Cecilia Grant - [Blackshear Family 03] (15 page)

Well might Lord Cathcart ask. The last time the viscount had seen him, Nick had been dragging his heels through a progression of ever-more-sordid gaming establishments
and regretting, with each step, that he’d allowed Cathcart to talk him into such a louche sort of evening.

Cathcart and Will, that was. It had taken his brother’s and their old schoolfellow’s cajolery combined to coax him out of his rooms and into that escapade.

And he was well shut of such capers. “You’ll be relieved, I’m sure, to hear that I’ve come solely on a business matter.” He performed a small, straightening adjustment to one kid glove. The viscount, as always, was meticulously tailored from head to toe, his own gloves pristine. Nick could never help feeling a bit shabby in his company. “Our host’s brother has been made a baron and takes up his seat in the House this session. He’d like to learn what he can of public and persuasive speaking from someone with courtroom experience. I’m to meet with him here.”

“Ah. Ambitious fellow. Just your sort. What’s in it for you? I don’t suppose a new title will come with any pocket boroughs to bestow.”

“He’d hardly be bestowing them on me even if he had them. I don’t meet the property qualification, recall.”

“People get round that all the time.” Cathcart gave a dismissive wave. “From what I hear, a good half the men in Commons had their land transferred to them by a patron, and taken back once the seat was secured.”

“I consider that an argument for extending parliamentary eligibility to all men with a sufficient income, not only those who derive their money from the land.” This was one of the liveliest mealtime topics among his fellows in the Middle Temple of late—but he must remember he was at a party, and speaking to a viscount who but irregularly attended sessions in the House of Lords. Cathcart wouldn’t take much interest in the debate. “And even if I did wish to pursue a seat through
adherence to the mere letter of the law, I haven’t any patron willing to abet me with temporary ownership of land.”

“You haven’t a patron
yet
.” The viscount had a way of regarding all impediments as minor. “Perhaps this baron will be the man. And even if he hasn’t got direct control of any seats in Commons, he might advance your interest with those who do. Don’t tell me that hasn’t entered your own thoughts.”

“Entered? Yes.” He fixed his gaze out over the ballroom. “However, the idea cannot progress very far, for reasons of which I’m sure I needn’t remind you.” Cathcart knew, better than almost anyone, of the constraints on Nick’s professional hopes. He’d been Will’s second, after all, in the duel by which the youngest of the Blackshear brothers had … avenged his ladylove’s honor, or claimed her away from her protector, or whatever the object of that meeting had been.

“If you were hoping for an invitation to one of the better clubs, then yes, that matter might stand in your way. I cannot imagine the House of Commons is nearly so concerned with who a man’s brother might have married.”

Now the viscount was spouting nonsense just to cheer him. For all his political indifference, Cathcart knew perfectly well what sort of men filled the House of Commons. Country gentry. Second sons of peers. Heirs biding their time until they could assume the title, and take their fathers’ vacated seats in Lords. A man’s name counted for just as much in the House of Commons as in any refuge of the haut ton.

Little to be gained by arguing. Another subject had arisen and been openly recognized between them, and now Nick cleared his throat. “Do you hear anything of Will?” There was no good reason for him to ask. Martha had already told him all about their brother’s basic
circumstances, and was always willing to tell more if he would only inquire.

“I dined with him and his wife a fortnight ago. He’s well. They both are.” The viscount fixed his attention on the middle of the dance floor, recognizing the delicacy of the subject.

“Ah. I wasn’t aware you’d kept up that level of intercourse.” The knowledge stung, unaccountably.

“To a point. I don’t care to impose the acquaintance on Lady Cathcart”—he nodded to where his wife, a shy, slender creature, was dancing with a man Nick didn’t know—“so they don’t dine at my house. But I do see them from time to time. Their circumstances are modest but Will seems content in the life he chose.” He paused and turned his head to face Nick. “He doesn’t reproach you, you know.” His words came quickly, as though he half expected to be rebuked before he could get them all out. “No more do I. You chose the only possible course for a gentleman whose ambitions depend upon his good name. Even a trivial fellow like myself can see that.”

