They made their way over and Miss Mayton said cheerfully, “There you are, sit between us, Your Grace.”
Rosalind’s aunt was balancing a glass of wine and a plate of cake.
“Lord Harvey was so kind as to fetch me a drink and this wonderful orange cake,” Miss Mayton said.
For some reason, Conbatten stared at her plate and sighed. “Icedcake, I see.”
Rosalind did not know what to make of it, other than Conbatten seemed to have an aversion to iced cake. Well, she supposed there was no end of things she would find out about him that she did not yet know.
And then, he would find out things about her too. He probably had not the first idea of what her opinions were on fried kidneys. She ran opposed to the general consensus, as she was very much against them. He also could not know that she did not read music, as she was so very adept at hiding that fact by taking her listeners on a travel through the world of music.
Would he consider that a fault, she wondered.
She supposed he must have faults too, as every person had. But what could they be? It seemed unfathomable that he had any. Perhaps the worst of it was that he did not like iced cake.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” the same man who’d directed them to be seated said, “we are encountering a slight difficulty and delay. We pray for your patience, if you please.”
Rosalind looked to the stage and saw Lady Rawley and Mrs. Robinson deep in a hurried conversation.
Lady Rawley stepped forward. “My dear guests,” she said, “we find that Lady Agatha has come down with a rather virulent distress of the stomach and cannot perform. Rest assured, we have no intention of being defeated by this blow!”
Rosalind peered round her and it was true, Lady Agatha was nowhere in sight. Her gold doublet rested forlornly on a chair near the stage.
“I wonder,” Lady Rawley continued, “what lady would be brave enough, kind enough, to step forward in Lady Agatha’s stead? It is no complicated matter, a willingness is all we require.”
There was a silence in the room. Oh, if only Cordelia had been here! Her dear sister would have leapt at the chance to put herself into the play.
Miss Mayton rose, and her cake slipped off its plate and into Conbatten’s lap. “Fear not, Lady Rawley, we will not allow you to be let down,” she said. “If you will direct me, I am at your service.”
There was a gentle applause all round and Rosalind thought most people looked exceedingly relieved that they were not to find themselves upon the stage. She was rather relieved herself. She was not shy, but she was not the actress that Cordelia was.
Miss Mayton handed her empty plate to Conbatten and squeezed past him, seeming not to have noticed that her slice of cake was no longer upon it.
Her dear aunt. Naturally, she would not allow Lady Rawley’s theatrical to be ruined and had been in too much of a hurry to rush to the breach to notice her cake had gone astray.
“Very well done, Aunt,” Rosalind whispered as Miss Mayton moved past her.
“Never mind it, you just stay here and entertain the duke, my dear,” Miss Mayton whispered.
As her aunt made her way to the stage, Conbatten’s brows knit. He slowly picked bits of cake from his trousers and deposited them back on the plate.
Goodness, he seemed as if hereallydid not care for iced cake.
Chapter Eighteen
The theatrical hadnot even started yet and Balthazar felt as if he’d already been through a rather full evening. A rather interesting one at that.
Lady Rosalind was resolute in her story of the rash baron who had followed her to London, which he found charming in the extreme. As he did not wish her to imagine he would turn down a duel to win her, he claimed he’d only been held back because the matter seemed to involve a brother who wanted a brother dead.
Though, if hehadaccepted that duel so ridiculously posed by Miss Mayton in the guise of Archibald, what would they have done then? He could not imagine.
Now, apparently, the rash baron would be determined not to go away.
Let him stay on if he liked. A figment of a baron was nothing to him. In fact, he was very cheered by the idea that this figment had no other gentlemen to visit with outlandish challenges to a duel. Only him.
Balthazar had dared to suggest to Lady Rosalind that she call him Conbatten, rather than Duke, and she had. There had been something in it, the way she said it…he was glad he’d thought to do it.
So few people called him Conbatten and she must be one among them.
