Page 20 of A Single Obsession

Harriet Whitlow had stepped forward, so she was almost touching the carriage and was casting a most provocative look up at Beau.

“Aren’t you going to invite me to take a turn around the park, Beaumont?” she said, purring like a cat. “I should so love to feel the paces of your beautiful horses.”

Before Beau could utter a word, Frances addressed Eliza. “I’m sure you won’t mind giving up your seat to Harriet for a short while, will you?”

Eliza’s face clouded over with disappointment. She looked beseechingly at Beau, who shot her an apologetic grimace. Eliza wanted very much to say no, but without Beau’s support, she felt unable to refuse the combined forces of the other two women.

Beau’s groom jumped down from his perch and helped Eliza exchange places with Harriet. A self-satisfied smile spread across Miss Whitlow’s face, and she shot Frances a triumphant glance as Beau gave a light touch of his whip and sent his bays trotting off around the circuit.

Eliza watched wistfully after them before reluctantly turning to her cousin.

“Such a charming girl, my sister. Very popular with the gentlemen. Beaumont will be lucky if he can get her.”

Eliza stared after the disappearing phaeton and said nothing as she absorbed her cousin’s words. Should she be concerned? Did Frances have any reason to suppose Beau wanted to get Harriet? She would have liked to ask, but somehow, she could not find the words.

“I confess I was a trifle jealous of Harriet’s ensemble today. How I wish I could wear that shade of green to such effect. You must admit, she looked ravishing. Beaumont couldn’t keep his eyes off her.”

After walking only a short distance, Frances declared she needed to rest. They found a bench and sat down to await the carriage’s return. “I tire so easily in my delicate condition.”

Eliza was aware her cousin was in the family way, but she had no wish to listen to her talk about her approaching confinement, and refused to give her any encouragement.

Frances seemed disappointed by Eliza’s lack of curiosity, but was determined to tell her about her delicate condition, whether or not she wanted to hear it.

“Mama says I have a robust constitution and there is no reason I cannot enjoy the season now the nausea has passed. How is your sister? No nasty sickness to stop her from enjoying herself?”

Eliza’s temper rose at her relative’s poorly concealed nosiness. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that Georgie might be in the family way. Her sister had certainly not said anything to her, but she was determined not to let Frances know that.

“She is in perfect health, thank you. Not everyone is susceptible to sickness.”

Her cousin made some non-committal sound and reverted to the subject of her own condition.

“Whitlow is delighted, of course, as are his parents. So vital to secure the succession of the barony. I hope Georgiana will provide Castleford with an heir. Such an important duty of a wife.”

“A duty? Children are a gift from God.”

“Yes, yes. I know,” Frances said, dismissing Eliza’s words as an irritation, “but it would be a shame if she failed Castleford in this.”

With difficulty, Eliza bit back some of the inappropriate responses that came to mind.

“Castleford is perfectly happy with his choice of wife, whether they have ten sons or none. You only have to see them together to know that.”

Frances tittered in a way that grated on Eliza’s ears. “Yes, indeed. So quaint that Castleford dances attendance on his wife everywhere she goes.”

The battle was on. Eliza’s eyes sparkled with indignation. Georgiana would quake, knowing her sister was in danger of saying something outrageous.

“It must be so comforting for her to know Castleford’s love does not depend on her ability to produce an heir.” She made a show of looking about her. “I don’t see Mr Whitlow. Is he tired of accompanying you out already?”

Frances curled up her nose disdainfully, her lips down-turned in scorn. “How unfashionable that would be. Whitlow is at his club. Gentlemen do not care to squire ladies around unless they are on the lookout for a wife.”

Eliza could stomach no more of Frances’s arrogance. She jumped up from the bench. “Let’s walk.”

Despite her cousin’s protests, Eliza strode away from her along the path. She soon recollected herself and walked back to her companion, but she refused to engage in any further conversation.

At last, the Viscount’s phaeton came bowling down the track and stopped beside them.

Miss Whitlow had a smug expression on her face and shot Frances a knowing look before turning back to Beau. After gazing into his eyes for what Eliza thought was an excessive length of time, Harriet favoured him with another of her provocative smiles before allowing his man to hand her down from the phaeton.

Eliza fidgeted with her reticule, embarrassed to observe Harriet’s behaviour. Such brazen confidence produced a lowering sensation in the pit of her stomach. How could she compete with such a woman?