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“What’s his name? I don’t recognize him.”
“Nobody for you to worry about.”
“But…”
“No buts. Have you found Rosaline?”
“Of course not, you can’t find anyone in a crush like this. Have you seen her?”
The Dowager shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Well, I shall keep my eyes open.” She smiled bravely, but Benedict knew that she was shaken.
Whathadthat man said to her? Who was he?
The Dowager clearly didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She mumbled something under her breath that sounded like an excuse and hurried off into the crowd in search of an acquaintance.
Benedict was once again left alone.
He was fairly sure that Rosaline would be with her friend, Miss Atwood. Unfortunately, he had no idea what Miss Atwood looked like. He made a mental note to speak to that strange man if he saw him, introduction or not. He would find out what had upset his grandmother if it was the last thing he did.
Alarge, heavy hand landed on Benedict’s shoulder, making him jump. He spun around, and almost laughed aloud when he saw who it was.
“Brummell, it’s you.”
Mr. Brummell grinned. “It is I. How are you enjoying my party? It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Truly. How is your lovely wife enjoying it?”
“You know how Emma loves to talk and gossip. Still, at least once of us is enjoying it. I intend to dance a few dances with her and then hide away in my library.”
“You lucky thing. My grandmother checks on me periodically. Although not so much these days now that I’m courting.”
Brummell leaned against the wall, grinning wolfishly. “How is your darling girl, by the way? Miss Wyre is taking Society by storm. She’s a delight. Just the right mix of beauty, brains, and scandal. Everyone wants to talk to her, wants to be her friend.”
“Until they get tired of her.” Benedict commented sourly.
Brummell shrugged. “That’s the way of Society, my friend. Trivial and transient. So, where is she, and why are you not together? People are saying you’ve quarreled.” He paused, eyeing Benedict with narrowed eyes. “Youhavequarreled. Oh, Benedict, you’re a fool.”
Benedict sighed. “I did something rather silly and she’s angry at me. I don’t know what to do.”
Brummell didn’t probe for further answers. That was what Benedict liked about him – his utter lack of curiosity. They were more or less friends because of their shared apathy.
“Before I married Emma, and abandoned my flirtatious ways,” Brummell said slowly, “I was often described as the sort of gentleman that ladies loved. Men constantly asked me what my secret was and were never content with the answer.”
“Which is?”
“Men say that women are inscrutable, mysterious creatures, who cannot be understood and cannot be reasoned with. The truth is, that idea is ludicrous. A “mysterious” woman is nothing more complex than a woman who says what a man does not want to hear or refuses to say what he does wish to hear. Honesty, kindness, and humility are your best tools when dealing with an offended woman, just as they are when dealing with an offended man. Go to her, Benedict, and make a good apology. Be frank and honest. Let her know you care. Don’t lose her.”
Benedict ran a hand through his hair, ignoring Brummell’s disapproving glare.
“And gentlemen really didn’t believe you when you said women weren’t mysterious?”
“They did not. ‘Ah,’ they would say, ‘but this woman says she does not wish to court me even after she was kind to me! What do you say to that?’, and I would say that she has given him his answer, and there is nothing to be done about it. They never liked it. They claimed that I kept my secrets to myself for my own benefit.”
Benedict chuckled. “That sounds infuriating.”
“It was, but also very amusing. I have to say, men are such ludicrous fools I am quite ashamed to be one.”
“You and I both, Brummell. Where is Mrs. Brummell?”
