lips quirked as she tried to suppress a smile. ‘There. Just now. You should have said, “If I have given offence, I humbly apologise”.’
‘Without knowing why?’
‘Definitely. That is the way to a lady’s heart.’
‘And if I were to begin with this apology, you would feel differently towards me?’
‘No.’
He drew back a moment, as though running through the conversation in his head. ‘Then I shan’t bother.’ He stood in silence next to her, as though plotting his next move.
Why did he not just go away? She had been the one to give offence. And he was the one with all the power and new enough so that he hardly knew how to wield it. Did he not realise that his rank would allow him to take umbrage at the most trivial things, storm off or deny patronage? By now, he should have reported to her father that there was no way he could be leg shackled to such a thoroughly disagreeable chit and that would be that.
It would be a Pyrrhic victory, of course. There would be punishment and frigid silences awaiting her at home. But it would be one step closer to spinsterhood and the forced rustication that she craved.
Instead he seemed stubbornly attached to her. ‘Now, let me see. You do not like riding, or balls, or the city, or the country. What does that leave us? Books?’
‘I am not a great reader.’
‘Shopping?’
‘I have no wish to outfit myself in such a way that I am merely an ornament to my husband.’
‘But you are most charmingly arrayed and, as previously noted, quite pretty.’
‘I do not like flattery either.’ But if she were totally honest with him, she would admit that she quite admired persistence.
‘I suppose pleasant conversation cannot be a favourite of yours, or we would be having one now.’ He gave her another sidelong glance. ‘Clearly, you enjoy arguing. And there we will find our common ground. I can argue all night, if necessary.’
‘To no avail. I will never agree with you, on any point.’
‘If I sought your agreement, then that would be a problem.’
‘That is precisely the problem I have with you,’ she snapped back, growing tired of the banter. ‘No one seeks my agreement. I am to be presented with a fait accompli and expected to go meekly along with it, for the sake of family connections and political benefit.’
‘Aha.’ He was looking at her closely now. ‘You are trying to avoid a favourable match because it has been presented by your father. You have someone else in mind, then? Someone not quite so rich? Or without a title?’
‘Do not flatter yourself to think that I love another,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps I simply do not want you.’
‘But that is not true either. You hardly know me. But you have formed an opinion on the Duke of Reighland, have you not? Your answer to him is a resounding no.’
‘You are he.’
‘Not until recently,’ he informed her. ‘But I am quite aware of the pressure to marry according to one’s station, at the expense of one’s wishes. That is the purpose of this interview and several others I have organised recently.’
She smiled in relief, sure that if he had spoken to any other girl in London, it would cement his poor opinion of her.
He smiled back and once again she was surprised at the blinding whiteness of it. ‘I must inform you that you have passed with flying colours. I look forward to calling on you, at your home, and on speaking to your father about a further acquaintance.’ And with that the dance was over and he was escorting her, in stunned silence, back to her stepmother.
He liked her.
Even now, thinking of that rude whinny, he could feel his lips starting to twitch. He carefully suppressed the emotion. It was far easier to deal with people if they suspected that ‘Reighland’ was hovering on the edge of displeasure. They jumped to attention, in a vain attempt to keep the impossible man happy and not be the one upon whom the impending storm would break.
If he had been amiable, or, worse yet, laughed in their faces at their ridiculous behaviour towards him and offered friendship, it might be possible to dismiss him, title and all, as the unworthy upstart he sometimes felt he was. They would remember that he was the same lad they teased unmercifully at school. Robert Magson, the bear with no teeth. Once they had realised he would not fight back, it had been declared great fun to bait him. The torment had not stopped until he had gained his majority and retired to the country estate.
Now, those same men and their wives feared him, because they feared the title. If they realised that Reighland was just a thin veil over his old self, they would know how much power they still held. And it would all begin again.
So he glared and felt the crowd tremble at the possibility of his disapproval. It was better that they were kept off balance and at a distance, as they had been since his arrival in London. It meant he had made no friends, but neither had he any real enemies.
And until recently, tonight had been going according to course. Though she might sneer at his manners tomorrow, tonight the hostess was fawning over him, desperate to keep his favour. Several young ladies had been nudged into his path by their mamas, rather like birds forced from the nest into the mouth of a waiting cat. And just like those birds, they had been, to the last, wide-eyed, gawky and rather stupid. He had done the nice, of course, danced with them and fetched several glasses of lemonade, which allowed him to avoid adding his own dull wits to theirs.
Then he had spotted his supposed intended, just as he had hoped to. Hendricks had been right, the girl was a prime article. Pretty enough to put the others in the shade.
Or shadow. For there could not exactly be shade, could there, if the sun had set?
He brooded on that for a moment, then returned to the matter at hand.
The beautiful Lady Priscilla had seen through him in an instant. Apparently, she was not impressed by the farmer with the strawberry-leaf coronet.
In response, he’d been instantly attracted to her. But it was obvious that the sentiment would not be easily returned. Perhaps that was why he found her so fascinating. Of the three or four likely candidates he had found for his duchess, she might not be the prettiest in London. Close, perhaps. He almost preferred the dark good looks of Charlotte Deveril, despite that girl’s lack of a titled father.
Lady Priscilla was an earl’s daughter, with connections equal to two of the other girls he favoured. And her reputation …
There were rumours. When he’d questioned friends, no one had had the nerve to speak directly of the flaw. But he was sure it existed, if her own brother-in-law could not manage unequivocal approval of her. Even without the presence of Mrs Hendricks, he’d had to give a more-than-gentle hint to tonight’s hostess that he wished the presence of both Benbridge and his family. He had been informed that the new Lady Benbridge would be welcome, of course. But there had been something in the tone of the discussion that implied everyone would just as soon forget that there was a Lady Priscilla.
Perhaps
