The marchioness leaned forward to whisper behind her fan. “I quite agree with you that London is a very noisy and dirty place, but if one wants to be acquainted with the most charming, most fascinating people, one simply
must
journey to the metropolis.”
Althea nodded thoughtfully as she recalled the stultifying conversation of the squire’s wife and his two vapid daughters back at Clarendon. The marchioness did have a point; there was certainly greater variety to be found in town. Perhaps the marquess had been mistaken about his mother; perhaps she had not been so vain and frivolous as she had been lonely in the country.
“It may be rather overwhelming at first, but in time, I assure you, you will come to feel as comfortable here as you do in the country.” The marchioness reached over to pat Althea’s hand in a kindly fashion. “But keeping up with the
ton
can be fatiguing if one is not accustomed to such a hectic existence, and being the cynosure of all eyes is wearing in the extreme. Even my Gareth complains of it, and as a gentleman, he is not subjected to the scrutiny that a young woman is. Not that he does not cut a most dashing figure, but gentlemen’s fashions are so much simpler than ours; do you not think so? And it takes so much less effort on their part to stay a la mode.”
Althea, who had wished countless times as she was being decked out for yet another function that she were the son her father longed for, nodded emphatically.
“Good. I am glad that we are in agreement. But it can be difficult even for gentlemen. Gareth here ...” Catching sight of a tall figure not far away from them, the marchioness beckoned to her son in a way that could not be ignored. “Gareth hardly dances at all at these things, and I know it is simply that having suffered from excessive reserve as a boy he finds it difficult to intrude on others even as a grown man. Gareth, my dear, I know that Lady Althea is absolutely longing to dance, but the young men are all so concerned with cutting a dash themselves they do not stop to think for a moment about the young ladies. You have inherited your dear father’s grace on the dance floor and will make her a most pleasing partner.” The marchioness turned to a miserably self-conscious Althea. “I know that you waltz, my dear, for I have seen you do it quite beautifully times out of mind.”
Gareth was left with no alternative but to bow with as good grace as he could muster, offer Althea his arm, and lead her to the floor. “Now you have had your own opportunity to experience my mother’s infinite capacity for making others do her bidding,” he remarked cynically as they joined the other couples on the floor.
“She was only being kind, my lord. She
did
seem to understand what it is like to be the object of all eyes, the subject of hundreds of comments. I found her to be surprisingly sympathetic.”
“Because she wished to be.” Even to his own ears, Gareth’s voice grated harshly. “I know you think I am being overly critical, but did it occur to you why she wished for you to be my partner?”
“She said as much, that you, that I ...”
“Yes, what did she say about the son she hardly ever spent any time with?” HJs gray eyes bored into her.
“She said exactly what you said about yourself. That you were reserved as a boy and therefore do not like to intrude on others.” Althea thrust out her chin defiantly.
A bitter laugh escaped him. “A masterful stroke. No, I have told her many times that I do not dance because I have no desire to make idle chatter with some silly miss who only wishes to attach my interest in order to cut a dash or to lure me into making her an offer. No, my mother wished me to dance with you, not out of concern for you or for me. She wished for me to dance with you because she wants more pin money.”
“Wants more pin money?”
Annoyed as he was, Gareth could not help chuckling at the .confused expression on his partner’s face. “You are an incomparable, Lady Althea, I will grant you that, but you are not the only incomparable in the room.”
“I quite agree. Mama is forever telling me that I should exert myself to have manners as captivating as Lady Mary Sotherton’s, and that gentlemen prefer a woman who is fashionably fair and always exquisitely turned out like Miss de Villiers.”
“Exactly.” He found her utter lack of envy toward these two potential rivals dangerously endearing. Casting back in his memory Gareth could not recall ever meeting a single woman so utterly unimpressed by her own charms as Lady Althea Beauchamp. “What distinguishes you from these other two young ladies, if you will forgive me for saying it, is your immense fortune. I apologize for putting it so bluntly, but as you yourself have often alluded to it, you have no illusions as to its attractions.”