Nick angled his face away, that the sentiments there not make a book for the viscount’s perusal. Across the room a young lady had sat down by Miss Westbrook. The two were speaking, half turned toward one another, the very picture of happy conviviality.

“Thank you for saying so.” He made a brief and slight bow, still not facing Lord Cathcart. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“Think nothing of it. This is your pupil approaching now, isn’t it? Astley’s brother?”

Some distance to their right, the baron had indeed come into view, picking a path alongside the dancers. He raised a hand when Nick caught sight of him, and Nick greeted him in return.

Probably they’d want to confer in a room less noisy than this one. He’d have to abandon his watch of Miss
Westbrook. Not that she looked likely to get into any trouble, tucked away among the matrons and satisfied to be speaking with a friend, but he had taken her safety upon him and—

Inspiration struck. “Cathcart.” He, too, had friends at this party, or at least one worthy friend who’d already proven his willingness to be cordial to people on the wrong side of a social fault line. He pivoted to address the viscount head-on. “Might I prevail upon you to do a service for a pretty girl?”

“B
UT
M
R.
Bingley is so much
kinder
a man.” Miss Smith, who’d stopped by to greet Lady Harringdon and been commanded to join them, now occupied the chair at Kate’s other side, absently twisting a corner of her shawl, not once glancing out at the spectacle of dancers and dance as she applied herself to articulating this opinion. “He defended Elizabeth and Jane against his sisters’ criticism from the start. Mr. Darcy didn’t come round until he’d been bewitched by Elizabeth’s eyes.”

“But he wasn’t bewitched by her eyes, truly. He only thought them fine after he’d begun to admire her character and temperament,” Kate said, clasping her hands in her lap and letting all energy flow into this unexpected and terribly welcome discussion. The friends to whom Lady Harringdon had presented her were impressive, to be sure, but their conversation had been strictly superficial. “Mr. Bingley approves everyone and everything indiscriminately. With Mr. Darcy, you know his good opinion, when it comes, is based upon his having perceived your particular merits.”

“And I’m to be honored by that?” For a girl who’d grown up in a house without barristers, Miss Smith had an excellent disputing style, her thrusts and parries all delivered with such good nature as must blunt any sting
of antagonism. “No, thank you; I prefer the generosity of a man who will credit me with every virtue, and leave me the burden of proving him wrong.”

“What is all this talk of
I
and
you
?” Lady Harringdon, at Kate’s right, had been content to fan herself and hum along with the violins, only intermittently attending the young ladies’ conversation. Now she closed her fan with a smart snap. “You’re not either of you in that story, and as I recall, those gentlemen both found brides who suited them very well. You must give up thinking of them, and pay some heed to unmarried gentlemen who actually walk among us.”

That admonition, was meant for Miss Smith. At the moment of the young lady’s sitting down, the countess had taken care to point out several gentlemen with whom it might behoove her to dance, if asked. None had yet approached.

Was there some residue of disappointment, still, that her aunt would not be pointing out such suitable prospects to her? To be sure. If she’d only had Lady Harringdon’s proper patronage—if she’d entered the party as a guest, with her name announced, rather than trailing anonymously after the countess and sitting down among the matrons—she would have seen to it that every suitable man came near.

She would not dwell on disappointment, though. Not when she sat on a gilt-legged chair with a titled lady at her right and a congenial well-born girl at her left and a spectacle laid out before her of gentlemen in evening black dancing with ladies in gowns of every cut and color. She felt almost plain by comparison in her ivory muslin, despite having shortened the sleeves and trimmed the gown with pink ribbon that it might not look like the same one she’d worn to call at Harringdon House.

Almost
plain. She’d drawn a few lingering glances already,
even sitting off to the side as she was. Mr. Blackshear had smiled at her with undisguised admiration when they’d made their confidential across-the-room greeting. He looked rather impressive himself in evening clothes—his height and fine proportions were somehow more apparent in a crowd—even if he had come here only for business purposes instead of to dance.

“What can have become of your mother, my dear?” Again Lady Harringdon addressed Miss Smith, and made a show of craning to see past the dancers and into all corners of the room. “I declare she’s nowhere to be seen.”

“I expect she must still be in the card room. She’d only taken her place at a table a short time before I sat down here, you may recall.”

