grudgingly accorded credit, almost immediately raised his glance back to the lady’s face. His closed expression hinted he’d already assessed Lady Ardith’s character and found it, unlike her chest, to be somewhat lacking. “Quite well, Lady Ardith,” he said shortly, refraining from adding a comment that might prolong the conversation.
Lady Ardith eyed the vicar for a moment, then shrugged at the subtle rebuff. Apparently considering the man not worth the effort—or perhaps writing him off as unattachable—Lady Ardith turned once more to the squire, and conversation became general again.
Beau was too far away to be able to overhear Mrs. Martin’s comments to her dinner partners, but as she was seated on the opposite side of the table, at least he could turn occasionally and gaze at her. She sat quietly, speaking little, her head inclined in smiling deference.
Unlike Lady Ardith, who seemed unable to let her neighbors dine in peace. Scarcely had he taken a mouthful before, in a minor breach of etiquette, she waved across the table at him.
“Do you find the fish agreeable, Lord Beaulieu?” To reply, he was forced to dispense with the bite in one swallow. “Very.”
“Alphonse, our London chef, prepares a similar dish—much more elaborate, of course, as one would expect of a French artiste. You must stop by and try pot luck with us some evening when you are in town, mustn’t he, Asquith?”
Her husband, mouth full and focus fixed on the wine glass the footman was refilling, uttered a grunt that might be taken as assent. Scarcely waiting for her spouse’s reply, the lady turned to the squire with a flirtatious sweep of lashes. “How clever of you to procure so excellent a cook here in the country.” She leaned forward and stroked one finger slowly down his hand. “I so enjoy a clever gentleman.”
Having reduced the squire to goggling incoherence, Lady Ardith took another small bite and turned to Dr. MacDonovan. “Ah, delicious!” She slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lips before saying in a husky voice, “Dr. MacDonovan, do they enjoy such delights in Edinburgh?”
After a sympathetic wink at Beau, Mac grinned at the lady. “To be sure, Lady Ardith. Such treats should be devoured wherever they are offered.”
She arched a brow at Mac and gave a soft, throaty laugh. “Naughty man! Though I believe you are correct, Doctor. Lady Elspeth, is he always such a rogue?”
“Always.”
“You must excuse me for neglecting you, Lady Elspeth,” Ardith continued. “I know the mama of so lovely and clever a daughter as Lady Catherine must want to be speaking of nothing but her offspring and alas, I fear I know little of children, his lordship and I not being so blessed. I try to console myself with the reflection that infants are quite ruinous to the figure. But then I am a silly, frivolous creature, as my lord is ever telling me. Ah, Lord Beaulieu, how do you like the shrimp velouté?”
And so, effectively shutting out the vacant Lady Winters, who seldom exerted herself to converse, and Elspeth, who was too polite to wrench the conversation back in her own direction, Lady Ardith continued to chatter through the meal, punctuating her running commentary with flirtatious glances and suggestive touches to the hands of the gentlemen closest to her, as if to keep them ever mindful of her physical allure.
Beau glanced from Lord Asquith, food-stained cravat askew, to where Lady Ardith was preening coquettishly before Mac, the knight Sir Ramsdale and his bedazzled son. He felt an unexpected flash of sympathy for the lady.
With her glittering blond beauty and siren’s body, she’d doubtless been the diamond of her come-out Season, accustomed to being the focus of masculine attention since the day she left the schoolroom. Shackled now to a prominent, wealthy peer who apparently no longer indulged appetites beyond the table, with no children to occupy her time, it was small wonder she felt compelled to practice her wiles on any reasonably attractive male within reach.
Especially since, he had to acknowledge, the majority of his sex would encourage her efforts. Given the lady’s alluring assets, few men would deny themselves the pleasure of seizing the several hours of harmless, mindless, full-body amusement her enticing glances promised. Brutal honesty compelled him to admit he might have been tempted to respond himself, had he not first encountered the more intelligent, complex and subtly attractive Mrs. Martin.
Certainly the gentlemen at table with Lady Ardith now were competing to claim that prize. Although her husband persisted in ignoring her, occupying himself solely with the replenishment and emptying of his plate and wineglass, the other men vied for Lady Ardith’s attention, responding eagerly to her suggestive banter. The knight’s adolescent son, to the neglect of his dinner partners, chewed his meal while staring at Lady Ardith in cow-eyed adoration.
In contrast, Mrs. Martin ate sparingly and spoke but little, though her soft-voiced replies to her neighbors’ statements seemed to foster a continuous and lively discussion at her end of the table. Not was she entirely lacking in admirers, Beau noted.
Despite the distracting presence of Lady Ardith at his elbow, the squire nonetheless occasionally sent an appreciative glance toward the lady at the far end of his table. And, Beau realized with an unpleasant shock, the vicar, who sat in privileged proximity just opposite Mrs. Martin, seldom took his eyes off her.
A man of the cloth, Beau thought with an immediate surge of indignation, should not be entertaining thoughts that, to judge by the heated intensity of the vicar’s expression, were obviously both covetous and carnal.
Beau turned to find Lady Ardith staring in the direction of his gaze, her eyes frosty as they rested on Mrs. Martin. With a glittering smile, she abruptly angled her head toward the squire’s sister, who sat absently picking at her food.
“Lady Winters, you had Mrs. Martin write out your invitation cards, didn’t you? Kind of you to offer her employment, which she badly needs, I imagine.”
Belatedly realizing she’d been addressed, Lady Winters focused out of her haze. “Employed?” she repeated, looking confused. “No, I don’t pay Mrs. Martin.”
“Nay, of course not, ‘tis as a friend of the family she does it,” the squire clarified.
“Well, I knew the moment I received the invitation that someone other than dear Lady Winters had copied out the cards. I vow, one can always distinguish the hand of a true lady. My own écriture is so precise, I cannot address more than a handful of cards at a sitting. Before a ball, I must spend the veriest week at it.”
That speech evaporated whatever tepid sympathy Beau had previously summoned for the acidic blond beauty. Squelching a strong desire to deal Lady Ardith a sharp set-down, Beau forced himself to remain discreetly silent.
“Quite a pretty hand she has, we think,” the squire said with a nod toward Mrs. Martin.
“Indeed?” Lady Ardith raised penciled brows. “Mrs. Martin is fortunate you and Lady Winters are so obliging. I was quite shocked when first I heard that a woman, of supposedly gentle birth, chose to live alone without even the vestige of a chaperone. Did you not, in your good nature, continue to recognize her, I daresay she might not be received by any good family in the neighborhood.”
While Beau choked back his outraged response, Lady Ardith leaned confidentially closer to the squire. “Though you might warn her to be more discreet. Appearing in such a—well, coming—gown, and living alone as she does, who knows what sort of thoughts she might inspire in some of the local men? Even the vicar looks quite … taken. Though perhaps that’s her intent.” Lady Ardith smiled
