As she had not listened to one iota of anything he’d counseled for or against, he must step back now and wait for the inevitable fall.
Matthew realized that seeing Beatrice as she was now had forced a revelation upon him. He had finally concluded that his words would never sway her. Experience in the world was the only thing likely to give her pause.
All he could do now was to be prepared to pick her up when she was felled by her own delusional ideas.
The music started and they waited their turn. Both of them watched closely as the first couples began the dance.
It was to be simple enough. The top couple would execute a simple allemande, then the top lady to the second gentleman, top gentleman to the second lady, top couple promenade halfway down, return, and take the second spot.
He noticed Beatrice watching the Duke of Conbatten execute his turn with some lady or other. It was elegantly done, and Matthew did not have much hope of besting it. Nor did he think any other gentleman nursed similar hopes.
The duke was to escort Beatrice into dinner. Matthew supposed his conversation would be all elegance too. Perhaps he would explain the various reasons for taking three hours to get dressed or why bathwater at ninety-eight degrees was superior to ninety-seven or ninety-nine.
Their turn approached closer. Finally, he led Beatrice.
Matthew thought her nerves must be taut, though she certainly did not show it. She looked for all the world as if she’d been dancing at Almack’s under the hard stare of the Patronesses all of her life.
Beatrice Bennington might make no end of missteps in her thinking, but she never did misstep on a ballroom floor.
He took some pride in that, though he’d not had any hand in it.
*
So far, theevening had been extraordinary. Beatrice had danced with no end of pleasant gentlemen. Of course, it was apparent that her true love was not in attendance this night, as she had not been duly struck by any particular person.
Some gentlemen had been handsome, some amusing, but she did not feel as Miss Mayton had described—drowning but taking in more air, feeling as if one’s hair had been struck by lightning, and one’s heartbeat surging ahead of its natural rhythm.
Perhaps that was best. Perhaps it was well that on her very first outing she was not also bombarded with feelings of true love. It might have verged on overwhelming.
It was a shame the duke did not inspire those feelings. He was very handsome just now, leading her through the set.
He led her back to her place and he nodded to her as if to saywell done.
Beatrice’s mind kept drifting back to Van Doren. He was full of surprises this night when she had expected no surprises from him at all.
He danced with different ladies, looking very well pulled together in his dress clothes. He smiled an awful lot and Beatrice realized she’d almost forgot what his smile looked like, so little did he employ it at home. She presumed he said amusing things, if his dance partners’ expressions were anything to go by. It was as if she were viewing a different person altogether.
The ladies in question all seemed very eager to have his attention.
And then, if all that were not enough, he’d called herLadyBeatrice and announced his scolding was at an end.
Could that be true, though? She could hardly imagine him resisting the urge to scold. It was what Van Doren did as a career.
What would they talk about if he were not scolding?
Perhaps they would not talk about anything. Perhaps he would be too busy talking to Lady Clara and her friends.
No matter. Van Doren could do as he pleased. Lady Beatrice Bennington had a true love to find.
The dance concluded and the duke put out his arm to lead her into the supper room.
“I do pray, Lady Beatrice,” he said, “that you have consumed proper sustenance before arriving. The Patronesses’ offerings are a special sort of torture.”
“Darden did mention it, yes,” Beatrice said. “He said the stale bread and butter might be turned away at a debtor’s prison and the lemonade hints that it has never heard of sugar.”
“Just so,” the duke said. “I cannot mind it so much, though. It has the unique ability to prompt one to appreciate the bounty of one’s own table, not the least of which is a good glass of claret.”
The duke led her to a place. He raised his hand ever so slightly and a footman came running. Beatrice thought a gentleman placed as high as a duke never really had to seek out anybody’s attention—he already had it as soon as he entered a room.
