The Greatest Lover Ever (21 page)

Miss Trent had chosen to fill out her space with a geometric pattern that was simple yet effective. Lady Charlotte made no attempt to put forethought or effort into the task. Her work was desultory, punctuated by sighs and complaints.

Beckenham was no fool. He’d write down Lady Charlotte as a baggage before too long. She was the kind of girl who could not help but show her true nature. Some men wouldn’t see past the enchantingly pretty face, with its dark eyes and rosebud mouth, but Beckenham wasn’t one of them.

Marcus would be far more attracted to Miss Trent’s dignified gentleness. She was precisely the sort of colorless female he was looking for. She would never give him an iota of concern. She would agree with everything he said, having no decided opinions of her own.

Of course, even Miss Trent could not compete with Violet. Georgie’s sister had wit and strength of character that Miss Trent lacked.

She didn’t think it was pure bias on her part. Violet truly was the best candidate for the position of Beckenham’s countess. But that would count for nothing unless Violet would be happy with the match. She must not lose sight of that.

Dear Lizzie,

He is here! He came, just as he said he would.…

“Well, my dear? What do you think of him?” Georgie had dismissed her maid and was fixing diamond drops into her ears. The little gems swung, catching the light as Georgie glanced up into Violet’s reflection in the looking glass above her vanity table.

“You were right, Georgie, I like Lord Beckenham very well,” said Violet. “At least, the little I have seen of him.”

“Do you like his looks?” Georgie said, swiveling on her stool to take Violet’s hands in hers. “Do you find him attractive?”

How could Violet fail to be drawn to all that hard masculine virility?

Violet’s cornflower blue eyes shadowed a little. “He is certainly handsome,” she allowed.

“But?” prompted Georgie. She had a very odd feeling in her stomach.

Her sister shrugged. “He does not set my maidenly heart aflutter. But I suppose my heart is scarcely in question here.”

Georgie did not let herself feel the emotion that threatened to well up inside her. She needed to do what was best for Violet. Her own feelings did not matter. She chose her words with care.

“Sometimes one may grow to care for a gentleman in time. And Beckenham is a good man, Violet.”

“So you keep saying.” With a rueful smile, Violet sighed. “I do not have high hopes of him choosing me over the other ladies. They are so accomplished, so rich and well-bred.”

“And what, pray, has all that to say to anything?” demanded Georgie. “You are the daughter of Sir Donald Black, and if that was good enough for him six years ago, why should it not be good enough for him now?” Georgie rose and shook out her skirts. “Besides, you have a distinct advantage over the other young ladies.”

“My dowry,” said Violet glumly.

“Your sweetness of disposition,” corrected Georgie. “Believe me, a man like Beckenham does not wish for a troublesome shrew like Lady Charlotte to wife.”

“Lady Charlotte is a cat,” agreed Georgie. “But I like Lady Harriet and Miss Trent, too, though she does tend to poker up on occasion.”

“Very high in the instep, the Trents,” Georgie agreed.

“Margo deVere is jolly company,” said Violet.

“Jolly.” Georgie nodded. “Aye and a madcap hoyden if ever I saw one. You may be sure that Beckenham has more sense than to marry into that barbaric family. Do not allow her to lead you into mischief, Violet. I’ve seen her kind before.”

She hesitated. “I rode to Cloverleigh Manor with Beckenham this morning. Or rather, he followed me for he would not let me go alone without a groom.”

She found that she was proud of the way she did not betray to Violet any sign of what had happened in that cool, quiet glade on the way home. Truly, that kiss had been a mere expression of pent-up feeling. It would not happen again.

“Oh?” Violet’s tone was disinterested. “I suppose I should have done that. Truly, Georgie, I wish to Heaven Papa had left Cloverleigh to you. I have not lived there since I was a little girl. I barely remember it. I have no connection to the place.”

This was not the first time Violet had expressed the sentiment. “I think it would be wise for you to take an interest,” said Georgie. “If you wed Beckenham, you will have more than Cloverleigh to deal with.”

Georgie turned away, ostensibly to fetch her wrap from where Smith had laid it out on the bed. The wrap was a gauzy film of nothing, and would keep her no warmer than air. But the night was sultry, after all, and what did comfort matter when it came to fashion?

