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"Watch. A few more dances with empty headed misses and a few quiet spinsters, and Wesley will realize that a young lady like Cynthia is exactly to his temperament." And with that, the Countess swanned off again as the last notes of music were played, presumably to find Wesley another partner before the next dance started.
******
It was utterly demoralizing to realize that being an Earl still meant trotting at the behest of one's mother, Wesley decided, four interminable dances later. She'd practically thrown Miss Whyte at him, followed by Miss Lovelace, Miss Smith and Miss Prentice. Although Miss Prentice wasn't so bad compared to the other three; she was on the shelf at eight and twenty, but he still thought she'd make some other chap an admirable wife. At least she had a brain in her head which was more than could be said for his previous dance partners, even if she was too quiet and retiring for him to find her intriguing.
Taking the initiative, he secured his mother's hand for the next dance, rather than waiting for her to foist the young lady at her side on him. With every evidence of delight, she followed him out onto the floor.
"Madame, just what do you think you are doing?" he asked, finally showing some of the pent up aggravation that had been building all evening. Even before his mother started lobbing young misses at his head, if he was to be honest about it. Trying to look out for a suitable husband for Cynthia was turning out to be harder than he'd expected. And finding a distraction for himself, even more so. The fashionable, bored matrons of the ton were apparently all seeing out the end of the Season in London, not Bath, and there wasn't even an attractive young widow around. Not a likely prospect in sight, and so he'd had nothing more to do than watch as Cynthia danced with gentleman after gentleman, none of them quite right for her. "When you threatened to descend upon London to find me a bride if I didn't make my way to Bath, I presumed that meant my presence in Bath would stay such attempts."
"Oh, I'm not serious about any of these young ladies," his mother said, her light laughter not at all reassuring. "Although after Miss Whyte is presented, you might think of taking another look at her, I'm sure she'll have matured by the next Season. I'm just getting my hand in, ensuring that I'm up to snuff for next Season."
"Next Season?"
"Well of course. I fully expect Cynthia to make a match before then, which means that I'll be free next Season to concentrate entirely on you." She beamed at him, as if her words weren't the foretelling of doom to come. "After all, you are the Earl now and there is the succession to consider."
Good Lord, he could actually feel the walls closing in about him. "There's no need to concern yourself with the succession just yet, Mother, I have plenty of time. There's Mathew and Vincent after all."
"Your brothers don't want to be the Earl," she said with a sniff. "Even if either of them were suited to it. No, Matthew's army mad and Vincent's obsessed with art and living abroad. They'll be reassured to hear of your marriage and subsequent heir."
There really wasn't an argument against that, as she was completely right. Wesley cast about for some other excuse.
"I'm sure I can manage the business on my own, Mama, as much as I appreciate your intentions."
"Not from what I hear about your acquaintances," she said, her tone making it clear that the gossip of his various female acquaintances - none of which could be considered marriagable - had definitely reached his mother. "You'll need me to help you make the right sort of connections for that. But don't worry, I'm going to spend the next year gathering as much information as I can so that we can go into next Season quite prepared!"
Feeling as though the floor was decidedly tilted, Wesley stumbled through the last few steps of the dance, earning a reproving look from the Countess as he tripped over his feet. Although it was quite a bit of time away, next Season suddenly seemed to loom far too closely. He couldn't even quit London and retreat to his estates to avoid his mother and her schemes; there were too many of his responsibilities now tied up there and he would need to be present for Parliament regardless, not to mention that he didn't doubt his mother would find some way to coerce his presence even if he balked.
Unable to stomach dancing with another empty headed chit after his mother's pronouncement, he stole Eleanor for the next dance and then managed to procure another dance with Cynthia. At least he could talk to them. By the time his dance with Eleanor finished he was feeling a bit more like himself although she was looking at him a bit curiously.
Cynthia, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any hesitations about questioning him.
"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, peering at him as if she didn't recognize him. Actually, he was feeling much better now that he was dancing with her, having successfully avoided his mother again, but he wasn't going to tell her that.
"Quite."
"You don't look as though you are. Although you're decidedly less pale than when you were dancing with your mother," Cynthia said. Wesley had to laugh. When it came to polite conversation his ward was abysmal, but she was entertaining. Then again, he found it rather refreshing that she didn’t languish behind miss-ish airs, and most other gentleman probably did too.
"My mother... my mother..."
"Is making you dance."
"Yes."
"Don't you like dancing?"
"It depends upon the partner."
She seemed to think that over for the next few steps as they went apart and then came back together.
"Do you like dancing with me, or did you only ask me because I'm not as bad as the young ladies your mother is choosing for you?"
Wesley had to laugh. Brazen, that's what she was. A young lady should never ask such a direct question. "Dancing with you is utterly preferable to dancing with them."
"That's an evasion, not an answer," she said, frowning up at him.
"Clever baggage."
"Well fine then, I don't want to talk to you either." And with that, she put her nose in the air, barely looking at him as she gracefully made her way through the steps.
