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“For some, I suppose.”
“Come now, this will not do at all. Weston, help me get our despondent friend into that small parlor so we may pull him out of his bitter mood.”
“Gladly,” agreed Henry Wilthorp, Viscount of Weston, a broad-shouldered young gentleman who was another good friend of both Sir John and Lord Henderson, “My feet are killing me after that last set. Lady Frauste is a terrible partner and stepped on my toes a dozen times.”
“Whyever did you dance with the retched woman?” Henderson commented, turning back to John without waiting for a reply.
Sir John might have considered refusing to go with them, but Lord Henderson and Lord Weston fairly propelled him out of the main ballroom of Almack’s. It would have made a spectacle if he had attempted to resist. Henderson managed to communicate their destination and intention to several other mutual friends along the way, so that within short order Sir John Ashbrooke found himself installed in a small parlor with four of his most frequent companions. A footman, at someone’s request, brought them a pot of tea. Lord Weston contemplated his beverage, clearly wishing it was a stronger drink
“Remind me again why we are at Almack’s instead of a more accommodating club?” He said, as he stirred a copious amount of cream into his cup.
“And what has Ashbrooke looking so hang-dog?” Lord Blakely asked, settling his slight and lanky form into an easy chair. “I have been dying to find the cause all evening, but did not have the willpower to tear myself away from a certain charming new acquaintance of mine.”
“I most certainly have not been looking hang-dog,” Sir John protested.
“Oh, I am afraid that you most certainly have, and there is no more delicate way to put it. What is the trouble, old man?” Lord Weston asked amiably.
“Will you leave off without my telling you?” Sir John grumbled.
“It does not seem likely,” Lord Henderson observed as he sipped his tea, and the other young gentlemen nodded their agreement.
“Very well, then,” Sir John replied, crossly. “Although I admit to no unpleasant attitude, it is possible that I am enjoying this ball less than usual because I have decided that I must marry, and the prospect of being leg shackled does not exactly fill me with joy. However, as it is unavoidable, my dislike is neither here nor there. Now, I would appreciate it if you would all allow me to get back to my review of the available candidates so that I may get the whole ordeal started.”
“Ifthatis your purpose tonight, you should be thanking us for removing you from the ballroom,” Lord Weston remarked, with a wry smile. “Standing and glaring as you have done this evening can have no effect other than to terrify all the poor young heiresses and send them back to hiding behind their mother’s skirts. How can you expect to woo any of them if their first impression of you is ‘that exceedingly angry man in the corner’? One of my dance partners described you thusly not a quarter of an hour past.”
“Oh,thatis of very little consequence,” Sir John Ashbrooke waved away his friend’s concern. “In fact, it will doubtless work in my favor once I have begun my pursuit and perhaps add a touch of brooding mystery that the girl will long to explore. Women believe that single men lead dreary and miserable existences, and are scarcely fit for society, without their tender beauty to open our hearts, put light in our lives...that sort of thing. Each lady wishes to be the one to heal a damaged man’s wounded soul.”
“The wretched thing is, I believe that may actually be true,” exclaimed Lord Blakely with some admiration. “At least in part.”
“Of course it is.” Sir John agreed. “Which is why I pray all of you release me so I may go decide upon the young lady. I am in rather a bind, with my property in France having been seized I have very little time to waste in my pursuit.”
“You cannot believe that it will be such an easy matter once you have completed the tiresome chore of selecting a suitable young lady?” Lord Weston protested. “You must court her, woo her and win her favor. It is no small undertaking.”
“Unless you believe in love at first sight,” teased Blakely.
Sir John scoffed. “You make too much of a simple matter. I am given an introduction. We dance. I tell her that no woman ever looked so lovely and that she shines like a star amidst her dim and tawdry contemporaries. Then tomorrow I send her flowers, pay her a few calls; tell her that my life is not worth living without her in it. In a fortnight or so I beg her father for the rare privilege of her hand. She urges him to say yes; he does; I give a heartrending and eloquent proposal and there you are. The whole business concluded by the end of the month, which is hardly soon enough.” Sir John punctuated this pronouncement with a hearty swallow of the lemon water he had been nursing as if it were fine brandy.
“You know, I have fallen in love at least half a dozen times myself and not once did it ever go quite like that,” Lord Blakely reflected.
“Clearly not, as you are still a bachelor,” laughed Lord Weston.
“If it did not go as planned then the fault is entirely your own,” Sir John told his friend. “Young ladies can be made to fall in and out of love as easy as a breath. They are alike in that regard.”
“Your estimation of women sounds rather terrible, Ashbrooke,” Lord Henderson objected. “Surely not all members of the fairer sex are exactly alike,” he insisted.
“I shall grant you there are variations in beauty, fortune, manner and temperament. But at their core yes, all young ladies are alike,” Sir John insisted.
“However, do you reach such a conclusion?” wondered Lord Blakely, who looked as though he might begin taking notes at any moment.
“Because, bless their simple little hearts, they all believe in romance. They believe in love. Which is a fairytale that has been invented to make the business transaction of marriage more palatable.” John continued, certain of his opinion. “They all long for love and not one of them can resist the illusion of it. Why else must they be guarded so carefully by their parents and chaperones?”
“I cannot decide which idea to object to first,” Lord Henderson declared, a frown furrowing his solid brow. “The notion that all women are fools or the notion that love is an illusion.”
“I did not say fools,” Sir John corrected. “I am willing to admit that there are any number of clever and even sensible ladies. The belief in love simply happens to be their Achilles Heel, the universal weakness that leads them to behave like small children.”
“You truly mean to say that you do not believe love exists?” demanded Lord Henderson. “Come now, tell us truly, Ashbrooke. You have never fallen prey to that weakness and given in to the rush of all-consuming heartfelt emotion? Not once?”
“Not precisely. Although, the all-consuming rush has always originated from an organ much lower than my heart.” Sir John gestured suggestively and his friends chuckled at the implication.
