“Precisely,” Juliet said. “He would not comprehend the romance and the passion of it at all.”
“Lord Van Doren does come to the theater with us this evening, though,” Miss Mayton said. “We must be careful not to let on that anything is in the works.”
“He will not be able to avoid noticing that Beatrice is pursued, as Mr. Cahill and Lord Dunston will be there, ready to set the ruse in motion,” Darden said. “That is no matter, as long as he does not discover it to be a ruse.”
“We shall tell Van Doren absolutely nothing,” Beatrice confirmed. “But what about father?”
Darden hesitated just the least little bit, then he said, “I would not bother him with it. You know our father, he does not like to be troubled.”
Everybody in the room nodded vigorously, this seeming a kind, considerate, and very convenient reason to not inquire into the earl’s thoughts on the scheme.
*
As his carriagebarreled toward Covent Garden on the heels of the earl’s carriage, Matthew was not at all looking forward to the evening. His carriage might be going at a good pace now, but as it neared their destination it would not be so. His conveyance would inevitably enter a long line of other theatergoers and sit there for ages.
That might turn out to be the most pleasant part of the evening.
It was not that he did not like plays. He did. He could happily attend Shakespeare’s works every evening of the week, had they been on offer so often in Taunton. This, though, was not to be Shakespeare. It was a new play by a fellow named Thomas Holcroft calledA Tale of Mystery.
That had not sounded so bad, until his valet had tried to explain the plot. Apparently, it was all the rage in Town and Marcus had gone to see it on his day off. It was what was called a melodrama and it was about some young girl with a hefty dowry who is poised to be married off to a powerful man’s son, though she loves another. There is a poor fellow who has gone mute after having been almost murdered by who else but the powerful man?
Then at the end there was something about them all getting together in a cottage near a bridge with archers on their heels?
At least, he thought that was what Marcus had said. His mind had drifted off in the midst of the telling of the convoluted thing.
The play was unlikely to engage him. And then, there were other annoyances that were certain to present themselves.
Beatrice very much enjoyed noting who was looking at her and that habit must reach new heights in a London theater box. Any misguided gentleman making the mistake of even vaguely glancing in her direction would be pronounced terribly in love with her.
He had watched her come out of the house in a rather smashing yellow gown, though as fast as he’d admired it, he’d also thought she’d chosen it to stand out in the dim lights of the theater.
Miss Mayton had made the rather interesting choice of a dark purple taffeta, her head sprouting a green ostrich feather. As she was short and rather well-padded, she looked like nothing so much as a turnip just pulled from the ground.
As his carriage slowed and now inched forward in the inevitable crush of a line, he considered where his own eyes would be traveling this night. He planned to keep them firmly on the stage, no matter how dreadful the performance was. Both Lady Mary, who he’d dined with at Almack’s, and Lady Clara, who he’d danced with, had pried into his schedule.
As it happened, both of those ladies’ families had a box at the theater and they would attend too. Lady Clara had already seen the play and was wild for it, so she and her mama would come again. Lady Mary had only heard tell of it and was much looking forward to it.
Those two ladies, and several others he’d danced with at Almack’s, made him uncomfortable in some manner. They were all exceedingly pleasant, but he got the feeling of being stalked through a wood like a stag. There was something in their manner that said they meant business, and that business might be him and his estate.
He should not be surprised to note it. After all, marriage was what they had come for. It was what Beatrice had come for. It was what he, himself, would come for, some season.
Just not this season, he did not think.
As lovely and pleasant as the ladies were, it was impossible to imagine them gracing his table. He could not know how prepared they were to manage a household, and for all he knew they would do it brilliantly. But there was something else…not quite right.
Finally, his carriage came to the doors of the theater. Beatrice was already bounding up the steps while Miss Mayton attempted to keep up with her and the earl followed leisurely behind.
Beatrice glanced this way and that. She was not even inside yet and was looking about to see if anybody was struck by her.
Let the melodrama begin.
Chapter Nine
Tattleton felt surroundedfrom all sides. First, there was Lord Darden’s deranged plan of throwing false suitors in front of Lady Beatrice, all to force Lord Van Doren to claim feelings that Tattleton was certain he did not have.
Then, both the footmen and the lady’s maids had gone wild over some duke named Conbatten. From what he could gather, this fellow did everything spectacularly well.
As always happened in Town, the servants had made quick work of becoming acquainted with the other servants in the neighborhood.Thatwas how they suddenly knew so much about this fellow Conbatten. He was the talk of London, or so everybody said.
