“Lord Darden?” Marcus asked, failing to hear the sarcasm.
“Never mind,” he said. “You’d best go below and check that Shrimps hasn’t burned down the kitchens.”
Just then, there was the clatter of hoofbeats, three or four horses it sounded like, coming to a stop out of doors.
“Oh God,” Marcus said, clutching his throat. “He’s changed his mind. Conbatten has sent his seconds.”
Matthew felt a chill in the warm room. He took in a breath. If it were to be so, then let it be so. He would not refuse a challenge.
Marcus ran to the window. Peering out, he turned and sank down with relief onto the cushioned alcove.
“It is not him, my lord. It is only Lord Darden’s friends from that club of theirs, coming to call on the Benningtons.”
“Coming to call on Lady Beatrice,” Matthew said. “They are largely to blame for why Conbatten moves as quickly as he does. They have made him believe they are in competition for the lady’s heart. I will put a stop to this nonsense. Get my clothes!”
Chapter Sixteen
Beatrice was inthe drawing room with Miss Mayton and her sisters as they opened acceptances for her ball. So far, only the Megthorns had bowed out, as they had sickness in the house.
Tattleton opened the drawing room doors and said, “Lord Jericho, Lord Dunston, Sir William, and Mr. Cahill.”
The men all came in looking very well after such a late night. Beatrice perfectly understood why they were there. Darden had said he had it on good authority that the mysterious gentleman was practically haunting Portland Place these days. He was to see the faux suitors arrive.
But would he do anything about it? Or would he just continue to watch and be tortured? It was becoming a bit tiresome, really.
“Gentlemen,” Miss Mayton said, “we are just going through the acceptances for Beatrice’s ball—it looks to be very well attended.”
“We will all be there, naturally,” Sir William said.
“And perhaps some other mysterious gentleman too,” Lord Dunston said.
“Indeed,” Lord Jericho said. “Darden says that when he composed the invitation list, he cast a wide net on the single gentlemen side of things. He is certain that whoever this fellow is, he’s got an invitation.”
Beatrice was a little startled to hear it. Somehow, she had not thought of the tortured gentleman as ever stepping through the door into her own house.
“I wonder what he does just now?” Cordelia said.
“Perhaps he stares at the invitation, tortured,” Rosalind said.
“Or perhaps he is somewhere right outside,” Sir William said. “Darden said he’d been told that the gentleman is often in the vicinity of Portland Place.”
The footmen opened the doors and brought in a tea service. Tattleton followed behind them and said, “Lord Van Doren.”
Beatrice felt as if a cold draft had come into the room.
“Van Doren, what do you do here?” Juliet asked.
“What does anybody do here?” he asked tersely.
“Van Doren, the man of the hour,” Sir William said.
“Indeed, the tongues are wagging all over London I’ll reckon,” Lord Jericho said.
“I do not know why they should,” Van Doren said.
“Come now, Van Doren,” Mr. Cahill said. “Nobody gets in Conbatten’s way. They just do not do it. So, of course it must be interesting to see it done.”
“Thetondoes love a story to tell,” Lord Dunston said.
