The Lady Is Daring

by Megan Frampton

And happiness wasn’t possible if he didn’t do something to change his life. To dare to compromise.

  To dare her to compromise.

  “I will, Mother,” he said, getting up to place a kiss on her forehead. “I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to find my happiness.”

  Her eyes were moist. “Is there—is there someone you have in mind?”

  He winced internally at how obvious he must be. Did he have “I have fallen in love” painted on his forehead?

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” he said.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, a few tears spilling down her cheeks, “that is wonderful. Tell me about her.”

  Bennett took a moment before replying. “She’s intelligent, courageous, good-hearted, and fiercely argumentative.”

  His mother’s smile faltered at the last part, but then she chuckled. “You wouldn’t be satisfied with a woman who was any less than that. Imagine how dull it would be to come home to a person who agreed with you all the time.”

  “Like being married to a fuzzy blanket?” Bennett asked in a wry tone. Reminded of Ida’s disdainful words when they’d first met.

  “Precisely!” his mother exclaimed. “Very clever. Have you asked her to marry you yet?”

  Bennett shook his head slowly. “Not yet, no.”

  She frowned. “And why not?”

  Just like Alex had said.

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Good.” She gripped his hand tightly once more, then released it with a sigh. “And those ladies and their daughters will come visit, won’t they?”

  “Yes, and perhaps if you are strong enough, you can go out with them to the park.”

  She smiled. “That would be nice. I will scold Nurse Cooper into making me better. I’ve been lying here for far too long. It seems I have a wedding to attend.”

  It wasn’t a guarantee that she would recover, but at least she had intimated she would try.

  “Thank you.” Bennett raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “And now I should let you rest. I’ve got some happiness to gain.”

  “That you do,” she said in a pleased tone of voice.

  Chapter 18

  Stand up for your own adventure.

  Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler

  “Ida!”

  Ida froze in mid-step on the stairs as her mother walked inside the house. It turned out she and Pearl hadn’t had to rush off to Pearl’s bedroom because the duchess had been out paying calls.

  But now Ida had to brace herself for a talk with her mother.

  “You are back!” The duchess strode forward, holding her arms wide. She folded Ida in an unwilling hug, patting her back as though approving of her.

  How long would it be before her mother returned to strong disapproval of her youngest daughter?

  “I was expecting to see Lord Carson here with you, but I suppose he has to go see his family.” The duchess spoke as though it were an inconvenience for Bennett to have his own family to care about.

  “It was so exciting to hear that you and he had gone off together!” the duchess continued. “I wish you had written to me, and not your sister.”

  “Pearl,” Ida supplied, in case her mother had forgotten.

  “But to hear that you and Lord Carson! Of course I had to break the news to Lord Bradford. He was terribly disappointed.”

  “About that,” Ida began, taking her mother’s arm. “Could we speak in your sitting room? I want to share some news.”

  Her mother nodded, clasping Ida’s hand in hers. “I think I can guess what the news is! And may I say I am so happy for you.”

  The unsettled feeling in Ida’s stomach grew. She wasn’t dreading telling her mother not to expect her to marry Lord Carson after all; she had spoken enough truths, no matter how unwelcome, in her lifetime to have gotten over the potential awkwardness.

  It was just that now that she knew how she felt, truly felt, it was agony to even speculate that it might not happen. Even though that was just what she had planned back in Della’s sitting room.

  But Pearl was right. She should give him the chance to know how she felt, to allow for the possibility of their being together, no matter how much Ida feared she would do or say something that would harm his business or his family.

  “So Lord Carson and I,” Ida began as she followed her mother into her sitting room.

  An hour later, Ida’s ears were still ringing with the force of her mother’s shrieking.

  It had not gone well.

  The duchess had thought at first that Ida was joking, and then, when she understood she was not, had begun to shout. She would not acknowledge Della, despite her return to London, she never wanted to meet Nora, and she was looking forward to what the duke would say when he found out.

  And then she started repeating all of it, only louder, at which point Ida excused herself and returned to her room, where she found a concerned Pearl.

  And a note.

  Lady Ida,

  Please do me the favor of appearing at Lady Linden’s party this evening.

  Lord Carson

  “You’ll go, won’t you?” Pearl said, looking over her shoulder at the note. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I will now, if you will be there. Is he bringing Della, do you think?”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Ida said, shaking her head. “I don’t think Della wants anything to do with Society now. I think she just wants to be with her family. With us. And perhaps to help Mrs. Wattings reunite with her own family.”

  Ida looked at the letter again, her heart fluttering. “I might as well get the ostracism over with. I’ll go tonight, if just to see how many backs are turned on me.”

  Pearl stroked her shoulder. “You’re my bravest sister.”

  Ida lifted an eyebrow. “Because I am willing to go to a delightful party? You have an odd notion of bravery, Pearl.”

  Pearl poked her gently. “You know that’s not what I meant. To see the gentleman you love, you idiot.”

  Ida laughed.

  It reminded her of what it was like when he teased her, all prickly hedgehog-ness of her.

