Some gentleman unknown to Matthew dramatically threw his chest out. “I am exceedingly stalwart, Lady Beatrice,” he said. “Once I decide on a thing, it is decided. Unless, of course, my lady was to object. Then I would naturally move heaven and earth to satisfy her wishes. But other than that, once I am decided I am stalwartly decided!”
Stalwartly decided?
Beatrice nodded graciously. “I find the exception to your rule to be very well thought out, sir. One must always put one’s lady’s wishes ahead of all else.”
“Here is Van Doren come among us,” Mr. Cahill said. “Van Doren, this is Lord Jericho, and there is Sir William, and that fellow over there is Lord Dunston.
Matthew bowed, though he’d really rather show them all the door. Further, he now knew that it was Sir William who found himself stalwartly decided.
“Lady Beatrice,” Matthew said, glancing round at the interlopers into her drawing room, “does Darden not attend you?”
“He’s gone off to the YBC,” Beatrice said.
“It was quite the emergency that took him away,” Mr. Cahill said. “Darden asked the painters for green walls. We were thinking a very dark green to give it a sort of hunting lodge effect. Well, they heardgoldand now the place looks like the Palace of Versailles. We simply cannot live with it.”
Matthew nodded, though he was not certain he required such a detailed explanation.
“Lady Beatrice was just telling us of her requirements,” Sir William said, as if Matthew might be unaware of why she’d been talking about Henry the Fifth’s stalwartness.
Matthew suddenly noted Beatrice’s other sisters, and Miss Mayton, all squeezed together on a sofa at the far end of the room. The curtains on those windows were closed, casting it in shadow. He supposed Miss Mayton was meant to be chaperoning this farce.
“Do you enjoy poetry, Lady Beatrice?” Lord Dunston asked.
“I adore poetry, my lord,” Beatrice said. She paused, as if she had in some way puzzled herself. “Perhaps I ought to make a love of poetry one of my requirements,” she said.
“Wordsworth has come out with a terrific poem,” Lord Dunston said. “It’s calledComposed on Westminster Bridge.”
“I should very much like to hear it, my lord, if you have committed it to memory.”
Lord Dunston stood and cleared his throat. “Earth has not anything to show more fair: dull would he be of soul who could pass by a sight so touching in its majesty…”
Dunston droned on about splendor and majesty, smokeless air, and who knew what else as Matthew looked on. Finally, the fellow wrapped it up with a notion of a mighty heart lying still.
The party politely clapped. Beatrice said, “Very well done, Lord Dunston. But goodness, it is very long, is it not? My sister Juliet is a poetess and she has a particular knack for expressing a moving idea with far fewer words.”
“That’s me,” came a shout from the other side of the room.
Juliet helpfully waved, in case there be any confusion about who it was that could so handily best Wordsworth.
“A challenger to Wordsworth!” Mr. Cahill said with what Matthew was certain was a false enthusiasm. “Certainly, Lady Juliet, we must hear something from you.”
Before Matthew could even give Miss Mayton a warning glance, though it probably wouldn’t have signified, Juliet was up on her feet and practically running toward them.
One might have thought a girl her age would be shy in front of all these gentlemen strangers. Alas, shyness had entirely skipped the Bennington line.
“As you know, Mr. Cahill,” Juliet said, “our neighbor Van Doren accompanied us on our trip to Town. This is an ode tohim.”
Matthew pressed his lips together. The little minx. Whatever was to come next, he was assured it would not be flattering.
Chapter Ten
Juliet cleared herthroat to prepare for reading her latest ode while Matthew glared at her. “It is calledOde to Scolding,” she said.
Rant and rave and complain all day
What’s the point? I cannot say
No end in sight, it never ceases
