The Bridal Quest

by Candace Camp

  It was only to be expected, she decided, and though of course it did not matter in any way to her, she could not help but feel irritated at this further example of typical male behavior. Gideon was about to court a wife, yet at the same time he was carrying on an affair with a mistress. Or perhaps not an affair with a mistress, just indulging in an even more meaningless encounter with some woman. Irene knew, of course, that she was jumping to conclusions, but that fact did not prevent her from feeling annoyed.

  She wondered who the woman was—the wife or daughter of one of the tenants? It would have to be someone who lived close by. Perhaps there was a willing widow in the vicinity, happy to ease her loneliness with the handsome lord ... or could it be one of the housemaids? Irene cast her mind over the ones she had met, wondering which of them might be pretty enough to catch Gideon's eye.

  She considered how she might find out where Gideon had gone and whether he had met someone, and then in the next moment realized how foolish her thoughts were. What did it matter if he was meeting a woman? It was no concern of hers. She would do much better to control her imagination and her curiosity, and concentrate on the task at hand: getting Gideon married. Let his future wife worry about the rest of it.

  Gideon arrived finally, looking rushed and irritated. Irene made a point of glancing at the clock on the mantel. He followed her gaze, and his lips twitched with obvious annoyance.

  "Yes, I am late, Lady Irene," he said grouchily. "I am afraid I allowed some trifling little business matters to interfere with my main duty in life—learning to pretend to be a gentleman."

  "You are forgiven," Francesca returned placidly. "However, you have no need to pretend. You already are a gentleman by virtue of your birth."

  "Yes, you simply need to learn to act like one," Irene added caustically.

  "And I am to learn manners from you?" Radbourne asked, raising one straight black brow.

  "Oh, Irene knows her manners," Francesca replied before Irene could speak, casting a droll glance in her direction.

  "She simply does not always choose to apply them." She paused, then added, "As, no doubt, you will choose, also."

  Gideon allowed a smile to creep in. "Lady Haughston, I would say that you have put us both in our place."

  Francesca nodded, giving her little smile, as of a secret shared, to remove any ill will from the situation. Irene, for the first time in her life, felt a curious envy of Francesca's winning manner. She looked at Lord Radbourne, who had come into the room with such irritation and resistance and yet who now seemed relaxed, almost malleable. He was smiling at Francesca, and Irene felt an unaccustomed twist of resentment inside her, a feeling so uncommon that it jolted her. Surely she did not— No, this could not be jealousy.

  She turned quickly away, taking refuge in the task before them. "If you would be so good as to take a seat here, Lord Radbourne?"

  He moved over to where she stood beside the table and looked down. There, spread out before his chair, was an elaborate setting of glasses and eating utensils, grouped around a folded white damask linen napkin in the center.

  "Ah, I see," he said, with a derisive twist of his mouth. "The infamous cutlery."

  "'Tis easy enough to learn," Irene began.

  "Oh, my lady, I'm not so sure about that," he commented, dropping into the chair in front of the table. "Some of us are intolerably slow learners."

  "I am sure that you are not," she retorted flatly. "And your first lesson is this—You must not sit down at the table whilst ladies remain standing. A gentleman waits to sit until the ladies have been seated."

  "In fact, let us start before that," Francesca told him.

  "When you go in to supper, you must offer your arm to a lady."

  "Any lady?"

  "Oh, no. There is an order, of course. Yesterday evening was an informal setting, merely family and a few close friends. But at a more formal dinner, you would, as host, offer your arm to the highest-ranking female, which would in the case of last night's group be your grandmother. Both she and Lady Teresa are dowager countesses, of course, but by virtue of your grandmother's age, she would be higher. And, after all, Lady Pansy is the daughter of a duke." She shot a mischievous look at Irene as she went on. "Which, as we all know, outranks the daughter of the second son of a baronet."

  Irene colored a little at Francesca's reference to the evening before and stole a glance at Gideon. A smile twitched at his lips, and he looked at her, sketching a bow in her direction. She felt her blush deepen, but she could not keep from smiling back at him, and she was warmed by his look.

