“Nonsense. Your Uncle Robert is a fool, and his sons are worse.” The dowager frowned up at him. “You’re two-and-thirty, Phillip, and it is high time you married. I was willing to put up with your nonsense before, but now it is time to accept your responsibilities.”
Phillip Masham, Marquess of Eynsford, gazed at his mother, both annoyance and sympathy in his eyes. Despite the passage of time, she was still a beautiful woman, her high cheekbones and fierce blue eyes as memorable as the day she came out. The past five years had been difficult for her; his father had died, followed not six months later by the sudden death from pneumonia of his eldest brother, leaving behind a childless widow. At that time his mother had decided that Phillip, whose father had placed him in the military, should embark on a less physically hazardous career than leading cavalry charges, and he had been assigned to the diplomatic corps. The shocking death of his second brother in a sailing accident had made the diplomat a Marquess, a position to which he had never planned or wished to accede.
“Mother, dear,” he said sweetly, “I came here because you asked it of me. But you can hardly expect me to pick out one of these young women at random and hurry her off to the altar.”
“No, but you can dance with some of them, and try to find one to your liking,” the dowager answered bluntly. “Not that I’m terribly impressed; the lot of them look as though they have barely one thought to share.”
The Marquess raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the scene again. “Which should I lead out first,” he asked teasingly. “The one with the squint, or the one with the shocking amount of jewelry strewn about her person?”
“Lord, Phillip, I don’t care,” said his mother. “Surely one of ‘em must be reasonably attractive and able to speak two or three sentences without making a fool or herself.”
“You set the bar very low, Mother,” said the Marquess.
“Well, if you had a tendre for a respectable woman, I’d not say you nay,” she replied. “But I’ve never seen you in love, Phillip, so I don’t see why you should worry about that now. You’re far more interested in foreign opera singers and other men’s wives, so it hardly matters whom you marry. I suppose she must be able to put up with your nonsense, so a bit of stupidity might not be amiss.”
He sighed. “I should be shocked at your conversation, Mother, but I seem to be inured to it. How do you know about my opera singers?”
“All I hear from my friends is gossip about your doings. Do you take me for an idiot?” demanded his mother.
“Decidedly not,” responded the Marquess. “I would never make such a mistake.”
“See that you don’t,” she snapped.
“As long as we are here, I suppose I should do what I promised you, and dance with an eligible child,” he said, giving her a humorous look that belied the tone of their conversation. “Allow me to escort you to a seat.”
The dowager took his arm, looking up at him with affection. The marquess was an extremely handsome man, with thick dark gold, curly hair, astonishing indigo blue eyes set under arched brows and heavy lids, a thin, straight nose, and mobile, well-cut lips. A passing stranger might well have supposed he could have posed for a painting of a Renaissance angel. This beauty of countenance, however, was marred by the harsh, cynical expression that habitually blanketed his features and the air of perpetual ennui he carried with him.
“You certainly are handsome enough to charm any woman,” she said stoutly. “Finding a wife should be no difficulty at all.”
His lips twisted in a cynical smile. “I would have no trouble finding a wife if I were fat, bald, and aged,” he said. “There isn’t a woman here who wouldn’t take me simply for my title and my fortune.”
“And you would marry her only to supply an heir, so neither of you would be robbing the other,” his mother pointed out. “I see no reason why you should demand devotion from your wife when you have no intention of returning it.”
“Spare my blushes, Mother,” said the marquess. “One usually pretends that the bride and groom have some affection for one another.”
“Which is utterly ridiculous. In my day we didn’t tiptoe around the subject!”
“I’m well aware that there are no subjects upon which you will not hold forth,” rejoined the marquess. “But perhaps Almack’s is not the proper venue for your views.”
The dowager looked around. “As though I would give a button for the thoughts of anyone in this room,” she snorted.
“I am in complete agreement with you. And yet, if you wish me to marry one of them, perhaps discretion should be the order of the day.”
His mother snorted, but allowed him to lead her towards a chair by the wall. “Lord, not near Amelia Setterington,” she objected. “I can’t abide the woman.”
Phillip obligingly changed course, and soon the dowager was settled on a spindly chair next to her old friend, Lady Hambledon. After fetching her the strongest refreshment he could find, a claret cup that she greeted with derision, he prepared to leave her to her gossip.
