“Maybe that is it,” Miss Mayton said. “Beatrice, you did wonder if Lord Van Doren was thinking of proposing to Lady Mary.”
“Shesays he is,” Beatrice said sullenly.
“Does she go that far?” Darden said. He supposed he should not be surprised. Lady Mary was a determined little minx and had clear enough set her cap in that direction. He’d found the circumstance rather useful in engendering some sort of jealousy or feeling in Beatrice.
“Shesays he’s made it a point to hint that he’s looking in her direction,” Beatrice said.
“I don’t believe it,” Darden said, lest his sister believe it a little too well. “Lady Mary is not at all suited to Van Doren.”
“We will get to see with our own eyes this evening,” Rosalind said. “Papa is allowing us to watch from the little balustrade above the ballroom.”
“In the dark,” Juliet added.
“No candles whatsoever,” Cordelia said. “There are the silk curtains there and they do go up rather fast in a flame.”
“It will be very funny, do not you think?” Viola said. “To see Van Doren going round a ball like any other gentleman and having ladies admire him. I cannot even imagine it; I’m going to have to see it with my own eyes.”
“I can assure you,” Darden said, “Van Doren cleans up rather well.”
“Is this Lady Mary to attend?” Viola asked. “I should like to get to the bottom of that situation. I should like to have a look at her if she is really to become our new neighbor.”
“I am certain she will come,” Darden said. “She and her mother both accepted the invitation. I do not believe, however, that you will ever welcome Lady Mary as the new viscountess.”
“How do you know, though?” Beatrice asked.
Finally, he detected some interest. He said, “Because as intelligent as Van Doren is, he will take some time to become acquainted with his own heart. Lady Mary will not be found there.”
“Oh really?” Juliet said, all skepticism. “Now Van Doren has a heart? What is to happen next, I wonder?”
Chapter Twenty
Matthew had spentthe morning pacing the house. He felt he needed exercise but was loath to take out his horse and somehow encounter Lady Mary. Twice in the past days, he’d spotted the lady and her mother going up and down Portland Place without stopping to actually call on anybody. They could be lying in wait anywhere.
He’d taken to walking back and forth along the first-floor corridors and making circles round empty bedchambers.
Matthew had started the morning downstairs in the drawing room, watching the vendors carts come fast and furious to the Benningtons’. The ball was only hours away and the last-minute arrangements were going full speed.
He’d even seen Darden outside directing this or that person. Apparently, the admired older brother had at least decided to forgo his club on this day.
What was to be done about the approaching events that he knew were all too certain? Eight vases of red roses portended something significant. Conbatten was planning to make his move this very night.
Matthew was torn over what his place was in this fiasco. For all he knew, Beatrice was set on Conbatten and determined to become a duchess. That would be, after all, her purview. She had a right to choose her own future and what she preferred.
On the other hand, if that was what she thought, she did not know what was best for her! She would have failed to know herself and what she required, despite having made a list of requirements. She would always be second fiddle to a man like Conbatten. Beatrice needed to be first fiddle.
Was he to stand back and allow the disaster to unfold before his eyes? Or was he to interfere in some way, though he did not have any right to do it?
Perhaps he ought to go to the earl and attempt to convince him of the impending catastrophe? Though, as a father, perhaps the earl would not be so opposed to seeing his daughter a duchess.
It would be hopeless to approach Darden. All the YBC appeared to worship Conbatten—Darden would be delighted with the match. He would be delighted to be related through marriage to the duke.
But could they not all see it was wrong?
Marcus interrupted his pacing and his thoughts. His valet had fairly flown up the stairs and was nearly out of breath.
“My lord,” he said, gasping and holding onto a doorframe, “Genroy has just informed me that, that—”
“That what?” Matthew said, beginning to wonder if the house was on fire. Or worse, Lady Mary had arrived.