  "Do not mention it to Lady Odelia, of course," Francesca went on with a glint of amusement in her eyes, "but even though she, too, is the daughter of a duke, her married title is only baroness. So she is behind the others in precedence."

  "Strangely, her precedence would actually be higher if she had married below the rank of baron," Irene put in. "For then she would retain the rank she is owed as daughter of a duke, which is right after the wife of the eldest son of the duke, but before the wives of the younger sons of the duke."

  Gideon looked at her, his brows drawing together. "Are you seriously suggesting that I remember such a thing?"

  "It is not important at the moment," Francesca added quickly. "And, of course, in the future it will be something that you can rely on your wife to remember."

  "Ah, yes," he replied drily. "One of the many benefits of marrying an aristocrat."

  "Right now, let us proceed to the meal. You escort the lady in. Irene, you be the lady." Francesca waved Gideon toward Irene. When the two of them stood stock still, gazing at her, Francesca nodded impatiently. "Go ahead, you must practice. Offer her your arm."

  Gideon turned and walked to Irene, holding out his arm, bent at the elbow.

  "Very good. Nice form," Francesca said encouragingly.

  Irene put her hand on his arm, and the two of them walked over to the table.

  "She will be seated in order of precedence, as well," Francesca went on. "But of course, at a formal dinner, there will be dinner cards, so there will be no confusion. Ordinarily she would sit here." Francesca pointed to the spot in question. "But as I have had the servants lay out the table settings here, for now just seat her next to you. Pull out her chair and then, as she sits, gently push it in a little."

  Francesca gave him a nod of encouragement, and suppressing a sigh, Gideon pulled out the chair. Irene started to sit down, but Gideon slid the chair forward quickly, catching the backs of her knees, and she sat down with a graceless thump. Irene twisted to look up at him scathingly, and he returned her glare with a bland look.

  "You might try it a little less energetically," Francesca offered.

  "I am sorry, my lady," Gideon told Francesca.

  "I believe I am the one to whom you should apologize," Irene reminded him, annoyed.

  He smiled a little to himself as he sat down, saying, "Ah, but what would be the enjoyment in that?"

  Irene arched one eyebrow, her eyes beginning to spark, and Francesca went on quickly. "Now, to the place setting ... Irene, show him which utensils are which."

  Irene cast a recalcitrant glance at Francesca, but said, "Oh, very well." She leaned closer to Gideon and reached in front of him to point out the different eating utensils. "They are in the order in which one uses them, the outermost being used first. You see? The spoon for soup is on the far right of where they will set the plate. Next comes the fish knife, matched by the fish fork on the left side, then the meat knife and fork, the pudding spoon and fork, and finally the savory knife and fork. The spoons for the ices and for the fruit at the end will be brought out with the plates."

  As she talked, Irene was very aware of how close she was to him. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne, warmed by his body heat, and when she looked up from the place setting to see if he had followed her words, she found her face only inches from his. She moved involuntarily, startled, and had to put her hand briefly on his arm to steady herse
lf. He gazed back at her, and she knew that he had been watching her face, not the utensils to which she had been pointing.

  "Are you paying attention?" she asked sharply.

  "Of course. But which was this one?" He indicated the small rounded knife on the little plate to the left of the place setting.

  "That is the butter spreader." Irene straightened up, removing herself from such close proximity. "That is why it is put here across the bread plate."

  "And which of these glasses is for the liqueur?"

  "None of them. The servants will bring out the liqueur or port glasses at the appropriate time." Again she reached across him to touch the various glasses above the knives and spoons. "Sherry glass for the soup. White wine glass, with fish. Claret glass, with meat. And of course, water. But you do not really need to remember where they go. The glasses will be filled by the servants at the correct time."

  "And which did you say was the savory fork?"

