Page 91 of Better Than a Duke
The youngest Howard, Lord Michael, made a sniveling soundthat might have been a snort. “Too easy,” the sixteen-year-old commented under his breath.
“I hope you live long enough, Lord Michael, to learn one day that offering an apology takes much more spleen than handing someone an insult.” Beckett took a generous sip of wine, wishing he’d requested whiskey, and wishing he was out in the garden sharing a bottle with Iris.
“Well said, Beckett.” Adam, Lord Nyfeld, nodded at him.
Hmm. He wasn’t certain why Rebecca had requested the Nyfelds attend, but he could believe that his daughter was concerned that he didn’t have many friends. He and Nyfeld would never be bosom companions again, but if he was doomed to nightly soirees and balls, it would be pleasant to have someone with whom to chat. His next thought was that he would still be able to chat with Iris, and he slammed the door on that thought the second it arrived.
Lord Michael’s father, Lord Elmond, smacked him on the back of the head. “Not another whisper until you can manage not to sound stupid.”
“At home do you all sit in a row to cuff each other?” Lord Caldridge, Pauline’s beefiest brother-in-law, chortled. “By God, Hentrose, I thought this house dull as dirt the last time I was here. This is much more entertaining.”
“Gentlemen,” his mother’s voice came from the doorway, the first time in years Beckett could recall being even vaguely happy to see her, “the ladies are waiting.”
“Thank God,” Nyfeld muttered, standing.
The nine of them, including the surprisingly silent Mr. Fredericks, strolled into the drawing room, and Beckett caught Nyfeld’s arm. “I wasn’t certain you would attend tonight,” he said. “I doubt I’ve given you reason to wish to return.”
The baron nodded. “I… am uncomfortable,” he noted,keeping his voice lowered. “We… I have noted a certain reserve between us. And… well, you know.”
“I believe I do.” Beckett had had bad luck pinned to him more than once over the past decade. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t convince another parent of that no matter how much breath he spent on the topic.
“And you’re harder than I recall.” Adam grimaced. “You were a jovial fellow, back in the day.”
“I’m not that idiot any longer, I’d like to think.” Beckett took a breath. “And probably not so carefree. But thank you for coming this evening. It’s good to know why you’ve been avoiding me, at any rate.”
“Yes. I should have explained myself. I apologize.”
Smiling, Beckett clapped the baron on the back. “Accepted. And likewise. I imagine the night will not improve.”
Snorting, Adam nodded again. “Thank you for the warning.”
He didn’t feel sharper edged, but he did assess people more quickly and with less leniency. If not for Rebecca, he imagined he would be considerably less joyful, because he did feel happy more and more often, even if he only showed that to a few select people.
On the far side of the room Pauline caught his eye. She smiled, mouthed the word “library,” and a moment later rose and glided out of the room. This was it, then, time for the overdue chat between adults. And it was time to be an adult, and stop putting off a future with one woman because he couldn’t stop thinking about a different one. Long before this Season he’d decided he had no use for love or desire. Logic and reason were safer.
He walked up the hallway. This wasn’t his doom. It was his future. A new beginning. This was a partnership with someone who would teach Rebecca to smile at an insult… and then wait to say something cutting behind her tormentor’s back and attempt to ruin that person.
Beckett slowed. That was how Pauline managed foes, because he’d seen her do it. Demure, polite, and far nastier than the situation strictly called for. His mother was the same, and without really thinking about it he’d thought it clever, simply the way things were done.
Coming to a halt in front of the library door, he raised his hand to knock. Itwashow his peers preferred to conduct themselves. Pauline merely happened to be exceptional at it. Iris, on the other hand, was horrible at it. She preferred a direct, immediate confrontation. Society frowned on that. But was it wrong? Which of these two women would he rather have Rebecca emulate, and why for one second had he thought it should be Pauline Grenedy?
“My lord,” Butler said, appearing beside him so abruptly it made him jump, “Mrs. Alliday has both an orange meringue and a fresh cherry dessert, but she’s terrified one will offend Lady Pauline, and the other, Lady Becks. I would greatly appreciate if you’d have a word with her.”
Shutting his eyes, Beckett lowered his hand. “I can’t do it,” he muttered. He didn’t want Rebecca to be that cold and calculating. He wanted her to keep her passion and compassion, and to defend herself with clarity and force if necessary. He wanted her to be more joyful than she was concerned with how others saw her.
“Beg pardon, my lord? I’ve been trying to calm Mrs. Alliday, but she won’t listen to m—”
“Hmm? No, not that. I…” He needed to go find Iris before she accepted Trent’s proposal—even though she thought that marriage the best solution to her troubles and she’d likely punch him for attempting to decide otherwise on her behalf.
“My lord? Please.”
Beckett took a hard breath. He needed a moment to think. To figure out if he’d just found his way, or if he’d just provenhimself an idiot beyond all hope. “Yes. Of course I’ll speak with Mrs. Alliday. At once.” Turning on his heel, he strode back up the hallway.
John Butler sagged against the wall, fanning his face, then crept forward and silently locked the library door. Hurrying through the music room, he did the same with the second entrance. That was one of the miscreants trapped, but it wouldn’t last. If she began yowling, one of the other guests would hear it and let her out. The hourglass, as it was, had been turned. The sand had begun its descent.
Squaring his shoulders, Edmund walked over to take the seat beside the Duke of Trent. The Old Moldy name they’d given him definitely fit, and Edmund tried taking shallow breaths out of his mouth so the smell didn’t fill his nose.
“What doyouwant?” the duke asked, glowering down at him.
