Marcus appeared rather staggered by the idea. Truth be told, Matthew was rather staggered by the idea himself.
Conbatten was not at all right for Beatrice. She required a certain level of attention, and that fellow was too wrapped up in his bathing habits to be any use.
“You must tell her of Henri!” Marcus fairly cried out. “Our poor Lady Beatrice cannot live in the same household with such a scoundrel, rotter, insufferable rogue!”
Matthew nodded, but did not answer, as he had no intention of informing Beatrice that Conbatten’s valet was deemed insufferable by his own.
“Andyoumust go to bed, I think,” Matthew said. “I can undress myself.”
Marcus nodded sadly and looked to be transforming from outrage to maudlin. “I did perhaps indulge in some brandy,” he said.
“Some?” Matthew asked.
“Much. I will admit it. I began to reflect on my conversations with that insufferable Henri and it occurred to me that he was attempting to put himself above me in some way and it did aggravate my nerves to such a degree! And then, you did say…”
With that, his valet weaved from the room, closing the door rather harder than was strictly necessary.
Matthew blew out the candles in the room, but for one lone that he took with him to sit by the window.
There was a single lighted window across the street. Beatrice’s no doubt. Her sisters would have waited up for her to return and relay every detail of the evening.
Would she speak of Conbatten? Was there really something there?
It would turn his ideas upside down. The YBC members were one thing—all jockeying for Beatrice’s dowry.
But Conbatten would have no need of it.
Perhaps he found her wrong-headed ideas charming? Perhaps Conbatten had found himself bored by all the usual ways of a London lady. Then, along had come Beatrice, with her particularly original ideas.
It would be disastrous. The man was too self-involved to put Beatrice first. What sort of man made his butler run to the wine cellar twenty-six minutes into a bath? What sort of man lounged around in a tub for that long anyway? And then started drinking champagne before he was even out of it?
If he had any designs on Beatrice, they must be stopped.
But then, how on earth to stop it? It would be the most brilliant match of the season. What was he to say?Now, Beatrice, I must regretfully inform you that the duke will care more about his bath than his wife.
It was all such a muddle.
The light across the way went out. Beatrice would be laying her head down to sleep.
Would she dream of Conbatten?
*
It was Sundayand the earl had directed that Sundays in Town were to be no different than Sundays at home.
Beatrice did not mind it. Sundays were for family—church in the morning, then all together in the drawing room, playing cards and games, and then a cozy family dinner.
The only outsider who was ever allowed to cross the threshold on a Sunday was Van Doren.
The earl did not like that his neighbor lived alone with nobody to dine with, so he must come for dinner every Sunday.
This Sunday was to be no different, apparently.
Whatwasa difference though, was that they had Darden with them now.
Darden and the earl were closeted in the library, taking care of some estate business, but they would not stay away long. As they waited for their father and brother, her sisters and Miss Mayton occupied themselves in the drawing room.
Beatrice leaned back against the sofa and craned her neck to casually look out the window at the darkening street. For all she knew, the mysterious and tortured gentleman might be haunting her neighborhood. Darden had said he might do it, and when better than a lonely Sunday?
