“Yes,again,” Cordelia said.
Beatrice was not at all surprised. Matthew Lawson, known to the wider world as Viscount Van Doren, was their closest neighbor. They had known him all their lives and he spent a deal of time going back and forth between Faversham Hall and the Westmont estate.
He was her senior by two years and had been a rather irritating boy, requiring he be called Van Doren rather than Matthew by the time he was twelve years old. Now, he had grown to an exceedingly handsome gentleman with a very manly air about him—tall, dark-haired, and with a very strong and determined chin. His dark eyes were marvelous, too.
However, while his once chubby cheeks and his habits of pulling hair and hiding dolls may have long fled, he remained extremely irritating.
If Van Doren held an opinion, it must be recognized to be correct. He would take great pains to explain how that opinion was arrived at and how it was grounded in the practicalities and realities of life.
Practicalities and realities were his obsession, but where was the drama? The pathos? The hearts breaking to pieces or bursting with joy? Where were the dizzying highs and tragic lows of a passion-filled existence?
No, none of that was for Van Doren, which might have been all well and good had he not been determined to press his pedestrian ideas on everybody else.
He had drawn in her father, in particular, with these dull notions. Beatrice should have gone to Town two years since, but Van Doren had convinced the earl that she neededtime to mature.
As if she had any intention of becoming a stick like him! She was irate about the delay, as were her sisters. Beatrice had just turned eighteen and could have been married by now, Rosalind too at seventeen, and then Viola was sixteen and ought to be coming out soon.
The only two sisters who were not trailing behind on time were Cordelia at fifteen and Juliet at thirteen. They would end behind though, as the earl thought bringing out more than one daughter at a time was not a good idea.
What if she did not marry this season and must come for another? At the rate they were going, one of them would be thirty by the time it was their turn.
Beatrice had grown tired of Van Doren’s interference and endless instructions. Worse, his tedious sermons and meetings with her father had only increased in frequency as their departure for London approached.
“You are in for a dinner-scolding, Bea,” Viola said, “though who knows what about this time.”
“Indeed,thistime,” Rosalind said.
“He does have such a lot to say for himself,” Juliet said.
“Such a lot,” Cordelia said, nodding.
Miss Mayton clucked sympathetically and said, “Poor Lord Van Doren, it is as if he came into the world with no heart at all. All facts and figures, which is a sad way to go on.”
Cordelia, a natural actress, marched back and forth across the bedroom, rubbing her chin and looking serious. “Now, Beatrice, I cannot stress enough the rigors of a London dining table. Only the smallest sips of wine must be taken. The dinner will go on long and nobody wishes to see a lady stagger at the end of it. I only give you that hint.”
Viola filled the room with peals of laughter. “Oh, that was last Wednesday’s lecture we called ‘Beatrice, do not get drunk!’ Very well done, Cordy.”
“I’ve a mind to get drunk this evening, just to point out to Lord I-know-everything that his advice washes over me like water off a duck’s back,” Beatrice said.
“I would encourage you to do it,” Rosalind said, “but then you’d likely be sick in the carriage on the morrow.”
“Oh, don’t be sick, Bea,” Juliet said. “Papa would be made unhappy, I’m sure.”
Beatrice had really hoped it would just be the family to dine this evening. It was a momentous occasion. She was the eldest and would lead the way into London. She would be the first to float into ballrooms and find romance.
They were to set off first thing in the morning and of course she would not be so foolish as to over-indulge this evening just to make a point. It was only that she always did feel driven to make a point to Van Doren. There was so much to speculate on and dream of without the viscount frowning from every corner.
She was aware that he would go to Town too, and that he’d rented a house on their very street! Of all London, why did he need to put himself at Portland Place?
Her father viewed it a terrific idea. The earl claimed Van Doren would prove invaluable in squiring them around Town.
Beatrice did not see why he was needed. Her brother Darden lived permanently in their house on Portland Place and would know far more people than their scolding neighbor. She only hoped Van Doren was not planning to make himself a nuisance.
“Aunt,” Viola said, “we will be subjected to Van Doren’s dour ideas about romance this evening. Again.”
“You mean, lack ofanyideas about romance,” Rosalind said.
“Oh, yes,” Cordelia said, nodding vigorously. “Romance might tap him on the shoulder and announce itself and he’d say,Who did that? I see nothing.”