“Ah, so you did tell us. I remember it now. I wish I knew how long she means to play, though.” The countess’s brow furrowed in a show of cogitative effort. “I might better plan out my evening if I knew when we could expect the pleasure of her company.”

The hint was too plain for even a dullard to overlook. Miss Smith, no dullard, rose from her chair. “I’ll go ask her, shall I?”

“That would be lovely, dear. But see that you come straight back to us. If a gentleman waylays you and asks for a dance, tell him you must seek my permission first, your mother being elsewhere engaged.”

Miss Smith smiled—really, she looked a deal more radiant after a few minutes spent in energetic debate; you hardly noticed the forehead and chin—in a way that made clear she took no offense at being banished from the conversation to come. With a curtsy she turned and set off for the card room.

“What are we to do with her?” Lady Harringdon wanted to know as soon as she’d gone. “Here is a room
full of eligible men and she’d rather sit and talk of made-up men in novels. She won’t dance all the evening at this rate.”

“I fear I’m to blame.” Genuine guilt pinched at Kate. Miss Smith was supposed to be finding some alternatives to Sir George Bigby, not keeping her company. “She’s so delightful a conversationalist that I kept her speaking on that topic. She ought rather to have been making conversation with some gentleman.”

“She ought rather to be
dancing
, but no gentleman has asked.” The countess tapped Kate’s knee with the folded fan, in the manner of a judge certifying his words with a gavel. “I think we must take steps to make her more generally noticed.”

The
we
was gratifying. That Lady Harringdon thought her a useful ally made up for a little of the indignity of sitting along the wall watching her own aunt working to make a match for someone else. “Ought we to move to a different side of the room?” It sounded a bit like fishing: you might have poor luck in one spot, then move downriver and meet with abundance.

“I think she’d do better to make a circuit.” Again Lady Harringdon employed her fan in gavel fashion, this time upon her own knee. “What if you propose a turn about the room, and take special care to lead her past some of these groups of gentlemen, keeping her engaged all the while in such conversation as— But what can this rascal be wanting? You would think a viscount would know better than to march up and present himself when ladies are occupied in sorting out matters of great moment.”

The viscount in question was a handsome man, impeccably turned out, with pale hair and high cheekbones and a cravat that combined a barrel knot with an intricate waterfall styling. “Lady Harringdon.” He could
not have failed to hear the countess’s scolding words but he smiled, undeterred, and bowed over her hand. “I vow each of your daughters is more beautiful than the last.” He nodded to Kate. “If you’ve any more to bring out in future Seasons, I beg you will put a notice to that effect in the
Gazette
, that we poor gentlemen of the ton may begin even now to gird ourselves.”

“For shame, Cathcart.” Lady Harringdon swatted at him with her fan. “Lady Margaret who just married is the last of my daughters, as you know perfectly well. This pretty young person is Miss Westbrook, a relation on Lord Harringdon’s side. She accompanies me tonight as a prospective lady’s companion, and I assure you she is not susceptible to such overblown flattery as you attempt. Miss Westbrook, this dreadful flirt of a man is Lord Cathcart.”

“On the contrary, her ladyship is the dreadful flirt. I must scramble to keep up with her.” He bowed over Kate’s hand. “Can I persuade you into a dance, Miss Westbrook? Whether you’re a companion or a marriageable miss is of no consequence to me, as I already have an eminently satisfactory viscountess. I simply pride myself on standing up with the prettiest girl at every ball.”

Her heart lurched into a hasty cadence. This wasn’t the invitation from a titled gentleman she’d pictured—she’d imagined an unmarried man with subtler manners—but it would be a distinction nevertheless. And if other men saw her dancing, then other invitations might follow.

Yet how could she accept? Lady Harringdon had been on the point of asking her to take Miss Smith about the room and help her catch a partner. She wouldn’t be able to do that if she herself was dancing when Miss Smith returned.

She lowered her eyes to her hands, which sat folded in
her lap. “I’m deeply honored by your invitation, sir.” Oh, she hated to pass up this chance, even for the sake of solidifying the countess’s good impression of her. “But I’m here tonight by Lady Harringdon’s goodness, and I—”