At dinner that evening, things only appeared to get worse.
It began when Beatrice was informed that she would be sitting across from Mr. Grayson, and she suddenly was unsure of the gown she had chosen. Given all that she now knew about him, Beatrice would have been content to hide her neckline altogether with a collared dress so that the rogue would not be able to sneak glances at her in a licentious manner. Opting for a shawl, given that no such gown was at her disposal, Beatrice joined the dinner party, already feeling the heat of shame creeping up her neck.
Seated on either side of the table were Lord Randlay and Lady Ivanry, who were still locked in an intense disagreement that Beatrice thought should have come to fists at several points. Even the delicious-looking bird in the center of the table looked as though it wished to fly away when Lady Ivanry motioned to it, suggesting, “Your rules and regulations do you as much good as a dressed bird, Lord Randlay. They may make one appear put together, but that is merely superficial if the good graces are only skin deep.”
“I would say a woman of your age should not comment on other’s looks, Lady Ivanry,” Lord Randlay retorted, growing redder every second, “for every day your ‘skin deep’ beauty wanes like a dying rose.” Beatrice cut into her meat in silence as they began to refer to each other by their Christian names most abruptly and discourteously.
The other end of the table was similarly chaotic with Lord Ivanry talking between mouthfuls of food to Lord and Lady Saumon about his life back in New York. “You’d appreciate it, Lord Saumon,” Lord Ivanry proclaimed, gulping down his wine. “There are many places I would take you for a man’s pleasures that are much better than what you have here. Our American girls will just as soon hop into bed with their clients for hours on end as kiss their clients if the price is right!” To Beatrice’s right, Penelope nearly choked on an asparagus stem, and Beatrice could just imagine what her sister was thinking she may have to do for Lord Ivanry on their supposed wedding night.
Lord Saumon spoke up, frowning at his obnoxious guest. “Perhaps we should discuss this later, Lord Ivanry. I feel our present company may not be suited to hearing about such matters.” Beatrice was grateful for their host’s input, for it seemed to quiet Lord Ivanry as he moved on to talking about American industry.
If that was not enough noise for one evening, Mr. Grayson was also trying to engage Beatrice in flirtatious behavior that was highly suggestive and would have been obvious to the rest of the table if they had not been otherwise involved. Beatrice would brush off every comment about her clothes, pull her hand away quickly whenever he reached across the table so their fingertips could touch, and take deep breaths when the stormy blue in his eyes bore so deeply into her hazel depths that her heart would skip a beat.
She glanced up at the ornate, brassy clock on the wall and counted the hours until she could retire to bed. The minute and second hands seemed to move even slower as she did so, mocking her attempts to escape her present situation.
* * *
Anthony was not dull – he knew that there was something wrong with the way Beatrice was receiving his affections over dinner. He thought perhaps it was because he was not part of the welcoming committee, but that could not be his fault, for his grandfather had insisted that he remain in the library to study. “I will tell them you are conversing with some esteemed gentlemen,” Lord Randlay had joked to himself, “for that is precisely what you are doing, Anthony. Take note of these important men, these great authors who write about financial dealings.”
He had heard the slight commotion on the front lawn and wished he was a part of it – Anthony had always enjoyed a bit of drama if only so that it would make his life less tedious and give him the opportunity to woo a downtrodden lady. But luck was not on his side, and Anthony had to wait for his share of familial theatrics until dinnertime. He was pleased to learn that he would be sitting across from Miss Beatrice and started to spin little threads of seduction in his mind to trap the innocent butterfly.
She seemed less than pleased, however, if her avoidant gaze and pursed lips were anything to go by. Despite his best efforts, Anthony could not seem to find the focus to charm the young lady properly, given the madness on either end of the table. He was impressed by his grandfather’s remarks when Lady Ivanry called his decorum into question and was further amused by the way the older woman seemed to know how best to vex the Viscount.
“You talk as if your family line is the most important in all of England, second only to the Prince Regent, Lord Randlay. Perhaps I should tell everyone of how your great lineage spawned from horse breeders!” Lady Ivanry volleyed, her hands shaking with rage as they gripped the silver cutlery.
“Never has a woman caused me to lose my temper, not even my late wife, but you, Lady Ivanry, have a knack for it. If you would be so inclined, we could lay out our family trees on this very table and compare our ancestors. While mine were certainly people of the land, I would wager that yours were owners of those dens of ill repute!” Lord Randlay boomed back, glaring at the lady who saw herself as his equal.
Anthony was not sure who would win this evening’s argument, but he knew that the following morning, his grandfather would make certain that Anthony knew to stay away from the Ivanry ladies. The gentleman in their family, if he could even be called that, was of little interest to Anthony. Lord Ivanry was, as Anthony saw it, another man who squandered others’ money and then begged for more like a dog.
He had turned his attention to Lord Ivanry and their hosts’ discussion just as Lord Ivanry was making lewd comments about the women in America and found his suspicions to be correct. Though they had only been formally introduced just before dinner, Anthony had no desire to get to know the gentleman better even if he was Miss Beatrice’s guardian.