“No.” Althea stared off over his shoulder as she considered this argument. It was true that Lady Mary and Miss de Villiers were more conventionally beautiful, and they were charmingly coquettish in a way that, according to the Duchess of Clarendon, men found impossible to resist, but they did not attract the crowds of admirers Althea did.
As they whirled around the floor, Althea caught a glimpse of the Marchioness of Harwood watching them closely, a triumphant smile curling her lips. An unpleasant shiver of recognition ran up Althea’s spine. Her partner was right. There was no mistaking the expression on the marchioness’s face. It was not pride at the handsome figure her son and his partner cut on the dance floor. It was not pleasure in the fact that she had matched him up with someone he could enjoy conversing with. It was greed, pure and simple. Althea had seen the same expression on the faces of her own admirers too many times not to recognize it for what it was.
The familiar ache of disappointment swept over her as she realized that once again she had hoped for more from someone she was beginning to think of as a friend, or at least a pleasant acquaintance. Once again she represented nothing more than wealth and connection to a person who had seemed genuinely interested in her welfare. But this time the disappointment was tempered by the knowledge that the marquess, who must have suffered such disappointments a hundred times over, had been telling her the truth.
At least, Althea thought, her parents had never deceived her. They had been nothing if not forthcoming about their plans for their daughter’s future, and no matter how strongly she disagreed with those plans, no matter how powerless she might feel, Althea did not feel like a dupe. The marquess, however, must have felt duped and betrayed many times through the years, as duped as his father had been before him.
“You, you, are ... I apologize for having doubted ...” Shock, disgust, and disappointment clogged Althea’s throat to such a degree that it was more a croak than an apology.
Gareth glanced down at her and, much to his surprise, saw the faint sparkle of tears in her eyes. His anger and frustration evaporated in an instant. He wanted to hug her to him and laugh triumphantly. For the first time in his life, it seemed, someone had believed him instead of his mother. He was unprepared for the tremendous sense of vindication it brought him, along with something else, something stronger and more compelling, something that warmed him through and through as he realized what it was like to have another person understand and sympathize with him.
But as he looked down at
Althea, the sympathetic expression faded, and a faint, almost crafty smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Gareth held his breath. Surely he had not been mistaken in thinking she understood. Please let him not be mistaken.
“And now, I think it is high time you return the favor.”
“What?” If Althea had looked confused a few minutes earlier, Gareth looked even more confused.
“If your mother is trying to marry you off to a fortune, why do you not do the same to her?”
“But I do not wish to marry.”
‘No, not you.” She chuckled indulgently, almost as though she were addressing a young child or a simpleton. ‘Your mother. If your mother wants a fortune, then let
her
marry a fortune, not you.”
It was so simple, so obvious that he could not believe he had not thought of it before, or, more surprisingly, that his mother had not.
“Your mother is still an attractive woman. There must be many, or at least some wealthy widowers who would like a wife to take them in hand.”
“I do not know. I have never thought ...” Gareth tried desperately to gather his wits, wits that he had thought served him well all these years until a mere slip of a girl had lately begun to outwit him at every turn.
“Grandmama will know some. She still has many friends in London and maintains a constant correspondence with many others across the country. She will know someone of wealth and rank who needs a wife or a hostess to run his establishment. In the meantime, we can keep our own eyes out for such a person here and we can check with each other regularly. That will keep your mother happy because she will see us together and think you are making great strides with an heiress. And my mother will think I have attracted the interest of an eligible bachelor.”
“How gratifying.”
“Well, she has warned me against you as someone who has never distinguished anyone with serious interest, and certainly she would prefer a duke, while my father would rather have someone more useful politically, but you are better than nothing.”
“You are too kind.” He laughed. The wickedly teasing smile and the impish gleam in her eyes made the Ice Princess look like a naughty ten-year-old. He could not help wondering if the serious and perfect Lady Althea Beauchamp had ever been allowed to be a naughty ten-year-old, or six- or five-year-old, for that matter. Had she ever been allowed to be a little girl by those rigid, exacting parents of hers?
