And then, what did he mean by taking her supper? On any other night, she might have supposed he wished to have the time to scold her on some matter. This night, she had done nothing at all and it was him that ought to be scolded.
Darden’s friends had drifted off. Apparently, there was a lady dressed as a wood nymph they were all keen to speak to.
“The duke was very gracious, I thought,” her aunt said from underneath her widow’s weeds. “Though, what on earth has got into Lord Van Doren I cannot say.”
The earl chuckled but did not reply.
“Nobody can say, Aunt,” Beatrice said. “It was most unaccountable.”
“I suggest that we all stop measuring Van Doren by the stick you are used to using at home,” Darden said. “At home he was a scold, now he is Benedict. He is a different man.”
Darden was naming some of her own thoughts a little too close for comfort. Van Dorenwasdifferent, somehow.
And why was he always pushing into her thoughts? Why was she just now staring at him while he spoke to Lady Clara and Lady Mary, rather than wondering where her tortured gentleman was at this moment?
Perhaps it was only that Van Doren was there, right in front of her, while her mysterious gentleman remained anonymous.
That was likely the case. Though, she would not soon get out of her mind the picture of Van Doren forcefully taking her card from the duke’s hand.
He could not have meant it to be a great compliment, as he rarely paid them, but had it been any other man…well, she would have received the action as highly passionate.
“My dear earl,” her aunt said, “what do you think of the duke taking Beatrice’s first dance?”
“I think somebody had to take it and he is as good as anybody else,” the earl said.
“But he is a duke and pays her marked attention!” Miss Mayton said.
“So he is and so he does,” the earl said. “Though, Beatrice’s heart will go where it wishes with no regard for rank. Of that, I am certain.”
Beatrice smiled, for of course he was right. Conbatten might be King of England and she would not consider him. Nor did she believe he had the slightest wish to be considered. Perhaps that was why they seemed to be becoming friends—neither of them had the smallest inclination for anything more.
The duke was perennially fawned over and attempts at seduction came at him from all sides. It must be a relief to the gentleman that she harbored no such designs on him.
“I suppose Van Doren does not see it quite that way,” Darden said. “He most assuredly took Beatrice’s supper to stop the duke from doing so.”
“Why should Van Doren insert himself into my preferences?” Beatrice asked. “Had I a preference for the duke, which I do not, it must be nothing to Van Doren.”
“And yet,” the earl said, laughing merrily, “it did not seem as nothing. Ah, young gentlemen, they are vastly amusing.”
Beatrice did not find anything amusing in the idea. In truth, she was rather shaken by it. What did her father and her brother hint of? That Van Doren had some sort of particular regard for her? That he was…jealous?
That could not be so.
But what if it were so?
Van Doren? Harboring feelings for her? Did he actually have feelings to harbor? Until tonight, when she thought his mask had slipped just a bit, he had kept them very much under wraps.
What if he had strong feelings and had been hiding them? How would she view it?
Her mind, generally so useful, seemed unable to consider the question. It was as if the very notion froze her thoughts and they would not go further.
Oh, it was all such a muddle.
The orchestra had been tuning for some minutes and now Lady Bloomington was led to the top of the ballroom. Conbatten came to collect Beatrice for the first dance. It was to be a quadrille.
They took their place just below Lady Bloomington’s set, the duke always being afforded a good placement on the floor.
As they waited their turn, the duke said, “I am finding this evening very illuminating, Lady Beatrice.”