“Yes, of course, you are right.” Violet seemed to brace herself. She lifted her chin. “I shall endeavor to make you proud.”

Heedless of crushed silks, Georgie hugged her sister. “I know you will, dearest. I just hope that you will be happy, too.”

*   *   *

They mingled in the drawing room before dinner. Beckenham found himself in a strange mood. Edgy, dissatisfied. He’d taken the other gentlemen fishing in the lake and then on a tour of the estate, but his mind had been preoccupied. He’d spent the greater part of the afternoon wondering about Georgie and what trouble she might be stirring up.

Yet she appeared to have passed an entirely blameless afternoon decorating the grotto with the other ladies. He’d seen her enter the house, a trifle dusty and disheveled with a gray smut that he thought must have been mortar on her nose.

She looked young and fresh and … rather sweet.

Sweet?
Georgie? Good God, he must be heading for early senility.

Though he conversed politely with his guests, he never failed to be aware of her as she stood in a corner, sipping champagne and conversing with Lord Trent.

She was dressed fashionably but rather soberly once again, in dark blue silk with a neckline so modest, he wondered if the gown was indeed hers or one she’d borrowed from one of the matrons. However much she might retire from the hub of conversation, she could not escape her admirers.

First one, then two, then three and four gentlemen gravitated toward her, until it seemed that he was surrounded by females and the men had all decamped to her side.

He was obliged to admit she did nothing to seek masculine attention. In fact, she eventually excused herself to cross the room and sit with the old Dowager Marchioness of Salisbury. Seemingly pleased with her company, she settled in for a long prose until the dinner gong sounded.

They did not stand on ceremony when it came to seating everyone. Lady Arden had decided that it was more important for Beckenham to converse with his prospective brides than to observe the rules of precedence.

She had, however, placed Georgie as far away from him as possible.

Ha! Did she think he was in any danger from Georgie? Yes, he might have kissed her that morning, but he blamed his uncharacteristic actions on the atmosphere, the sense of stepping back in time.

Of course, he had never kissed her like that in the old days.…

“Lord Beckenham, might I compliment you on your cook?” said Miss Trent, at his left. “An old retainer, I gather.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “Mrs. North has been with us since I was a boy. Thank you, I shall tell her you approve.”

He wondered what his redoubtable cook would make of Miss Trent. Not a bad-looking girl, but a little stiff for Mrs. North’s taste. Still, a calm reserve was not unattractive to him. If a little dull at times, at least Miss Trent would never subject him to excesses of emotion.

He glanced down the table at Georgie, who could not help herself, it seemed. She was laughing. Despite her efforts to appear sedate—so as not to take the shine out of her sister, he suspected—she could not help but draw masculine admiration with that full-throated, husky chuckle of hers.

His gaze flicked to Miss Violet, wedged between Lord Trent’s bulk and the young Lord Hardcastle.

She seemed prettily animated tonight, responding to Hardcastle’s sallies with smiles and the odd blush here and there.

Miss Violet Black was a charming girl. He hoped to know her better over the course of the next couple of days. He could wish Lady Arden had thought to place her next to him this evening.

Miss Trent still waxed lyrical over his domestic arrangements, asking him all sorts of questions he could not answer. He left household affairs in the capable hands of his housekeeper and took an interest only on the rare occasion that something went awry.

Perhaps Miss Trent attempted to show him how competent a householder she would be. He didn’t doubt it but he discovered a sudden wish for more than a chatelaine in his countess. Not that he could have said what that extra something might be.

Would Miss Violet provide it? He glanced at her again. Lively, pretty, and no goosecap if he were any judge of the matter. Perhaps she would suit him, just as Georgie said.

And of course, there was Cloverleigh Manor.

The next remove was on the table before Lady Charlotte claimed his attention.

“I was shocked, my lord, to discover Miss Black had landed on your doorstep uninvited,” she was saying.

Startled, and more than a little annoyed, he said without inflexion, “Were you?”

He eyed her wineglass, which now stood empty. Perhaps he ought not to judge her too harshly. Perhaps he ought to order her some lemonade instead.

In a milder tone, he said, “I assure you, Miss Black was indeed invited, Lady Charlotte.”

