Page 68 of Better Than a Duke
Margaret waved a hand at him. “The Marquis of Hentrose says he was invited,” she said, and gestured for Iris to continue forward.
“My lord. I… Certainly. If you would follow the ladies, my lord.”
Well, of course he was welcome; he had a title in front of his name. The question was whether he would be allowed to leave.
“You’re grinning like a loon, dear,” Margaret said as they entered the drawing room. “I can see it reflected in the windows. It’s almost more frightening than your frown. Do stop.”
A good two dozen guests were already gathered, and Iris tried to flatten her smile as Beckett rejoined them, his calm expression beginning to pinch. Every one of them was at least fifteen years her senior, dressed in finery more fit for a grand ball than a tea, and every one of them—
“There are a great number of women here,” Beckett muttered from beside her.
“You were invited, were you?” she murmured back, lifting an eyebrow. “You seem to be the only man here.”
“Ah, Lady Margaret,” the Duchess of Richmond, steel-gray ringlets around her face, purred, gliding forward to take Margaret’s outstretched hand, her voice rising and sinking like a dramatist readinga Shakespearean soliloquy. “I’m so glad you felt well enough to attend our gathering. And everyone, this is Mrs. Silbern.”
A chorus of condolences echoed through the drawing room, so that Iris had no idea where even to look to acknowledge the sentiment. “Thank you,” she finally said to the air.
“Of course. We never know whether to be devastated or elated when our numbers grow.” Straightening, the duchess turned as her butler appeared, muttered something in her ear, and then retreated again. “Ladies, we are blessed with an unexpected guest, the widower Lord Hentrose. It seems we’ve made some headway toward male enlightenment.”
“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head.
The duchess clapped her hands together thrice as she turned to face the rest of her guests. “For those who have attended one of our widows’ luncheons before, and for those who are here for the first time, I am so pleased to see all of you. Some may say that sitting for tea is merely a pastime, a moment spent tossing things into a cup until they deliver a pleasing taste. The preparation, serving, and drinking of tea, however, is an art. And we are to become its unequaled artists.”
“Good God,” Beckett murmured, joining in the applause.
“Now, let us gather in quartets around the tables, shall we?” On that note the butler threw open the doors of the large dining room, revealing seven small round tables at equal distances from each other, each one set with four chairs, a tea tray, teapot, teacups, tea saucers, bowls of sugar lumps and honey and milk and cream, tongs, serving spoons, and one or two things Iris couldn’t identify. Before she could begin to speculate, the herd of women surged forward—all aiming for Lord Hentrose.
A fight nearly broke out between two of the ladies, each one tugging on an arm of the marquis, others exclaiming about how delighted they were to see a widower joining their group, andwouldn’t he prefer to sit with someone who knew what they were doing, and perhaps he’d be kind enough to assist a mature lady in lifting a teapot.
As for Beckett himself, she’d come to know him well enough to see that despite the faint, bemused smile on his face and his artful responses, the man was horrified. And since he’d lied about being invited, she didn’t feel a smidge of compassion as she pushed Margaret to a table and deliberately went and sat at another one. In the end the Duchess of Richmond had to assign seats, and Beckett ended up at the table behind Iris’s, sitting with his back up against hers.
“You might have warned me,” he whispered, taking his seat.
“Why did you come? I think we can safely say you were not invited.”
“I… The children insisted that I apologize to you for the Delilah debacle. Then I found myself swept up in the moment.”
The duchess had each of them lift a teapot, demonstrating the proper way to serve. Beckett’s efforts earned him a round of applause. “If you want to spend more time with me,” Iris murmured at the next opportunity, “you might say so.”
“We are friends. Do I need to announce that at the beginning of every conversation?”
“I still don’t think I’m the sort of friend Lady Pauline would like you having.”
Next came a demonstration on tea steeping, which thankfully didn’t involve audience participation. “Pauline knows we are friends. Our children are friends. What are you complaining about?”
“I’m not complaining,” she countered, smiling as the older woman beside her sent her a look. “I’m stating that neither of us has any business following the other about on social calls. No one will see anything innocent in our connection. Nor should they. Both of us have other plans, and they do not include… this.”
“Does this mean you won’t accept my and Rebecca’s invitation to dinner this evening?” he asked after a moment, his voice taking on an edge that told her he didn’t like this conversation. Well, she didn’t like it, either. One of them, though, needed to keep hold of the facts.
“Stop being so charming.” She kept her face forward, accepting the sugar tongs from her other table neighbor. “And no, I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”
He didn’t seem to have an argument, though she wished he had. She waited for one as she deposited two lumps of sugar into her cup, two evidently being the correct number whatever the circumstances, but when he still didn’t have a response, she turned her head to look at him. His chair was empty. Splendidly done, Iris.
Tilting her head, Pauline Grenedy eyed herself in the dressing mirror. The sapphires were lovely, their deep blue accenting the mix of light and dark blues throughout her gown. In a brightly lit ballroom, she would sparkle. “Yes, I think so,” she mused. “The bracelet as well, Betty.”
“Right away, my lady.” The maid removed the sapphire-dotted bracelet from its velvet cushion and Pauline held out her left hand while Betty fastened it around her wrist. “You’re so elegant in blue, Lady Pauline.”
“Thank you, Betty. I happen to know that my sister has decorated her ballroom in silver, which will set my dress off beautifully.”