  Irene reached across to tap the small fork that lay closest to where the silver savory dish would be placed by the servant. They continued in this manner for several more minutes, going over the uses and placement of the cutlery. It seemed as if every time he ran through a listing of them, Gideon forgot one or more, and Irene grew increasingly impatient.

  With each mistake or slip of the tongue, his expression grew more stolid and his voice seemed to slip further back into his East End youth, H's dropping and A's drifting toward I's. Even Francesca began to look nettled.

  Francesca sighed and said wearily, "Now, once again, Lord Radbourne. Which is the fish knife?"

  Gideon hesitated, looking down at the place setting in front of him. "Well ... now, they're all startin' to look the same to me." His hand hovered over the plate for a moment. "I'd say it'd be ... this one." His index finger fell decisively to the meat knife.

  Irene let out a groan. "No, no, no. Really, my lord, we have gone over this twenty times, at least."

  She reached over and took his hand, forcibly redirecting his finger to the smaller fish knife. "This is the knife for the fish. It goes with the fish fork over here on the left. They are both outside the meat fork and knife, as the turbot will come before the roast joint. I cannot conceive how you can still be confused over this."

  She looked at him in some exasperation. His face was set in the same blank, stony expression he had worn for the last few minutes. But there was something lurking in his eyes that made her pause.

  "It must be too 'ard for me, my lady," he started. There was a faint tremor in his voice, and he stopped, pressing his lips together tightly.

  Irene's eyes narrowed, and she leaned a little closer, staring into his eyes. "You are trying to gammon me, aren't you!"

  "I don't know what you mean," Gideon began, trying for a wide-eyed look, but his mouth began to twitch, and he brought his hand up, pressing his fist against his lips.

  "Oh!" Irene jumped up, her hands doubling into fists. "You are doing it much too brown, my lord! You cannot be so abysmally stupid and manage to run a successful business!"

  Gideon began to laugh, which only served to infuriate her even more. She turned away, and began to pace up and down the room, spewing forth a litany of complaints. "What is the matter with you? Why do I waste my time? You are the most ill-mannered, inconsiderate wretch!"

  As Irene continued to pace and fume, Francesca stared at Gideon from across the table, her eyebrows shooting upward. "You mean this has all been a pretense?" Suddenly she began to chuckle, and soon she, too, was laughing.

  "What is wrong with you?" Irene cried, whirling around to stare at Francesca now. "Have you gone mad? We have just wasted thirty minutes teaching this fool things he probably already knew!"

  Gideon turned his head toward her, grinning. "It isn't that hard, my lady. I think you put too much faith in Teresa's words last night. I did not spend my life in a hole. I have been able for some time to afford a chef—far better than the one in this drafty pile, I might add—and my butler would not have dreamed of having anything less than the perfect setting at my table. Even if I had not known how to eat when I arrived here, it merely takes looking at what everyone else is doing to learn. 'Tis not Euclid, you know, or the writings of Plato."

  Irene stared at him, hands on hips, perplexed. "Why?" she asked, throwing up her hands and walking back to the chair beside him. She sat down, shaking her head, and said again, "Why would you want us to think that you know nothing? Why would you try to act rougher than you are?"

  "It pleases my family so," he replied. His eyes glinted, and he added beneath his breath, "And how else was I supposed to get you so close?"

  Irene's eyes widened, a sudden warmth flooding her abdomen at his words. She glanced quickly at Francesca to see if she had heard his sotto voce statement. Francesca, still smiling from her spate of mirth and shaking her head in amused disbelief, did not seem to have noticed what Gideon said, and Irene relaxed a little and turned to look at him. He was watching her, his face relaxed from his laughter, but his eyes steady and watchful. Irene felt a blush rising in her cheeks, and she turned away, suddenly flustered and confused.

  "Don't be absurd," she said, but her voice did not come out as sharply as she had intended.

  "Very well, then," Francesca said, rising to her feet and settling her face back into a serious expression. "I apologize, Lord Radbourne, for listening too much to what others have said that you need. Perhaps we should start over. Maybe you have no need to polish your manners, in which case, there is really little reason for Lady Irene and me to be here. So I will ask you—is there any area in which you feel you could ... gain useful knowledge? Do something to make you fit in more easily with your new family and your peers? Or should Irene and I simply retire from our efforts?"