“Mind you, find someone who won’t cause me trouble,” she said.
“A respectable, only slightly stupid, young woman who will not cause you trouble,” he said. “I will bear it in mind.” He kissed her hand lightly and strolled away, his gaze raking over the room. If dancing with a few of the young women present would make his mother happy he would be glad to oblige her, but he had no intention of marrying any of them.
The past years had given him ample opportunity to observe how much more attractive he was with a title than without. As a younger son with a competence that could command the necessities but not the elegances of life, he had been anathema to matchmaking mamas, who viewed a young gentleman of great beauty and excellent address, but limited fortune, with great suspicion. As soon as he acceded to the honors of the marquisate, however, he became the most pursued man in the kingdom.
“Eynsford! What are you doing here?”
The marquess turned to see a very exquisite young gentleman with elaborately high shirtpoints and a turquoise coat approaching him.
“Good evening, Partney,” he murmured. “I am escorting my mother.”
Sir Jason Partney raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised to see you at Almack’s. Since your return you’ve been far more likely to be found at Watier’s or the Daffy Club.”
“I find all this sadly flat,” agreed the marquess. “But my mother is formidable and not to be denied.”
“I’ve met her,” said Sir Jason with a laugh. “A daunting woman, to be sure. The last time I met her she told me she did not care for my coat.”
“She finds all of us to be dreadfully lacking in manners and taste,” said Phillip. “You should not feel singled out.”
“Would you care to join me in the card room?” asked Sir Jason. “The stakes here are not high, but it’s better than dancing with girls barely out of the schoolroom.”
The marquess shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I intend to dance with one of these delightful ladies.”
Sir Jason appeared to be surprised. “At your mother’s behest?” he asked.
“You understand me perfectly,” said Phillip.
Sir Jason laughed. “When you are bored, you know where to find me.”
“Indeed.” Phillip watched as Sir Jason strolled towards the card room and then resumed his perusal of the room. Many a young woman eyed him hopefully as he made his way across the room. The Marquess of Eynsford was known for his address, his exquisite dress, his impeccable manners, and his caustic wit. A sign of favor from him could greatly add to a lady’s consequence.
Eventually he appeared to find what he was searching for, and he crossed the room, his face a mask of boredom. If he noticed the inquiring glances and murmur of voices that followed him, he gave no sign. Eventually he reached his quarry, and bowed low before one of Almack’s patronesses, the Princess Esterhazy.
“Eynsford!” she exclaimed. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”
He kissed her hand and held it for a moment. “I’m delighted to find you here in London,” he said. “It reminds me of our time together in Vienna.”
She gave him a sly smile and tapped his cheek with her fan. “Ah, Vienna,” she murmured. “But now we are in England.”
“Indeed we are,” he said, releasing her. “And I must ask you to present me to Lady Pamela Ravenscroft as a desirable partner.”
“Lady Pamela Ravenscroft?” The princess’ delicate eyebrows inched up. “She’s a shy thing, and hardly in your league, Eynsford. The poor girl’s tongue-tied and often lacking partners.”
“Exactly,” said the marquess. “Her father was a good friend of my father’s, and I feel that I should help his children if I can.”
The princess laughed. “How noble of you! You mean to lend her some of your consequence, do you? But you are not epris in that direction?”
The marquess gave her a look of amazement. “Hardly,” he said. “After being in your presence how can I look at another woman?”
“You’re altogether too glib, Phillip,” murmured the princess. “But I don’t see why we shouldn’t give the youngster a treat.”
With a flirtatious look she took his proffered arm, and they strolled across the room to where Lady Pamela stood by her mother. A seventeen-year-old still in possession of her baby fat, with a slightly sallow complexion and large dark eyes, she barely glanced at them at first, but her expression became increasingly alarmed as they drew closer.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?” asked the princess. “She looks terrified. Perhaps it would be kinder for you to find a woman more up to snuff.”
“Not at all,” replied the marquess. “This is my good deed for the day.”
The princess shrugged. “Very well, my friend.”
They paused in front of Lady Pamela, who gaped at them openly. Her mother stepped quickly into the breach.
“Good evening, Your Highness, Lord Eynsford,” she said, feeling a slight sense of satisfaction at the envious eyes turned on them by the other ladies in the vicinity.
