Now, Tattleton was entirely lost. What did Lady Beatrice viewing other ladies as they viewed Lord Van Doren have to do with looking after her?
“Now, here is where it gets a bit Machiavellian,” Lord Darden said. “I am going to tell Beatrice of a ruse, but the telling of the ruse covers up another ruse!”
Machiavellian? Tattleton was beginning to think he was in the middle of a ruse himself.
“After the ball tomorrow night, I will tell her that a very fine gentleman was entirely struck by her. I will invent some tragic story about how he’s vowed to never marry but now finds himself desperately in love and so is torn to pieces. He will need encouragement to come forward. Then, I will propose to Beatrice that my fellow YBC members pretend to also be desperately in love with her, thereby prompting this anonymous gentleman to step forward.”
Tattleton gripped the arms of his chair. There began to seem every possibility that he had gone mad and was imagining this entire conversation.
“You see? She will be in onthatpart of the ruse, but Van Doren will not. He’s the one I wish to step forward and he will be driven to distraction upon seeing all those gentlemen attempting to woo. He will come to his senses and declare himself. That is therealruse that Beatrice will not be apprised of. We’re calling it Campaign Shenanigans. What do you think of that?”
Tattleton could not speak. What words were there in the world to attempt to untangle this unhinged scheme?
“I see you are confused, yes, it is a lot to take in. You see, Beatrice and Van Doren are very well suited, they just do not see it yet. We’ve got to shake them up!”
“We?” Tattleton said softly.
“I do not yet know what I might ask of you,” Lord Darden went on happily. “Once we get things going, it will be a fluid situation. We must be ready to react at any moment.”
“I see,” Tattleton said. Though hesaidhe saw, he did not really see at all. How on earth had Lord Darden come to the conclusion that Lady Beatrice and Lord Van Doren were suited? They were like oil and water. If he said up, she said down. If he said hot, she said cold.
“Now that you’re apprised of the scheme, be ready for my directions should we need something done in the house. For example, when my friends come calling for Beatrice, make sure the curtains are wide open so Van Doren can see in from across the road.”
“Curtains open,” Tattleton repeated.
“Also, if the opportunity arises, give Beatrice any correspondence or flowers that’s come for her when Van Doren is here.”
“Correspondence and flowers,” Tattleton said.
“And keep it all to yourself. Nobody must discover what we’re up to.”
Whatweare up to? How did he get himself involved in this? He’d only stepped into the library, and now he was embroiled in a deranged plot!
*
They had arrivedat Almack’s. Beatrice had been terrified as they’d shown their vouchers and handed in tickets. Though she knew they were perfectly welcome to be there, she had an irrational fear of being turned away at the door.
Miss Mayton had been equally shaken—she’d told Beatrice before they’d left that she was certain Darden had to press very hard to get her a voucher. After all, who was she? Had she married Hans the Swedish count, or Gregorio the Italian count, or the duke from Transylvania, she would be a titled lady, but they had all died tragically and left her as the same miss she’d started the world with.
The earl and Darden were a deal more sanguine—Darden knowing all the Patronesses well enough, and the earl not disposed to worry over any matter save for a house fire.
They were inside the doors and Beatrice tucked her voucher back into the charming, beaded silk reticule she’d purchased at Harding, Howell & Co.
The ballroom was awash in beautiful ladies in silks and dashing gentlemen in close-cut coats and tight knee breeches.
Beatrice found her confidence in her own looks a bit shaken. At home, she had only to compare herself to her sisters, if they looked well than she must look well too. Outside of that, there had only been Miss Braithwaite who was unfortunately short and Miss Columpine who had oddly round eyes that did not blink very often.
But here, there was so much beauty to behold. So much elegance, the sort that did not look too studied. She supposed she must take comfort in her dress, which was as elegant as any she saw.
The violet silk found its grace in its carefully composed cut, as had been explained to her by Mrs. Randower, the modiste who had made up her wardrobe. As the lady said, “Let other girls decorate themselves like overblown peonies, it will always be the simple construct of the lily that will catch the eye.”
Beatrice had not mentioned that she favored peonies and Mrs. Randower had not remarked on the very large peonies surrounding them via her bedchamber’s paper-hangings.
Her aunt nudged her and directed her eyes to a balcony overlooking the floor. There stood a group of seasoned ladies and Beatrice hardly needed to be told who they were—the Patronesses.
“Is Lady Jersey up there?” she whispered to Darden.
“Heavens, no. She likes to be down here talking. She is coming our way. If she stops, I will introduce you.”
