Page 22 of Better Than a Duke
The governess grinned. “Everythingisa lesson, my dear. Now, downstairs with you. Be on your best behavior, and make your father proud he asked you to be present for a very big moment in your lives.”
Now this luncheon seemed almost too important. If her father liked this lady, she supposed she would have to try to like her, as well, even though she still didn’t understand why he wanted to change things. He was a far more interesting papa than any of herfriends had, and he spent far more time with her than any other fathers she knew of spent with their own daughters.
In the foyer Butler nodded at her. “Ready, Lady Becks?”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll announce you, then.”
She walked beside him to the small dining room, then stopped as he knocked and opened the door. “Lord Hentrose, Lady Pauline, Lady Rebecca Raines.” He stepped sideways, and she walked gracefully into the room to curtsy.
“Good afternoon, Papa, Lady Pauline,” she said, straightening again.
Her father had stood up when she came into the room, which meant they were being proper today. “Thank you for joining us, Rebecca,” he said. “I’ve been telling Lady Pauline about you.”
Bradley pulled out her chair, and she sat opposite their visitor so she could finally take a good look at her. “Oh, you’re wearing pink!” she exclaimed. “That’s my favorite color. I’m wearing pink, too.”
The lady across the table smiled at her. “It’s my favorite, as well. We have something in common already.”
She was pretty, her dark brown hair in a perfect braided bun that must have taken her maid an hour to pin together, and her eyelashes looked long and fluttery above her pretty blue eyes. Her mouth was a little skinny, her lips either flattened or very narrow. It made Rebecca want to curl her own lips into her mouth.
“Are you going to marry Papa?” she asked, as Butler led Bradley back into the room and they set platters of tiny sandwiches and fruit and jams and squares of bread and crackers on the table.
The lady chuckled. “Oh, goodness. It’s a bit early to answer that question, I’m afraid. I certainly like and admire your father, as I hope he likes me, but first we must learn if we’re compatible, if our alliance would indeed be a benefit to all parties.” She leanedacross the table. “And he has to ask me, first,” she whispered, her smile deepening.
“Well said, Pauline.” Her father lifted his glass of Madeira and toasted Lady Pauline.
“What should I call you, my lady?” Lady Pauline asked. “I hope we’re going to become good friends, after all.”
“I’m Becks,” Rebecca said, reaching for a sandwich.
It went on like that for an hour, with one grown-up or the other asking something silly like “Do you enjoy the theater?” or “What is your opinion on the Corn Laws?” Her father nodded a great deal, which probably meant he was happy with the answers Pauline—Lady Pauline, since Rebecca hadn’t been given permission to go without using the formal address—gave. Rebecca thought she could have given the same answers without even knowing what the Corn Laws were, because it seemed obvious what her papa preferred, but no one asked her.
In fact, they didn’t talk to her much at all. She set her fourth tiny sandwich down on her plate. “I like little sandwiches,” she stated. “Do you think they were originally made small so faeries could eat them?”
“I believe they came to be so people chatting wouldn’t be forced to walk about with half-eaten food in their hands,” the lady said, giving a quick smile that showed all her teeth and then popping half a sandwich into her mouth like she needed to prove her point.
“Then why don’t bakers make tiny loaves of bread?”
“Larger loaves are more convenient for selling and purchasing,” Lady Pauline returned, her voice brisk. “Beckett, have you ever been up in a hot-air balloon?”
“I—”
“They aren’t more convenient,” Rebecca broke in. “That’s silly. I think the little sandwiches are new, and we’re stillaccustomed to big bread, so no one’s changed the way they bake it. I would open a bakery that baked small loaves and big loaves, so people who wanted tiny sandwiches wouldn’t have to purchase so much extra bread.”
“You’re a marquis’s daughter, dear. You won’t be opening a bakery.” Lady Pauline gave a little laugh, leaning toward her papa. “I only ask about the balloon because there’s presently one at Vauxhall Gardens, taking daring passengers into the sky for two shillings. It sounds terrifying, but terribly romantic at the same time.”
“I’m accustomed to keeping at least one foot on the ground most of the time,” Papa commented, smiling back at her, “but I could possibly be lured into seeing London from the sky.”
Well, maybe Rebecca wanted to see London from the sky, too. She’d hardly seen any of it even from the ground. “Do you think we could see all the way to Lincolnshire?” she asked. “Or to the ocean?”
“I have no idea, Cricket. We’ll have to find out.”
“Oh, yes. The three of us. Delightful,” Lady Pauline commented, taking a little sip of her Madeira.
Butler walked into the room again, the silver tray that sat by the front door in his hand. “My lord, you have a note from Lord Nyfeld. His man is awaiting an answer.”
Her father pushed away from the table and stood. “Excuse me for a moment, if you would,” he said, taking the note from the tray before he left, Butler behind him.
