“No need, do excuse, a bit of a mix-up, never mind, and forget all about it,” Matthew said.
He could not ignore the titters he heard round him. What had he just done?
Matthew spun on his heel to get away from the situation, his feathers flapping in all directions.
He hurried away, only to find Beatrice had just come through the doors and was entirely surrounded by gentlemen. Naturally, some of them were Henry the Eighth’s wives—otherwise known as Darden’s friends who liked to stir up trouble.
Matthew would very much like to feel that their little game was at an end. That he had just informed the duke that it was to go nowhere.
That was not to be. He had informedsomebody,he just did not know who.
His hope was that the who in question did not know him either. Though, that was not likely to last long. If the man made enough inquiries, it would come out.
Perhaps the onlookers who had overheard bits and pieces had not heard enough to put anything together. That could very well be.
Matthew took in a breath. Yes, it would probably all come to nothing. In the end.
He strode toward Beatrice, or rather the crowd of gentlemen surrounding her. He finally pushed his way through.
Beatrice peered at him. “Van Doren?” she asked.
He nodded and she laughed merrily. “Goodness,” she said, “Darden has done very well by you in the ridiculous department.”
“Indeed,” he said through gritted teeth. “And you are?”
“Anne Bonney, lady pirate. As you can see,” she said, patting her scabbard and the butt of a pistol, “I come well-armed.”
“May I?” he said, reaching for her card.
“Oh dear, it is quite filled up, I’m afraid.”
“Really,” Matthew said, glancing at the fellows who were all now avoiding his eye and drifting away. “I am surprised you did not save a spot for the great Conbatten.”
Beatrice looked at him from under the brim of her hat and said, “Darden did not invite the duke. It was the usual problem—they were afraid he either would not come or would come.”
“Ridiculous,” Matthew muttered. “Who are all these men on your card?”
“Darden’s friends, mostly. Should I inquire,” Beatrice said, eyeing his feathers, “are you…a pigeon?”
“So I am told,” Matthew said. “I only agreed to it as I understood the earl was to come far worse and I did not wish him to do so alone.”
“Ah, the squid costume,” Beatrice said, laughing. “Papa said not even the king could force him into such a thing. He’s gone off to play cards and drink excellent port at Lord Camden’s.”
There were times when the Benningtons made Matthew feel as if his head might explode into a thousand bits. There had been no need for him to come at all! The earl was not here, Conbatten was not here, and Beatrice’s card was filled.
“Lord Van Doren!” a voice sounded behind him. It was a voice he had grown to know all too well. Lady Mary.
He turned as Lady Mary said, “And Lady Beatrice, too.”
Lady Mary was dressed as a mermaid, doused in blue and green sequins, and dragging a tail by way of a train behind her.
Matthew bowed and would have forced out some sort of pleasantry had he been given a moment.
“Lord Van Doren,” Lady Mary plowed on, “you have chosen to come as a pigeon.”
“It was not that I chose—”
Lady Mary waved a sequined fan at him and said, “Everybody knows that the pigeon mates for life.”