  "No," he said without hesitation. "I am sure that you and Lady Irene can improve me. But I know as much as I care to about tableware. I have a valet who endeavors to keep me looking the part. And, as you said, I will have a wife to keep me informed as to the order of precedence on any occasion. I am aware that my speech is a trifle wrong, but I can tell you that I worked at some length to speak in the proper manner, and I am told that it is my nature, not my grammar, that is not quite up to snuff. So I have little hope—and admittedly, little interest—in learning how to speak like a swell." He paused, then added, "There is one area in which I would like to improve my skills. I am hopeless on the dance floor."

  "Ah." Francesca looked pleased. "That, I am sure, is something that we can help you with." She looked over at Irene. "Don't you agree?"

  "Yes, of course." Irene nodded.

  They left the dining room and made their way to the music room. Irene had immediately seen the dangers inherent in teaching Gideon to dance. He would need to have a partner with whom to practice, and being his partner would require her to stand quite close to him the whole time, often with his hand on hers or even his arm around her. If being close to him at the table had stirred her in unaccustomed ways, she did not like to think of what she might feel while dancing with him.

  "Why don't I play the piano?" she suggested as they entered the music room, heading for the piano where Francesca had played for Lady Odelia the evening before.

  Francesca let out a little laugh. "Oh, no, my dear, you forget—I have heard you play. I think it will be better if I play the tune and you act as his lordship's partner."

  Unfortunately, Irene knew that Francesca had the right of it. Irene was not musically gifted and had hated the tedium of daily practice, so she possessed only minimal skill at the piano. And both she and Francesca were well aware of that fact, as young unmarried ladies were often called upon to show off such talents at various social gatherings. If Irene insisted on playing, Francesca would know that there was something behind her stubbornness, and she had even less desire to set Francesca speculating on why she did not want to dance with Lord Radbourne than she did to dance with him.

  "Of course." Irene gave in as gracefully as she could.

&
nbsp; She glanced over at Gideon. He smiled at her in a way that told her that he understood why she had wanted to play the piano. Worse, he knew why she was reluctant to dance with him—not because she was repelled by him, but exactly the opposite. Quite despite her own wishes, she was attracted to him. She was afraid to be in his arms, to move to the music with him, because she was afraid of her own response.

  "Shall we start with the waltz?" Francesca asked, going on without waiting for an answer. "I know it is not always done outside of London, but I think this will be a sophisticated enough gathering that it will be no problem. And it is the simplest to learn, I think. Irene, you explain the steps to Lord Radbourne while I find some music."

  Irene turned to Gideon as Francesca started searching through the pile of sheet music on top of the piano. He held up his hand.

  "I know the steps. I have been taught them. I am simply not expert at it. I think what I need is practice."

  "Of course," Irene replied, goaded by the smugness in his smile into a determination to remain utterly cool and unaffected throughout the dancing lesson. "Shall we try a few steps without the music first?"

  "If you wish." He held out his hand for hers, then drew her closer, putting his other hand at her waist.

  His palm was heavy and warm upon her side, his grip firm, and she was very aware of just how large his hand was. It made her feel a little breathless to stand this close to him, to look up into his face from only a few inches away. He was, she thought, a rather overpowering man, and she had to remind herself that she, on the other hand, was a woman who was not easily dominated.

  "The first thing to remember is that you must not grip a lady too tightly," she told him in an even tone. "Your hand should rest lightly at her waist."

  He lifted his hand just a little, and she reached down and moved his thumb a bit so that it was in exactly the correct position.

  "Now you must guide me in the direction we are going, but lightly. You must not be ham-handed about it, as if you are pulling and pushing a sack about. Merely a light pressure of your fingers. And you do not grip my other hand tightly, but cup it. Yes, just so. Now, let us start."