Tattleton thought himself very naïve indeed to have imagined that the launching of Lord Westmont’s daughters was to be an easy stroll through the garden. What a fool he’d been three years ago, before they’d actually begun.
He’d been so full of confidence. He’d imagined that the ladies, being comely, pleasant, and well-funded, would walk into a ballroom somewhere and then walk out of it again engaged.
It should have been that easy! But no, the plots and intrigues of the last two seasons had defied even the wildest imagination.
“Murder, murder, murder!” the parrot screamed.
Tattleton took in a deep breath. He was a butler. Whatever else went on around him, he must keep his composure.
“Murder!”
That bird should really stop screeching about murder. It was beginning to give him ideas.
Of course, he would not act on them and actually wring its neck.
Though, there was no harm in soothing himself by imagining the thing lying lifeless in its cage, claws pointing skyward and silenced forevermore. Perhaps it would be felled by some kind of bird disease. Maybe it was already very old. After all, how could they tell? What did an old bird look like?
As if the bird could read his thoughts, it shouted, “Bad man!”
Tattleton glared at it.Prove it, you wretch.
Chapter Four
Viola was usuallyof one mind at any given moment. This night was such a jumble of thoughts. Her head could not settle anywhere.
She had been relieved to see that wherever Lord Baderston’s mother was, it was not in the ballroom.
However, the more she lived with her reception from that lady, the more uncomfortable she got with it.
What would he say about it? Would he acknowledge it at all? How important was the lady’s opinion? Why did she seem so set on Lady Clara?
Darden had since pointed out Lady Clara and she seemed very usual. She was of average height, dark hair and dark eyes. Her dress was exceedingly pretty, but that could not be the whole of it.
The dowager had spoken of Lady Clara’s propriety—was that a hint that she viewed the Benningtons in a less flattering light?
But then, what did Lord Baderston himself think? Didhefavor Lady Clara?
She had wondered if Lady Clara was particularly amusing, but Darden said he could assure her that she was not.
Viola did not know what sort of hold Lady Clara had on Lord Baderston. And what sort of hold she had on his mother, for that matter. She could not, however, ignore what was in front of her eyes.
Lord Baderston had taken Lady Clara’s first dance. Why would he do it if he had no regard for the lady?
The reality of the situation Viola had put herself in began to crystallize in her mind. She’d built a fantasy over the months, conveniently leaving out anybody who was not Lord Baderston. It had been a little childish, really.
That fantasy she’d built had included his developing feelings, though she had no real notion of whether they were there or not. His mother and Lady Clara had not made an appearance in those daydreams at all.
Lord Baderston had, of course, seemed to be waiting for her at the door. And then he did fetch her card and give the lovely excuse of it being a long walk.
But those two things might only point to a mild inclination, or curiosity. Countered with a mother who did not look kindly upon her and another lady seemingly approved of…well, it all felt a little doomed at the moment.
Viola took a breath and remembered that both Beatrice and Rosalind had experienced their own moments of feeling doomed. They had persevered on and the doom had gone up in a puff of smoke, as if it had never been.
Though, this particular doom was coming before they’d even danced together one time. It felt rather soon to be doomed.
Now, Lord Baderston was walking toward her, his lovely hair glinting in the candlelight. He really was charmingly handsome. His eyes were a deeper color than his hair, brown but still showing a hint of copper. He had a delightfully strong jaw and his complexion just the slightest bit ruddy. Who could not like the look of his features?
And then the rest of him! He was so well-proportioned. Her head reached just below his own, as if God had made him perfectly for her. His shoulders were broad and his build lean.