Chapter 13
Inspired by a plan that would not only help free the marquess from his mother’s interference in his life, but would serve to distract her from her own worries about her future and give her grandmother something to put her mind to, Althea sought out the Dowager Duchess of Clarendon in her chambers the very next morning.
A spritely, energetic lady, the dowager duchess rose at dawn every morning, but, to ensure uninterrupted privacy, she allowed her son and daughter-in-law to believe that her age made her a much later riser. Since the duchess herself would never have been so unfashionable as to rise before noon, this gave Althea and her grandmother plenty of time to enjoy lively discussions of the previous evening’s card game or the most recent articles in
Blackwood’s
and the
Edinburgh Review,
copies of which could be found littering the dowager’s desk. Her bookcase was already crammed too full to afford any extra space for them.
“Grandmama, I have a project for us,” Althea announced as, pushing aside yesterday’s edition of the
Times,
she cleared a space for herself on a small settee near the fire.
“Oh?” The dowager had not seen her granddaughter looking this energetic or interested since they had left Clarendon.
“Yes, and I shall need your help.” Briefly Althea related Gareth’s history and outlined her plan.
As she listened, the dowager duchess grew thoughtful.
Her granddaughter was always the soul of kindness, beloved by everyone at Clarendon for her warmth and interest, but she generally reserved her real concern and attention for the animals on the family estate. With the exception of Jem, it was not like her to become so involved in helping a human, especially a man of the
ton.
She usually reserved her efforts for those weaker and more unfortunate than she. There was more to this than met the eye, and the dowager duchess felt her own interest and energy rising.
“Do you know any such men?”
“Lord yes, child. There are plenty of vain, foolish old men who would be more than happy to support the expensive tastes of a vain foolish women who is still lovely enough and a la mode enough to add to their consequence. Sir Digby Cricklade is just such a one. He has spent a lifetime hanging around the incomparables of twenty Seasons without ever having caught one. Undoubtedly he would be willing to invest a great deal for the chance to squire around a diamond of the first water even though her reputation was gained years before you were born. And then, of course, there is Cuthbert. You remember Lord Battisford, an even bigger fool than Sir Digby, and even plumper in the pocket. He has no mind of his own, and since that harridan of a wife died, he has been in desperate need of someone to lead him around by the nose. Your marquess’s mother may be too indirect in her methods, for Cuthbert is clearly comfortable with only the most imperious of women. However, we may be able to do the trick with one or the other of them I should think.”
“Thank you, Grandmama. Will you help arrange introductions?”
“Certainly, I shall. Of course, both of them are too stupid to be of any use in the card room so we shall have to confine our strategies to the ballroom.”
They initiated their campaign that very evening among the select crowd patronizing that most exclusive of gathering places, Almack’s. Althea actually found herself looking forward to the evening though ordinarily she loathed the Wednesday gathering above all others, for the intensity of observation and speculation was almost palpable among those lucky enough to attend. The plainness of the ballroom itself, the mediocre quality of the suppers, and the low stakes at cards meant that there was nothing to distract anyone from the major function of the place which was to serve as the premier center of the marriage mart and hotbed of gossip.
But their project took her mind off this, and it was with a mingled sense of relief and anticipation that she identified the Marchioness of Harwood in a tête-à-tête with her constant cronies, the Countess of Rothsay and Lady Edgcumbe at the very moment that her grandmother murmured in her ear, “We are in luck. Sir Digby and Lord Battisford arc both here, though I supposed it is hardly a surprise since both of them would rather die than miss being seen in these hallowed halls. Now we must contrive to fall into conversation with them. Come.”
They had been standing not too far from the entrance to the ballroom, the duchess on one side of Althea, and her grandmother on the other. It was left to the dowager not only to manage a casual encounter with their quarry, but to come up with a compelling reason to detach her granddaughter from her daughter-in-law.