  That made her throat get tight, and she tried to shove the thoughts out of her head. Yes. She would see him, and she would tell him the truth. All of it.

  This time, Bennett was seated at his desk when his father strode in. The viscount frowned, and looked as though he were going to say something, but Bennett raised an eyebrow—Ida style—at him, and he shut his mouth.

  His father took the seat on the other side of the desk.

  “I’ve heard a rumor about you and that lady,” his father said in a disapproving tone.

  “Lady Ida,” Bennett said, his voice tight.

  “There is no guarantee the duke will dower this Howlett sister well, given the way she has behaved.” He looked disgusted. “Running away with you, without thinking of how it would be perceived. The duke might demand we give him money to take her.”

  The evident scorn made Bennett want to punch his father. But that wouldn’t solve anything.

  Though it would make him feel better.

  “None of that matters.” Bennett spoke with a firm resolve. He planted his fists on the desk and rose, standing over his father, who appeared to flinch.

  Good.

  “I am going to ask Lady Ida to marry me. I am done with compensating for your failures.”

  The marquis blinked, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And then his face got red, as though his emotions were choking him. “If you do this, you’ll be sacrificing everything just because you’ve compromised some woman.”

  Bennett spoke in a slow, measured tone. “I have already sacrificed enough for the very same reason. Because you compromised some woman, and all of us suffer for it. I will not give up my own happiness because of familial obligation. The family is going to have to learn that I require a life, too.”

  “And this female is going to be enough for you? Be enough when your mother suff
ers because of you?”

  “How will she suffer?” Bennett asked, his throat tightening. “Any more than she has already, seeing your perfidy daily. Do you think she doesn’t know already? Do you think that if I spend only six hours a day on various business pursuits that she will suffer? I will always ensure she is comfortable. I just refuse to dedicate my life to ensuring your comfort.”

  The marquis’s face twisted, and Bennett wondered if his father was going to strike him. Instead, he stood and pointed toward Bennett, his expression furious.

  But no angrier than Bennett was.

  “You are no longer welcome in this house,” his father declared. “You will not be able to see your mother and you will no longer be privy to the family business.”

  Bennett snorted. “I wish it were that easy. No, Father, your complete disinterest in what has happened in this family has meant that I am the signatory on all matters of business. All this means is that you and I no longer have a relationship. I will set up my own house once Ida and I are married, and then we will invite my mother to live with us.”

  “You’ll be married to a lady of uncertain virtue and living with the dullest woman that has ever been born.” The marquis spoke in a vicious tone, and Bennett wondered when his father had gotten so cruel.

  “You will not speak of anybody I care about ever again,” Bennett said, his voice shaking. “I have told you what I am going to do, and that I will take care of things as I have. Just not to the extent you wish. I will be living my own life from now on.”

  “And I hope it is a damned one.”

  Bennett set his jaw, refusing to respond to his father’s childish taunts.

  He strode out of the office without a backward look. He should have had it out with his father long before this, but he was constrained by what he thought his mother deserved. But now that she’d told him how she felt, and what she wanted for him, he no longer had to worry.

  Unless Ida said no.

  “He’s over there,” Pearl said, pointing.

  Ida stood at the entrance to the ballroom, anxiety knotting her stomach. Not because she was unwilling to face her own disgrace, but because for once she couldn’t analyze what was happening.

  “You look lovely,” Pearl said, touching Ida’s waist.

  Ida smiled at her sister, knowing that that was the truth. She’d figured she was already ruined, she might as well be ruined in clothing that pleased her. So she’d borrowed a red gown from her sister Eleanor, the red of a literal scarlet woman. The irony of it made Ida smile.

  Pearl’s skill with a needle—often taken advantage of by their sister Eleanor—helped in adjusting the gown to Ida’s figure.

  The gown dipped lower than most debutantes’ gowns were normally cut, and Ida would have been more conscious of more of her bosom showing, but that concern ranked far behind having her mother scream at her in public, her father turning his back on her, and the man she loved being on the other side of the room.

  If she were to make a list in order of crisis, it would be:

  Man she loved on the other side of the room.

  Her mother screaming at her. Not because of the words, but because it made Ida’s ears hurt.

  Her father turning his back on her.

  Her gown. At least she looked good in the gown.

  “I wondered you were here this evening.” Ida turned at the voice, which belonged to a young lady, whose bitter expression made it clear she was a Carson-hunter.

  “I am not sure we have been introduced,” Ida said, lifting her chin.

  “I am not certain we should be,” the lady replied, looking Ida up and down.

  Pearl looked from one to the other, her mouth open.

  Ida shrugged. “Then we are at an impasse,” she said, taking Pearl’s arm as she began to walk away.

  “No, wait,” the lady said. “I am Lady Frances Mayweather. I am acquainted with Lord Carson.”

  “I presumed you were,” Ida replied. “So now we know who we both are, perhaps we should agree never to meet again.”

  She heard Pearl’s sharp inhale.

