurried over. “Young man, might you bring me a cloth? And please apologize to the housekeeper on my behalf. My gown has escaped unscathed, but not so this tablecloth.”
A ripple of mirth threaded through the company. James saw the countess place her hand over Cordelia’s, and the two women exchanged a smile.
“Now,” Sir Iain said, “what were we discussing?”
“Horses,” Earl Stiles said. “I recall, now, it’s not Sir Iain who has the mare, but the Duke of Westbury.” He turned to Cordelia. “The mare belongs to the duchess, but she now rides a hunter and is concerned that the mare is being neglected.”
“A…duchess?” Cordelia said, her eyes flaring. “Oh, I-I don’t know…”
“It would be my pleasure to introduce you,” Countess Stiles said. “Jeanette—that is, the duchess—is a particular friend of mine, and she’d be delighted to make your acquaintance and sell the mare to you. That is, if Lord Bedford has no objection.”
“None at all,” James said.
Sir Iain opened his mouth, but James rose.
“Care to join me for a brandy, gentlemen?” he said. “I fear this talk of commerce is overly tedious for the ladies.” He met his wife’s gaze and smiled. “My love, perhaps you’d be so kind as to lead the ladies into the drawing room—with Georgiana’s assistance, of course.”
She merely stared back, and his conscience pricked at him.
Forgive me, my darling.
As if she read his mind, she nodded and, to his relief, returned the smile.
“Ladies, would you follow me?” she said. “I believe Mrs. Ffortescue will sing for us, accompanied by Lady Marlow.”
“The music must wait until the gentlemen join us, Cordelia,” Georgiana said, a hard edge to her voice.
“I’m sure Mrs. Ffortescue can play for us now, Miss Bedford?” Countess Stiles said. “Contrary to the male sex, we ladies don’t wait in silence, unable to contain our desperation for the gentlemen to join us.”
“You sound as if you’d rather we didn’t join the ladies at all, Countess,” Sir Iain said. “Propriety dictates that we rejoin you before the end of the evening.”
“Do not hurry on our account, Sir Iain,” Cordelia said, ice in her voice.
Earl Stiles gave a pointed glance in her direction, then he smiled.
“I doubt your husband would approve of a long separation, Lady Bedford,” he says.
“He wouldn’t want the gentlemen drinking all his liquor were we to tarry too long.
” He turned to James. “Bedford, you shouldn’t keep such a good brandy.
But you have a talent for excellent taste, given your choice of wife. ” He gestured to the doors. “Shall we?”
The gentlemen filed out, and James led them to the library and poured several glasses of brandy. The air soon filled with the blue haze of cigar smoke. As he handed a glass to Sir Iain, the other man spoke.
“I would beg an audience with you, Bedford.”
“About what?”
“Your sister. It cannot have escaped your notice that I adore her, and I believe that now’s an appropriate time to broach the subject.”
“Subject?”
“Georgiana’s dowry, of course.”
“Is this really an appropriate time to—”
“Of course it is,” Sir Iain said. “You know as well as I that marriage is a contract and must be negotiated as such. We gentlemen must leave the sentimental elements to the ladies while we discuss the more…practical aspects of a union.”
Practical.
As in cash.
But, unpalatable as the subject was, Sir Iain was right. And had James himself not entered into a union to secure a fortune?
“You may be assured of the violence of my affections.”
Sir Iain smiled, though his eyes showed little emotion. But most men—and women—of James’s rank exhibited little feeling. Stoicism was schooled into them from birth.
“Very well,” he said. “Georgiana’s fortune is eight thousand.”
“And Margaret’s?”
“Eight also.”
“You lack an understanding of financial matters, Bedford,” Sir Iain said, shaking his head.
“Margaret will not be wanting a husband for some years yet, at which point her fortune will have accumulated a substantial amount of interest. A more equitable split would be to give Georgiana, say, twelve thousand, leaving Margaret with four.”
“Equitable?”
“It’s only a suggestion, of course.”
“Perhaps you should wait until you’ve secured my sister’s consent before making financial demands,” James said. “I will also need to discuss the matter with my wife, given that it’s her fortune funding Georgiana’s dowry.”
“Good heavens, Bedford! Are you a milksop?”
“No,” James said, “I’m a gentleman. And my opinion, as a gentleman, is that if a man claims to love my sister, then he should be equally prepared to take her for eight thousand as twelve.
” He drained his brandy. “Now, you must forgive me, Sir Iain. I’m unable to contain my desperation to join the ladies. ”
“Quite right,” Stiles said, approaching, empty glass in hand. “A man can have too much of a good thing, and your brandy is particularly good. Gentlemen, shall we retire to the drawing room and Mrs. Ffortescue’s love songs?”
Sir Iain scowled, but the others nodded and murmured their assent, and together they entered the drawing room.
James’s heart warmed to see Cordelia approach as they entered, playing the part of the hostess. Georgiana appeared at her side.
“Gentlemen,” Georgiana said, “now you’ve concluded your business, we can devote the rest of the evening to pleasure. Sir Iain, might you sing for me?”
“Isn’t Lady Ffortescue going to sing?” Cordelia said.
“Mrs. Ffortescue has sung herself hoarse,” Georgiana said, and Cordelia flinched at the correction. “Everyone knows it’s not the done thing to sing more than three arias in a row,” Georgiana continued, “but she obliged you, Cordelia, because you were so insistent.”
“Miss Bedford,” Countess Stiles said, “I’m sure Lady Bedford didn’t intend—”