“Ah, Lady Ravenscroft,” said Princess Esterhazy. “Allow me to present Lord Eynsford as a very desirable partner for your daughter.”
Lady Pamela flushed a brilliant shade of red as Phillip bowed over hand. “If I you would honor me with this waltz?” he murmured.
“Oh—oh my,” stammered Lady Pamela, shooting an anxious glance at her mother, who nodded firmly. “Why—why yes, thank you, Lord Eynsford.”
With a nod at Lady Ravenscroft and a wicked smile directed to the princess, the marquess led Lady Pamela out onto the floor. He lightly circled her waist with one arm, and clasped her hand in his.
“Are you ready?” he asked gently.
She glanced up at him, alarm in her eyes, but nodded. With a reassuring smile, Phillip swept her into the dance. Lady Pamela had clearly been trained in the steps of the waltz, but was an inexpert practitioner. The marquess, however, was extremely adept in that art, having found over the course of his years as a diplomat that skills in the ballroom were every bit as important as those at the negotiating table.
He did not speak to Lady Pamela for some moments, quite aware that she must be overwhelmed by the moment. Eventually, however, it felt it best to attempt a conversation.
“Is this the first time you’ve waltzed?” he asked in a gentle voice.
Lady Pamela’s head popped up, and she gazed at him, her eyes wide. “I’ve waltzed with my dancing master, of course,” she said.
“Of course,” he responded. “I hope I dance as well as he does.”
“Oh yes, of course you do,” breathed Lady Pamela.
“You honor me,” said his lordship.
Lady Pamela dropped her eyes, and Phillip was quite sure that she was counting her steps. “Are you enjoying Almack’s?” he asked.
“Oh yes, it is so very exciting,” Lady Pamela informed the top of his waistcoat. “Mama says that it is very important that I make a good impression here.”
The marquess’ lips twitched slightly at this confession. “I am sure that you will make an excellent impression tonight,” he assured her.
She looked up again. “Do you think so?”
“I am certain of it,” he promised.
The rest of the dance was accomplished in silence, Phillip gazing down at the top of Lady Pamela’s head with a slight smile. When it ended, he retained her hand, and asked her to honor him with the country-dance that the fiddlers were striking up. After glancing anxiously at her mother, who nodded encouragingly, Lady Pamela agreed, and the marquess led her expertly through the intricate figures. After the dance was through, he escorted Lady Pamela to an adjoining room, where he procured her a lemonade before restoring her to her mother, who beamed at him.
“Thank you for dancing with me, Lady Pamela,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly.
“Oh no, thank you Lord Eynsford,” she breathed. “That was lovely.”
“As are you,” he said. He bowed over Lady Ravenscroft’s hand and took his leave. As he moved away he saw a young man hurry up and ask Lady Pamela to dance. Were the Marquess of Eynsford had been pleased, Society was not likely to find fault.
The marquess had the pleasure of observing Lady Pamela dance every one of the next five dances, while he led out onto the floor a selection of young women, not one of whom he could recall five minutes later. Eventually he returned to his mother’s side.
“Have I made you happy?” he asked, bowing before her.
“Lord, Phillip, I don’t know. Are you going to marry any of ‘em?” she asked.
“Did you have a particular favorite?” he asked. “I could call on her parents tomorrow.”
The dowager shook her head and stood. “You are humoring me. I know you’re bored to pieces.”
“I could never be bored when I am with you, Mother,” he promised.
“Do you talk to your opera singers that way?” she asked.
“Not at all. They frequently bore me,” he said lightly.
The dowager laughed. “Well, Phillip, I suppose I must thank you for doing as I asked. I know you aren’t interested in any of these girls, but do keep it in mind that you need to be married, and soon.”
“I will marry when I find someone as interesting as you,” he promised, raising her hand to his lips.
She snatched it away. “Don’t try to get around me that way, Phillip. I can’t be charmed away from my goal.”
“I am very well aware of that,” said the marquess. “Your persistence is one of your most singular characteristics.”
“Poppycock,” said his mother. “Some day you’ll get your comeuppance, Phillip, and I’ll be glad to be there to see it.”
“I’m sure you shall,” said the marquess smoothly, and, taking her arm in his, led her from the room.
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 30