She picked up her goblet, eyed its dregs blankly, as if she could not remember having drunk every drop, then set it down again. “No! You cannot mean that you would consider Miss Black for a bride. Particularly after … Well,
you
know.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She leaned forward, whispering loudly, “She
jilted
you.”

A footman with a decanter of burgundy stepped forward to hover at Lady Charlotte’s elbow, but stepped back at Beckenham’s slight shake of the head.

Oblivious, Lady Charlotte continued, “The most shocking thing! I’d no notion until Mama told me last night, for of course, Miss Black is
so
much older than I.”

She laughed in a manner she might have thought was pretty but which curdled Beckenham’s stomach.

“Of course, everyone knew you were well shot of her,” she confided.

“I was?”

“Oh, but
yes
!” Lady Charlotte widened her eyes. She leaned toward him, a trifle unsteadily. “It’s Mama’s belief that Miss Black is no better than she should be, no matter what airs and graces she tries to assume. Everyone knows what a wild past she has.”

“Do they?” He regarded this low-minded little brat with distaste.

“Her sister is hardly better,” continued Lady Charlotte recklessly. “You can tell these things immediately. See how she blushes and bridles at Lord Hardcastle’s flirting. Quite shocking.”

Much more of this, and he’d punish this arrogant little upstart in a way both of them would regret.

“Excuse me,” he said abruptly, and turned from her to resume his conversation about the properties of beeswax with Miss Trent.

He was furious, he realized. If Lady Charlotte had been a man, he would have been sorely tempted to call her out. But she was an eighteen-year-old spiteful little vixen, who had imbibed too much of the heavy burgundy Beckenham had been foolish enough to approve for this evening’s meal.

She deserved a severe set-down. Indeed, he felt a burning need to defend Georgie’s honor. Yet the more reasonable part of him could see Lady Charlotte wasn’t herself.

He let it pass, but he seethed for the rest of the meal.

Later, when he finally managed to get Georgie alone, he said to her, “Watch out for Lady Charlotte and her dear mama, won’t you? They want to discredit Violet and they mean to do it through you.”

Georgie gazed at him, her eyes glinting with anger. Then she shrugged. “As yours is the only opinion that matters and you know everything there is to my discredit, I trust you will not let it prejudice you against my sister.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “The old Georgie would have bowled up to Lady Charlotte and asked her what she meant by slandering her name.”

She smiled. “I’m wiser now, I hope.” She raised her brows at him. “Did you tell me of it so you could watch me scratch Lady Charlotte’s eyes out? How disappointed you must be.”

His gaze flickered over her; then he looked over to the pianoforte, where Hardcastle turned the pages for Violet, who played and sang a sentimental ballad.

“You restrain yourself for Violet’s sake,” he said.

“She is very dear to me.” Carefully, Georgie added, “Did you think I would come at all to such a party if she was not? She begged me to accompany her when her mother fell ill. I didn’t see how I might refuse her. I am sorry that it makes it awkward for you.”

It was awkward. It was … maddening, too. He met her gaze and wished, fervently, that the rest of the company would fade away and leave them quite alone.

Chapter Thirteen

The house party went on for several days with little variation in theme. Beckenham thought he’d managed to acquaint himself well enough with all the young ladies present, but he was no closer to deciding on which of them would make the most suitable bride.

His first instinct was to blame his indecision on Georgie’s unsettling presence, but that wasn’t altogether fair. True to her word, she’d taken pains to remain in the background. He’d scarcely exchanged a handful of words with her. No, it wasn’t Georgie’s fault; he couldn’t help feeling that none of the ladies present was the right one.

Violet Black was something of an enigma. She was perfectly pleasant company, but he always had the impression that her thoughts were elsewhere. A more conceited man would have been piqued. As it was, he supposed he was glad she didn’t seem to have formed any silly tendre for him.

Indeed, he’d taken care to avoid inviting any young lady who seemed disposed to think herself in love with him. How awkward and tiresome that would have been.

He was not a man who enjoyed society or parties as a rule. Rather perversely, given the stated purpose of this gathering, he’d taken advantage of the bad weather to escape to the outdoors, where matchmaking mamas and delicate young ladies wouldn’t follow.