  Lady Frances’s eyes narrowed. “You do know that if he marries you, it is only because he is an honorable, responsible gentleman.”

  Ida snorted. “If your argument to persuade me not to marry him is to tell me he is both honorable and responsible, then I think you should reread Sophocles.”

  Lady Frances’s expression got puzzled.

  “You don’t deserve him,” Lady Frances said.

  Pearl tugged on Ida’s sleeve. “We should go get some punch. I am very thirsty.”

  Ida shook Pearl’s hand off, stepping close to Lady Frances. “Again, if you are trying to persuade me not to marry him because I do not deserve him, you do not make a compelling argument. I know I do not deserve him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”

  Lady Frances inhaled, her mouth pinched.

  Ida hadn’t planned on saying that, but of course she never planned on saying anything. Good work, Ida. You’ve just told this loathsome debutante you love him before you told him.

  “Now I’m not just wondering why you are here, but why anybody allows you to appear in public,” Lady Frances said, glancing over Ida’s head to where, presumably, other members of Society were wondering the same thing.

  Ida took a deep breath. She had a few choices. One was to nod and smile—albeit a pained smile—at Lady Frances.

  Well, she knew she wasn’t going to take that option.

  She could glare at Lady Frances and stalk somewhere else.

  Only, of course, other people would likely give her the cut direct, and she’d end up behind the pillar again.

  She was damned tired of hiding behind the pillar.

  The third option, the option she knew she was going to take, was a risk. But it was a risk she needed to take.

  “Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen,” she began in a carrying tone.

  She felt the whirl of skirts and the pointed glances as the people in the room either looked at her or tried to ignore her.

  “I have returned after a trip.” A scandalous intake of breath. “A mission, more accurately.”

  Whispered bits of conversation washed over her, all of which seemed to be saying, “She is entirely and openly scandalous.”

  Well, she couldn’t argue with them. But she was tired of having to feel guilty for it.

  She continued. Recognizing that she might be permanently shunned for what she’d done—what she might say—but not able to care. Not as long as she had her sisters’ good approval. “I have been gracing these ballrooms for close to a year now. Since my older sister Eleanor got married.”

  More whispers. Since Eleanor and Alexander’s marriage was nearly as scandalous.

  “And in that time,” she said, turning to look at a few people in the room, most of whom averted their gaze, “I have learned a few things. Things I would like to share with you.”

  She suppressed a grin as she heard some people in the crowd utter audible groans. Because of course they recalled other times she’d launched into lectures that had gone on for an interminable time, containing information only she found fascinating.

  They should go hide behind pillars and see what their conversational skills were like after that experience. And then come speak to her.

  “Knowledge and learning are not always highly valued for ladies. It is better that we spend our time doing embroidery, or doing good works, or learning how to dance.”

  A rustle in the crowd as some of them recalled that the duke’s daughters’ dancing master ran away with Della.

  Perhaps she should not have brought up that last point.

  “But what I want to share with you, what I learned on my recent journey, is that all knowledge is useful.”

  An obvious point, but one she was fairly certain young ladies generally did not acknowledge.

  “For example, on this trip I learned how to listen.” She paused so they could all absorb what she’d said
. “I learned how to share my thoughts and feelings. I learned”—and then she hesitated, because she wasn’t certain how to put it into words—“I learned that there is always more to learn.”

  Redundant, yes, but true nonetheless. Truly true, if she were being particularly redundant.

  “So while some of you might not want to know me after what I’ve done, and been through, you don’t know all the facts. I think learning and asking questions and finding things out is far better than judging someone for who they appear to be, and what you think they might have done.”

  Silence in the ballroom. Even the duchess was struck dumb—a minor miracle Ida would have to remember for the future.

  “I have learned not to judge for myself. Not to foreclose on someone who might appear only to be the sum of his responsibilities. People, all people, have myriad depths and nuances to them.” Except for, perhaps, Lady Frances. Ida would have to learn a lot more about that lady before she judged her favorably. “A responsibility might feel like a burden, but it is a burden some people gladly take on. If it’s done for the greater good.”

  She felt something at her side, and realized it was Pearl, who was taking her fingers in a firm grasp. Giving her encouragement, as she and her other sisters always had.

  Even though Ida hadn’t always recognized it.

  “Thank you for listening.”

  She stopped speaking, and waited for the response. Pearl withdrew her hand and began to clap; a few other young ladies did as well, despite their parents’ scandalized looks.

  It was enough. It was, perhaps, her final public speech, and there was no better way to cement her reputation as someone with a firm opinion than tell people precisely what she thought.

  “That was very good,” Pearl said in a whisper. “Much better than some of your other talks.”

  “That is faint praise, sister,” Ida said in a wry voice, “but I’ll take it.”

  “Ida?” Pearl said. “Over there?” And she pointed to where Bennett stood staring at her. She had lost him in the crowd; perhaps he had been hiding behind a pillar himself.

  Even though he was Charming Lord Carson, the most persuasive man in the House of Lords. The one who could likely convince her mother to stop talking.