*
Alvin Beetson, Earlof Landry, felt pressured from all sides. How had time flown by so fast? He had once been so happy in his little corner of England, farming and trotting his horse around his estate in blessed peace. Then last year the extended family had come together like a foreign army. They wished him to wed. They turned up unexpectedly and stayed for days, pressuring him to wed. He never knew when they’d turn up next.
Of course, he’d always wished to wed. Though, he had thought that some magical thing would happen to him to transform him. It had not happened. He was so nervous around women. He could not get past the idea. Each time he thought of marriage, and what that would entail…he was certain he would not get it right. The poor lady would despise him.
That was the crux of the problem. He was a man. He was meant to lead. A wife would look to him for direction. He was meant to set the tone. He did not like to do anything like that. And then, to lead a lady into a bedchamber…the very thought of it sent a chill down his spine. She would not know what she was doing and neither would he!
A lady would look for everything he was not.
The idea had really been hammered home at the queen’s drawingroom. Manderbey had left him standing there with the dowager as he confidently strode over to Lady Winsome. Why could he not do that? Why could he not confidently stride over to a lady?
And then, the duke had approached him and informed him that Lady Marchfield had left them high and dry. What a dullard he was to not have instantly offered his carriage. The duke had been forced to come right out and ask him.
He could not even manage to approach Lady Winsome when he already was acquainted with her and she had proved herself a nice person. She was so pretty too. Well, except for that court dress, but that could not be helped. No, the only reason he’d ever talked to her in the first place had been because his great state of alarm over having to dine with the hoi polloi had overridden his fear of women.
If he could not talk to a lady he’d already met, how was he to talk to any lady? And that was only talking! What would come after was terrorizing.
Perhaps it was not too late to go Catholic and become a priest? Or throw himself down a flight of stairs and pretend to be paralyzed? Or maybe pretend at some sort of madness of the mind?
Perhaps he would not have to pretend at madness. He might be quite mad already for all he knew. Was there another lord in England who was frightened of women? They were so mysterious.
His cousin had dragged him to Almack’s. He was expected to talk to ladies he’d never set eyes on. He pulled on his neckcloth and wondered if he would faint.
“Lord Landry.”
He turned and found Lady Winsome and the duke. “Your Grace, Lady Winsome,” he sputtered. He bowed but he did not think it at all well done.
“Goodness, you do not look well,” Lady Winsome said. “Are you quite all right?”
Landry felt as if he might weep. It was the first time anybody hadasked him if he was all right in years.
“It’s nerves, is it, Landry?” the duke said.
“I am afraid so, Your Grace.”
“Winny, what do you say about supper with this fellow? Manderbey has been wrestled into escorting Lady Whoever-She-Is. I can arrange it with the patronesses.”
“Yes, let’s do,” Lady Winsome said.
“Would you really?” Landry said. “That is so kind. Really so kind.” One of his greatest fears had been the supper. He could dance well enough, his mother had employed a dancing master for years. But the supper would be all talking while his various relations stared at him from their locations round the table, attempting to discern if he made any progress.
“In the meantime,” the duke said, pulling a flask from his pocket, “have a swig of this. It will put some spirits into you. Quite literally.”
Landry did as he was asked. The brandy burned his throat but he was grateful for it. These people were really so kind!
“Take a deep breath, Lord Landry,” Lady Winsome advised. “Whatever happens tonight, you will come out of it alive. At least, so I’ve been told.”
“Chin up, as they say,” the duke said.
Lady Winsome and the duke left him as they made their way over to their extended family. They left him in a somewhat better state than they’d found him and for that he would be eternally grateful.
*
Winsome had beennervous to step through the doors of Almack’s, but two things buoyed her. Her dress was marvelous, a midnight-blue silk with an organza overlay of the same color. Madame LaFray had counseled her at length over her coloring. She’d explained that if Winsome went in for pastels, she’d end up looking insipid. Her blondehair and fair features must be countered and made to stand on their own through the use of deeper colors. The madame had taken note of Winsome’s coloring during her other visits and had known just the thing to set them off. When she’d seen the result of the madame’s designs, she agreed. In any case, she would not for the world wish to be seen as insipid.
The second idea that buoyed her was her family. They turned out in force to support her—Felicity and Mr. Stratton, Grace and Lord Dashlend, Patience and Lord Stanford, Serenity and Lord Thorpe, and Verity and Lord Wembly. They were such a crowd and all turned up on her account.
Perhaps even a third thing had buoyed her, though it made her feel nervous too. When they’d entered, Lord Manderbey had stood near the doors and approached them directly. After the greetings, he seemed to be in a rush to explain that the Countess of Westmoreland had committed him to taking Lady Edith into supper. He’d made a point of saying he’d not chosen it himself, which of course was flattering as she thought he was hinting he’d rather have escorted her in.
