Now, Lord Jericho and Sir William made a great show of paying her attention.
“Oh, look there,” Lord Jericho said, laughing. “Lady Clara follows Van Doren in a most determined manner.”
Beatrice followed his eyes and indeed it was so. Lady Clara practically elbowed people out of the way to find herself near her quarry.
“She will find she has some stiff competition,” Sir William said. “All I have heard this night is Lord Van Doren this and Lord Van Doren that.”
“Certainly not?” Beatrice asked, glancing at Van Doren again.
“Oh yes,” Lord Jericho said, “the rest of us poor gentlemen have seemed to have become the paper-hangings in the background.”
“Even his name is said to be dashing,” Sir William said. “I heard one lady, who I shall kindly leave unnamed, say that it spoke of a romance of old.”
“And there is something in his serious disposition that makes them all swoon,” Lord Jericho added.
“They imagine it would be something indeed, to bring a fellow like that to his knees,” Sir William said.
Beatrice experienced another moment of a step back in viewing Van Doren. And what did she see when she viewed him thus?
A tall and well-built gentleman with a sweep of dark hair and a strong, determined chin, his dark eyes smoldering. His neckcloth was perfection, his clothes cut precisely. His general air of seriousness giving him perhaps a more outsized presence than a viscount had a right to.
There was a confidence about Van Doren, though not like Conbatten’s brand of certainty. It was a quiet confidence, not built for show.
Lynette’s words fairly rang in her ears—a lady would someday drive Van Doren to distraction. It seemed he was driving various ladies to distraction, but someday it would be he who would find himself so.
No wonder his name was on everybody’s lips. No wonder he was compared to Conbatten. These ladies wished to conquer the unconquerable Van Doren.
Beatrice had noticed that these moments of a step back in viewing had begun to come more often in Town. It was as if Van Doren were somehow transforming in front of her.
How was he doing it? Was it only that now other ladies were noticing him, she must notice him too? Now she must see him as the rest of the world saw him?
What did he think when he viewedher? Did he step back and see her differently than he had at home? Did he step back and see what he imagined other gentlemen saw?
He had taken to calling herLadyBeatrice, after all. At least, sometimes he did, though he often slipped up out of habit.
Beatrice chased away whatever feelings were circling round her. She could not even say what the feelings were. She was certain she was only becoming distracted because she still had not identified the tortured gentleman who was besotted by her.
These games they played to draw the gentleman out were all well and good, but she must know him. Then, all thought of any other gentleman, and certainly all thought of Van Doren, would fly out of her head.
“I wonder if the gentleman we seek is here this evening,” Beatrice said, a little surprised at the sulk that had crept into her tone.
“I would think so,” Lord Jericho said, “but dash it, I wish I knew who he was.”
“I too, Lord Jericho,” Beatrice said softly. “I too.”
*
Marcus took Matthew’scoat and said, “How did Lady Worsted’s rout come off?”
His valet slightly weaved as he took the coat away and Matthew assumed much had been made of his earlier offer of brandy.
“It was the usual crush of people all aimlessly milling about,” he said.
“I suppose the great Conbatten ruled over them all,” Marcus said. “I have had several encounters with his valet—a French fellow named Henri who is insufferable. Apparently, the duke’s bath is closely timed. At precisely twenty-six minutes, a bell is rung below stairs. This sets the butler racing to the wine cellar for chilled champagne in an equally chilled glass, where it flies up the stairs and into Conbatten’s hand. Why twenty-six minutes? Why not twenty-five or twenty-seven? Iaskedhim. The insufferable Henri claimed he could not reveal the reason. Insufferable.”
Matthew suppressed a smile. He was certain Marcus was drunk, or he would not be hearing in detail of his disdain for someone else’s valet.
“Conbatten is rather insufferable too, I think,” Matthew said. “Some of those YBC fellows think he’s got designs on Lady Beatrice. What do you think of that—Beatrice to become a duchess?”
