“I am beginning to be worried though,” Cordelia said. “Darden has mentioned several times that there are not many eligible Corinthians in the town to begin. What if I end the season without meeting that special person? The one who is meant just for me?”
“I shouldn’t worry over it,” Miss Mayton said, “he’s bound to turn up eventually. You must simply go forward until you encounter a gentleman who occupies your thoughts.”
Cordelia bit her lip. She had already met a gentleman who occupied her thoughts—Lord Harveston. Though, he occupied it for the wrong reasons.
“But do you not think that a gentleman could occupy one’s thoughts for other reasons?” Cordelia asked.
“Not for long,” Miss Mayton said, laughing.
Cordelia was exceedingly perplexed with herself. Or with her heart. Her heart seemed to not know what it was doing or what it wanted!
It was being so very obscure about things. Rosalind and Viola had been single-minded. Rosalind must have her duke, Viola must have Lord Baderston.
Another idea came to her. Not a particularly welcome idea. Her eldest sister Beatrice had not known her own heart for quite some time.
Of course, it was absurd that Cordelia Bennington, of all people, should not be in very close communication with her heart. She was an actress. She interpreted the words of Shakespeare to evince the emotion and make it come to life.
“You seem very tired, my dear,” Miss Mayton said.
“Yes, I believe that must be it. I am only very tired and it has made my thoughts go round in circles.”
Chapter Thirteen
Percival was feelingvery prickly as he escorted Miss Bretherton to her house. He’d wished to escort Lady Cordelia home but had been boxed in by Lady Hightower.
After the lady so recently having lectured him on the attributes of a gentleman and that he was not coming up to the mark, there had been no way to slip out of it.
Begrudgingly, he had ridden his horse behind Miss Bretherton’s carriage. Until that was not deemed sufficient, apparently.
Miss Bretherton had opened a window and told him she would feel more secure if he rode next to her and if the hansom driver would slow down.
The boy hanging on the back of the hansom had snorted, the driver all but ignored her though she’d said it very loud. Percival had done as he was asked. Unlike the driver, he could not see how to refuse.
“To pass the time, Lord Harveston,” she said, her head at the window, “I wonder about your views on Reverend Fordyce’sAddresses to Young Men?”
Of course, Percival had read them, and his advice to young ladies too. He did not suppose, though, that Miss Bretherton wished for his real opinion on the sermons.
His actual estimation of Fordyce was that the fellow had looked round his own family and social sphere, thought about what annoyed him, concocted a recipe of behavior that would be for his own personal convenience, and then written it all down.
As he did not answer immediately, Miss Bretherton said, “I have not been permitted to read the addresses to young gentlemen yet, as they are addressed to young gentlemen, but my father says he will use the advice as a yardstick in measuring any gentleman who comes calling.”
Percival pressed his lips together to hide a smile. If the bishop was indeed using such a yardstick, he wished for a very dull sort of person.
His hands tightened on his reins.Hewas a very dull sort of person. At least, he must suppose so. He dearly hoped that neither the bishop nor Miss Bretherton were looking in his direction.
“My father says that Reverend Fordyce rightly points out that any true gentleman does not like frittering away time on gambling or boxing or horseraces. He says that so many gentlemen pretend they like such things just to go along. But Lady Hightower tells me you do not pretend at it.”
This was hitting a little too close to the mark. Had Lady Hightower been singing his praises? At least, the sort of praises that Miss Bretherton would approve of?
Why? Was it some sort of revenge for his recent bad behavior at Almack’s?
Blessedly, the hansom slowed and then stopped. They had arrived at the bishop’s house.
Just as he thought he might tip his hat and turn his horse round the moment he spotted a footman at the doors, a whole bevy of people descended the steps.
The crowd was led by what he assumed were the butler and housekeeper.
“A hansom!” the butler said, his voice wavering like he might cry over it.
