old duke, the one who died last year, disinherited his daughter because she would not do what he said? Mrs. Wilson told me about it.”
That did give Beatrice pause, but only for a moment. “The old duke was crazed and beyond demanding. And besides, he is dead now. Why would Mrs. Wilson upset you with that story?”
“It was a warning, Beatrice. A warning that the ton is more demanding than the countess, who is, after all, our godmother.”
“So you are going to let one person, a woman neither one of us particularly likes, dictate whom you fall in love with?”
“I am not in love with him!” Cecilia shouted and then put her hands over her ears.
“Try telling that to your heart.” Beatrice spoke very quietly and her eyes filled once again.
Chapter Thirty
“THIS IS THE first day that I have not been thoroughly entertained,” Beatrice announced to her sister as Darwell helped them undress. “Of course, it could have been my mood. What did you think, Cecilia?”
“Lord Crenshaw’s skill at archery was impressive but it was hardly fair to challenge the other gentlemen without advance warning so that they could practice.” Cecilia sat at the dressing table and applied some of the face cream that Katherine insisted was the best available. It smelled odd but felt silky soft.
Darwell gathered their dresses and took them into the dressing room.
“And did you notice, Beatrice, that he was not at dinner this evening? The countess said he had a meeting and would be back in the morning. Do you think he went to see Mr. Wilson?”
“Lord Crenshaw is going to offer for her so soon?”
So Beatrice was as surprised as she was. “Perhaps he is just asking for permission to court her,” Cecilia suggested. “But why would her family agree to that before her Season?”
“Because they have two other daughters to bring out, one in each of the next two years,” Beatrice explained as she rolled down her stockings. “Katherine and I were talking about that after dinner. They are all so close in age that her father suggested bringing them out in two groups rather than individually, but Mrs. Wilson said that each must have her own time in London.”
“No wonder Mr. Wilson wants to be sure his estates prosper.”
“And would be inclined to welcome Crenshaw’s courtship, don’t you think?”
Darwell came back into the room in time to hear that last and made a sound of disgust. Cecilia thought perhaps this was not something they should discuss around their maid, given her dislike of the man.
“Surely Lord Crenshaw will be back in time for the race,” Beatrice ventured. “No one wants to miss that, if only to see the spectacle of the marquis riding sidesaddle.”
“Lord Jess told me at dinner that—” Cecilia stopped speaking. “I am sorry, Bitsy, I forgot that you made me promise to never say that man’s name again.”
“I will excuse the lapse but next time I will threaten to make you ‘eat soap,’ as Mama used to say.” She spoke without smiling.
Cecilia’s face must have shown her shock, because Beatrice started to laugh.
“Ceci, don’t look at me that way. You know how often Mama followed through on that threat.”
“Never,” Cecilia said, relaxing enough to try one more time. “I wish you would confide in me.”
“There is no point.” Her sister answered without hesitation, and Cecilia knew it was hopeless to press her further.
“I thought Lord Jess and I did a credible job of being civil to each other.”
“Yes, if you consider endless curtsies and bows a sign of civility. Did you even once answer any question he addressed to you?”
“Yes,” Beatrice said. “When he asked me if I would like the chicken I told him I would. And another time I accepted the salt to pass to Lord Belmont.”
“Charming,” Cecilia said, meaning the opposite. “Everyone noticed, you know.”
“They did not. I watched and they all had their eyes on the earl and Mrs. Kendrick.”
“Not everyone did, Bitsy, believe me. But Nora and the earl were in amazingly good spirits. I swear I saw Mrs. Wilson roll her eyes. As if she had never seen two people falling in love.”
Cecilia saw Darwell press her lips together to keep from smiling. The maid gathered up their clothes and took them into the dressing room, leaving them to don their nightgowns.
“Oh, I think it’s more than that,” Beatrice said. “I think they’re sharing a bed.”
“Really?” Cecilia’s expression of ennui disappeared instantly. “Here in this house?”