dress, though simpler than most here tonight, was the perfect setting for her beauty, showing off her tall, voluptuous figure; she had no need for the frills and bows that many women added to their clothes.
“Thank you for the compliment—I think.” Marianne smiled back at her. “But that is the second time I’ve caught him staring at me in the rudest way. And he doesn’t seem at all embarrassed by being caught doing it. He just stands there looking….”
“Arrogant?” Penelope supplied. “That’s not surprising. Lambeth’s quite arrogant. Of course, I suppose he has every reason to be. Everyone fawns over him, especially giddy young girls looking to marry.”
“He’s a catch?”
Penelope chuckled. “I should say so.” She looked at her curiously. “Do you mean you have not heard of him?”
“I’m afraid not. I have spent the past few years in Bath, you see, living rather quietly—since my husband’s death.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I don’t suppose you would have heard of him. Bath is not the sort of place Lambeth frequents. Not exciting enough.”
“He’s a carouser, then?”
Penelope shrugged. “I don’t know whether he lives a wilder life than most men. But he despises boredom. Bucky says he will go to any lengths to avoid it. Last month, he and Sir Charles Pellingham placed bets on how fast a spider would build its web in the corner of a window at White’s.”
Marianne grimaced. “He sounds excessively silly.”
“Sir Charles is,” Penelope admitted frankly. “But Bucky says that Lambeth is a knowing one.”
“Who is Bucky?” Marianne asked.
Penelope colored slightly. “Lord Buckminster. He is a cousin of my good friend Nicola Falcourt.” She went on hurriedly, “He is considered quite a catch.”
“Lord Buckminster or Lord Lambeth?” Marianne asked quizzically.
Penelope’s blush deepened, “Well, both, I suppose, but I was speaking about Lord Lambeth. They say he’s rich as Croesus, and his father is the Duke of Storbridge, so all the matchmaking mamas consider him fair game.”
“I see.” No wonder the man felt no hesitation in staring so rudely. Probably most of the women at the party would be thrilled to have him notice them. Marianne glanced back in his direction, but he had gone. She and Penelope started their perambulation again.
“But I imagine it’s all useless,” Penelope went on. “Mother says that there’s an unspoken understanding between him and Cecilia Winborne that someday they will marry. It would be a perfect match. Her lineage is as good as his, and there has never been a scandal in her family—they’re all terribly priggish,” she added confidentially.
Marianne laughed.
Penelope looked a trifle abashed. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. You must think me terrible. Mother says I am always letting my tongue run away with me.”
“Nonsense,” Marianne assured her. “I think you are most enjoyable company—and that runaway tongue is one of the main reasons.”
“Really?” Penelope looked pleased. “I am always afraid that I’m going to say the wrong thing—and then, when I’m expected to talk, it seems as if my tongue won’t even work.”
“I have often felt that way myself,” Marianne lied kindly. In truth, she had rarely been afflicted with shyness. The matron at St. Anselm’s had always maintained that boldness was her worst vice—the first in a long list, of course.
Her words cheered Penelope up, however, for she began to talk again. “Bucky likes Lord Lambeth, says he’s a ‘fine chap.’ But he quite frightens me,” Penelope added honestly. “He is so very proud and cold. Everyone says so. His whole family is that way. His mother is even scarier than he is.”
“She must be a terror, then.”
“She is. Personally, I think she and Cecilia Winborne are cut from the same cloth. But since Lord Lambeth quite disdains love, I suppose it won’t matter to him.”
“Mmm. They sound like a delightful pair.”
Penelope giggled.
“I say—Penelope!” A male voice sounded behind them, and the two women turned to see a man strolling toward them. He was tall and sandy-haired, with a pleasant face, and he was smiling as he looked at Penelope. “What good luck, to catch you without Lady Ursula around.”
Color dotted Penelope’s cheeks, and her soft brown eyes lit up. She held out her hand to him. “Bucky! I wasn’t sure if you would be here tonight.”
“Oh, yes. I left the opera early. Nicola’s mother will probably have my head the next time I see her, but I mean, really!” He paused, indignation clear on his face. “There’s only so much of that caterwauling a man can be expected to take!”
Penelope smiled. “I am sure Lady Falcourt will understand.”
“No,” he replied ruefully. “But she won’t say much, for fear I won’t escort her next time.” He turned toward Marianne, saying, “Sorry, frightfully rude of me—”
His words died as he looked into Marianne’s face, and the color drained from his cheeks, then came back in a rush. “Oh, uh, I—I say.”
It was all Marianne could do to suppress a giggle. Lord Buckminster looked as if someone had hit him on the head.
“Mrs. Cotterwood, please allow me to introduce Lord Buckminster,” Penelope introduced them.
“How do you do?” Marianne held out her hand politely.
“Oh. I say. Great pleasure,” Buckminster managed to get out, stepping forward to take her hand. As he did so, he stumbled, but caught himself. He took Marianne’s hand and bowed over it, then released her and stood grinning down at her foolishly.
Marianne sighed inwardly. It was obvious to her that Penelope had very fond feelings for “Bucky,” but the man seemed oblivious to them. It was just as obvious that he was entranced by Marianne. She had had other men react to her this way. Marianne knew that she had the sort of looks that attracted men, although she was not vain about it—most of her life, her vibrant good looks had been the source of more trouble than good fortune.
Usually an infatuated admirer was no worse than a nuisance; she had learned how to discourage and avoid them. This time, however, she worried that Lord Buckminster’s open admiration would make Penelope dislike her. She glanced at Penelope, who looked a trifle sad, but resigned, then at Lord Buckminster, who was still smiling vapidly.
“It is very nice to meet you,” Marianne said pleasantly to Lord Buckminster, “but I am afraid I cannot stay and chat. I must get back to Mrs. Willoughby, or she will wonder what has become of me.”
“Allow me to escort you,” Buckminster said eagerly, straightening his cuff and in the process somehow dislodging the gold cuff link. It dropped to the floor and rolled away. “Oh, I say…” The man looked with some dismay at the piece of jewelry and bent to retrieve
