“It might be your only chance,” Marcus said, urging him on. “Conbatten may not have designs on Lady Beatrice, but somebody will. Maybe even more than one—this town is filled with rogues on the lookout for a dowry.”
“Rogues,” Matthew muttered, feeling a great wish to hunt them all down. His valet was right, they were everywhere, hiding round every corner. If not Conbatten, then somebody else would pop up. And then another and another, like so many foxes poking their heads from their dens.
He could not keep them all at bay. Not unless…
Not unless he was prepared to risk his pride and dignity, knowing he might very well find himself on the losing end of the stick.
Still, was not the risk worth something? If he did not risk, he knew the outcome—a lifetime of regret. This was, at least, a chance. Even if it were slim.
He must just take it.
“Right!” he said loudly. “Lunatic it is, then.”
Marcus nodded with enthusiasm. “The dark blue coat, I think. And perhaps we can leave your hair mussed, as if you’ve been tearing at it.”
“I’ll threaten to do a violence to myself,” Matthew said. “Really, at this point, I just might.”
He had always been so rational and even-tempered. Now, he found he would not have to take too many more steps to arrive at lunatic. That girl had driven him to the edge of madness.
Matthew could not predict what the end of it might be, but for now he would shut his eyes to the dire consequences lurking at the edges of his thoughts. He would barrel forward just as any man in battle must do, refusing to consider that the going forward might end in disaster.
*
Beatrice’s ballgown waspositively lovely. The softest silk in a cream color with cream rosettes around the bodice. Oh, how she would have been in raptures had her future not suddenly fallen to pieces.
She at least did not have to pretend at gaiety to her sisters just now, as they’d all hurried off to arrange their picnic basket and the various pillows and blankets that would be required to make their perch behind the balustrades comfortable.
Miss Mayton remained in her widow’s weeds, though she’d added a small tiara the earl had given to her last Christmas.
Lynette fussed with Beatrice’s hair, making last minute adjustments.
“Well, my dear,” her aunt said, “I am all but certain we will discover the identity of the tortured gentleman this evening.”
“I am sorry to say that I no longer care, Aunt,” Beatrice said.
Miss Mayton fussed with her tiara, which seemed not all that steady on her head. The lace of her ghostly veil was not suitable for a good grip. “Oh dear,” she said, “he has waited too long and worn out your patience.”
“Something like it,” Beatrice said.
“But perhaps your mind will change when all is revealed. After all, we do not have the first idea what he is like. All we know is that he has held back because he has been afraid you would die, as did his mother and sister.”
Beatrice nodded. That had all sounded wonderfully romantic when she’d first heard it. Now, she began to think it was rather stupid. Any gentleman must fear for his wife dying in childbirth, as it was not an uncommon occurrence. Her own mother had died so. It was the ultimate risk of being a woman, and everybody knew it.
Really, ifshewere not afraid to face it, she did not see why her mysterious gentleman should be wringing his hands over it.
Lynette finished with her hair and stood back pleased with the result. She had every right to be, it was soft and elegant.
What a night this would be if it were not for…if it were not for Van Doren. If it were not for what was not there for her and would never be.
“It is time for us to go down, I think,” Miss Mayton said.
Beatrice nodded and they left the room. As she got to the top of the stairs and saw the hive of activity below, she had the urge to turn around and run back to the peace of her bedchamber.
What a thing, to be wishing oneself away from one’s own ball.
She could not though. All of this effort was on her behalf. Piles of her father’s money had been spent on it. She would never disrespect him with ungratefulness. She must smile and appear happy.
The earl met her at the bottom of the stairs. “You look lovely, Beatrice,” he said.
