Page 32 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

“I suppose that is so,” his mother admitted begrudgingly, although she usually found more in him to criticize than to praise. “It is what I am forever telling him.”

“The only thing Lord Pembroke seems to be lacking in—and I do hope you will not object to my speaking so freely—is a willingness to settle down.” A shock went through Rowe at her audacity. “But then, I suppose one cannot have everything.”

His mother narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I suppose you have found the perfect match for him? Perhaps you consider that match to be yourself,” she added, “since you are being forthright.”

One of Camilla’s soft laughs accompanied the airy gesture of her hand. “Oh no. I beg your pardon if my words were misleading. I am not interested in Lord Pembroke in the slightest. It just seems to me a tragedy that someone with so much to offer the ton would not make haste to settle down and produce those heirs that must warm any mother’s heart.”

Seduced by the logic of those words, his mother now turned to him. “As a matter of fact, I am in perfect agreement. This is the one fault my son has.”

Camilla shrugged almost apologetically. “It is not an easy matter to rectify. But I am confident he will eventually find a woman who satisfies his exigencies and settle down.” She brought her enigmatic gaze to him before turning back. “I hope you will excuse me, Lady Throckmorton. I believe there is a gentleman waiting to partner me for the dance. Ah yes, here he is now.” Camilla smiled and dipped into a curtsy, then stepped toward Mr. Laverock, who held out his arm.

Rowe was stupefied. What game was Camilla playing at? For her to speak so openly to his mother in such a manner… And then to walk off before he could retaliate? Was she sending him a message to say she found his character to be fickle in general? Or did she wish to be the one who “satisfied his exigencies?”

He was interrupted from these musings by his mother. “Well, that was an odd manner of speaking. Very forthright for a girl her age. But I suppose the fact that she is daughter to an earl explains her confidence.” She paused only for a moment before adding, “I must say that I like Lady Camilla. Perhaps you should invite her and her family for dinner so we might further the acquaintance.”

Rowe had been certain of Camilla’s having shocked his mother by her bluntness, so this came as another surprise. As much as he would not have minded having Camilla and her family to dinner, he cultivated the same reaction he did whenever his mother tried to set him up. Anything else would lead her to make some very false suppositions about his interest in Camilla.

“No more matchmaking, Mother, I beg you. For I will not believe that you have any other reason than that for proposing the idea.”

Her regard rested on him for only a moment before she moved toward the circle of chairs where the matrons sat. “I was only suggesting dinner, not marriage,” she replied in an attempt at veracity.

They were now standing in front of Lady Jersey, and he greeted the patroness with relief before delivering his mother over to her care. Hopefully they would have a long chat that would keep her occupied most of the night.

As Rowe turned back, he wondered how he was going to find entertainment that did not involve watching Camilla dance with Laverock. He noticed Miss Eubank standing alone at a short distance and remembered he had not seen her since he refused her father’s invitation to their Christmas house party. With a guilty start, he wondered if he should go and greet her, or if she would rather he stayed away. Their eyes met, and she gave a nod and polite smile, which was all the encouragement he needed. He went to stand at her side.

“Good evening, Miss Eubank. I have not seen you in London before today.”

“My father did not wish to come at the beginning of the season and had no need to do so since he is not required to be here for Parliament. He said the season was long enough without adding months of winter to it.” Miss Eubank smiled in her complacent way.

She was a fair-looking woman, and he did not know why he could not bring himself to make her an offer. Except that, upon further reflection, perhaps he did know why. Her conversation did not stimulate him in the same way that Camilla’s did. He had feared that life with Miss Eubank would lack excitement.

However, he could not let Miss Eubank feel anything of what he was thinking. And although he could not desire that she imagine feelings he did not possess, he would have to ask her to dance if he did not wish to be rude. “I hope you will do me the honor of standing up with me for a set this evening.”

“I would be delighted, my lord.” She hesitated. “This next dance is promised, as is the one after that.”

He was glad to see there were other gentlemen soliciting her hand. “Then I shall come and find you for the third set.” He bowed and bid her a temporary farewell.

There, he had acquitted himself properly. He had not given her cause to hope—at least he did not believe he had done so—but he had treated her with respect and consideration. Now, to see when Lady Camilla might be free. He found Pollard and Weatherby standing together in conversation and went up to them.

“Not dancing, either of you?”

“In the next set, for I have engaged Miss Milton to dance.” Poor Pollard. He was pale enough to throw a blush like any damsel, but Rowe had to admit that Miss Milton was well suited to him. Pollard had mentioned something about her sharing his interest in agriculture, a most unusual trait for a woman.

Mr. Weatherby appeared more resigned than happy. “I suppose I shall have to dance, although I had hoped the fair Miss Winkley would be present. Perhaps she has not been given a voucher.”

That was a distinct possibility, for it was no secret that men were more easily able to secure vouchers for Almack’s than women, be they of the same sphere. “I could not say.”

“I can abide the disappointment,” Weatherby replied, his voice taking on a cheerful note, “for my grandmother has approved my plan for a picnic in Hampstead. We will have to wait three weeks for it, but I will make sure Miss Winkley receives an invitation.”

Gerry walked up to them and caught Miss Winkley’s name. It seemed as though he would reply, but instead turned to Rowe, his look almost accusatory. “I saw you driving in the direction of Marlborough with a matched pair of bays. When—and where—did you get those beautiful steppers?”

Rowe could not help but grin. He was proud of the horses in his stable and, like his cousin Miles, thought himself skilled at judging horseflesh.

“Two weeks ago at Tatt’s. I happened to be there early and purchased them from an amiable gentleman before they went up for auction.”

Gerry made a sound between a groan and a protest. “You have all the luck, Pembroke. But you don’t need another matched pair. Sell them to me?” This was said with a hopeful grin, but Rowe shook his head.

“Not on your life. Perhaps I shall start a stud farm to rival that of your uncle’s.” He was only teasing, but the ensuing argument kept them entertained for a few minutes.