The lady herself, looking as exhausted as Anthony’s ears felt being surrounded by all this noise, was moving mashed potatoes around on her plate mindlessly. Anthony tried to cheer her up with a compliment. “You look lovely this evening, Miss Beatrice. I know of no other ladies who could fit that gown as well as you do.” Her eyes grew wide at his suggestive comment, and though he had meant every word of it, she did not respond positively. Instead, her eyes darted to the clock on the wall, seemingly counting the minutes until she could leave.
This was most confusing to Anthony, for he had thought that his valiant behavior in the library would warrant some gratitude on the lady’s behalf. And while he was not expressly looking to be thanked, it would have been kind of her to at least accept his gestures like she had when he backed her up against the wall and kissed her. Anthony sat straighter in his chair and tried again, fingers itching with the desire to touch hers, but he kept them close this time.
“Now that we have been properly introduced, perhaps I could show you the magnificent paintings that hang in the east wing here,” he offered, forcing his smile to appear more friendly than lustful. “You seem like a lady who can understand the meaning behind a painter’s brushstrokes, no matter how faint the color.” She only stared at him, perplexed by his words which were meant to carry a secret meaning for her to understand.
But it seemed as though she failed to grasp it or simply wished to ignore him when she looked back down at her plate. Now, Anthony was truly at a loss for words, having intended for that invitation to tell her that he still wanted to get to know her even though he could not be as bold as he had been when they were alone. And as the madness continued between his grandfather and Lady Ivanry and their hosts and Lord Ivanry, Anthony was not sure whether Miss Beatrice truly liked him at all. Perhaps the only excitement she felt for being here was for Miss Saumon and for no one else. That thought severely depressed Anthony, and he spent the rest of dinner thinking about her waning affections.
* * *
When dinner had finally concluded and Beatrice was allowed to go up to her chamber while the older adults retired to the drawing room for small glasses of brandy, she went straight away. Nearly tearing off her dress and tugging on her nightclothes with haste, Beatrice sat heavily on her bed to recount the evening in peace. It was so quiet up there, all by herself, that Beatrice actually had a mind to never go downstairs again.
She thought of the look in Mr. Grayson’s eyes when he had been seeking her approval and conversation over dinner. There had been something so sincere in the glimmer of his blue eyes and the straightness in his posture that Beatrice was beginning to have doubts about double-crossing him. In her heart, she wanted – well, she had no idea what she wanted. Perhaps she wanted to be honest with Mr. Grayson and tell him that she had overheard his wager to see what his reaction would be. Or maybe she wanted to forget the situation altogether.
But the weight of duty, the deal she had struck with Lord Ivanry to protect her sister, could not be shaken from her shoulders. And so Beatrice sat in silence contemplating which was more important. She was not allowed much opportunity to mull it over as a knock came at her door. “Beatrice!” the feminine voice whispered. “It is Minnie! Let me in so we may discuss your predicament in privacy.”
Beatrice readily turned the brassy doorknob to her bedchamber door to let Miss Saumon inside, throwing her arms around the young woman and sighing. “Oh, thank God, they let you come up here. I was worried you would have to partake in that foolishness all evening.” During dinner, Miss Saumon had sat next to Mr. DeLancy and opposite Penelope, and the three calmer souls had enjoyed their own spirited conversation amid the chaos.
“As was I, but I am here now,” Minnie smiled, shutting the door behind her. “Now, let us formulate a new plan, given all that has transpired.” Her serious gaze turned mischievous as she asked, “Was there anything Mr. Grayson said to you at dinner that would help our cause? Mr. DeLancy, Penelope, and I noticed that he was trying to catch your eye on more than one occasion.”
“The insufferable man,” Beatrice breathed, feeling a headache coming on. “I know I have declared him to be handsome and pleasing in the past, but he has become more of a thorn in my side with every passing hour.” She reclined in a light mint-green chair in the corner of the room while Minnie perched on the edge of Beatrice’s bed and answered, “No. Nothing that one would not expect from a rake.”
Minnie nodded, considering her next words carefully. “Since he has not hesitated to put his plan in motion, we cannot know the sincerity of his intentions whether they be a trick or the truth. These actions could very well be those of a gentleman pursuing a lady to court her, but given the wager he made, they might also be temporary, uncaring affections.”
Beatrice looked up at Minnie wearily from where she had put her head in her hands and said, “Yes, we know these things already, my friend. The question now is how shall I proceed? Do I partake in his potential falsehoods to trap him and save my sister? Or do I ignore them and save face? Can I even resist his flirtations in either scenario if they are indeed for his own benefit?”
Her flurry of questions and the panicky tone with which they were asked made Minnie frown and consult herself for a moment, unsure of exactly what the right choice would be. “I think,” she replied after careful consideration, “that you may make yourself open to his rakish ways so that Lord Ivanry will be satisfied and leave Penelope alone. And then, when that obligation has been fulfilled, you may do as you please with Mr. Grayson: expose him, marry him, whatever you choose.”