“Interesting,” Harry said. “I have read that a particularly alert baby denotes high intelligence.”
Andthatwas all he had to say about the baby. Lady Heathway took the oars from there and he spent a far more pleasant quarter hour than he had expected, listening to the lady rattle on about the unusually alert, and now highly intelligent, baby.
As all good things must end, it was eventually time to turn to Miss Rightstone and she steered the conversation rather differently. He was left to listen to the lady’s catalogue of all of her dislikes while dropping heavy hints that they were the sorts of things a future husband must know. Apparently, the lady had an aversion to pickled vegetables.
She then went on to list things shedidlike, and he was forced to hear her opinions on a wide variety of biscuits.
Harry thought that if the footmen would bring round the wine more often, he’d like to get pickled himself. He might throw a few of Miss Rightstone’s favored biscuits at Lymington’s head while he was at it.
Though, he perfectly well knew why the footmen did not bring the wine round often. It was Miss Rightstone who would get pickled, as she had done on more than one occasion last season.
*
Isabel worked tokeep her countenance cheerful. The dinner had been a long one and the ladies’ retreat into the drawing room had not been that much more comfortable than being at table.
Lord Lymington had droned on and on at dinner. Was the story of that horse named MacBeth never to come to an end? She now knew he was a chestnut, had thrown a shoe six times in as many months, what he had cost, when he’d been bought, from who he’d been bought, and how many hands high he stood.
On top of all that, the lord had not asked her a single question! Where were his manners? Did he not wonder where she was from? Or how she knew the duchess? Or even what she thought of London so far?
General conversation was so easy to make—why did not he make it?
It had been tedious in the extreme. For all that, though, she could not dismiss that he would be a duke. No, she really could not. She had vowed to put her future in an unassailable position. She would not be so foolish as to dismiss Lord Lymington simply because he liked to talk about his horses. Unmarried gentlemen who would inherit a dukedom would not exactly be falling from trees.
In any case, did not Lord Bertridge used to talk too much about his cheesemaking operation? She had been at a dinner once when he had gone into excruciating detail about the difficulties inherent in producing a superior blue. Lady Bertridge seemed to have cured him of that habit.
Certainly, a deficiency of that sort could easily enough be either tolerated or rectified. She hoped.
She’d found it difficult, over dinner, to stop herself from glancing at Mr. Vance. He really was so handsome. She’d been embarrassed to be caught at it twice as it seemed he was rather regularly looking ather.
There was some sort of attraction between them. She felt it, like iron and lodestone coming too close.
He was not in an unassailable position, though. It was a shame, but he was not.
Finally, the ladies had withdrawn. The duchess had said she was certain her duke would not keep the gentlemen behind long, and when they came in they would have cards and music.
But then, Isabel had found herself in a corner of the room being practically lectured by Lady Rembly.
The viscountess, having an unswerving and almost unnerving interest in her daughter’s prospects, had thrown off any subtlety she’d ever possessed.
Though the lady smiled and almost seemed to be making polite conversation, she was not.
“The duchess has told me of your family’s storied history,” she said. “I cannot imagine that you would settle for someone low, for instance a mere baron. Anewbaron, at that. Well, no matter, I believe Mr. Vance is quite set on my daughter. He all but asked last season. You know how young gentlemen are about these things and of course he is very new to it all.Verynew.”
Her tone had suddenly darkened as she said, “Still, itisin the offing.”
Isabel had recoiled and got the distinct feeling that the viscountess had noticed her looking at Mr. Vance. Had it been that obvious?
But who could avoid looking at that man?
She was relieved when the gentlemen came in and the duchess called from the far side of the room. “Lady Isabel, do play something for us.”
*
Harry had foundthe port after dinner exceedingly dull. The only bright spot was whenever Lymington attempted to add to or modify his story about some horse who threw shoes, the duke cut him off.
How could the duchess imagine that someone like Lady Isabel ought to pair off with Lymington? That fellow would only stay married if he wed a lady who had need of an ear trumpet that she continually misplaced. She might see his lips moving but remain blissfully unaware that he was still talking about MacBeth and that horse’s thrown shoes.
Was Lymington’s position enough to outweigh his vast deficiencies?
