Page 10 of A Murder in Mayfair
“No, you didn’t. But when another so-called gentleman espoused that view, you did not disagree.”
“I’m depending on that gentleman’s vote for a measure I favor. He would not vote my way if I contradicted his opinion in public.” A logical, sound explanation, which I was not inclined to placidly accept.
“Fine. So what is your thinking about women’s suffrage?”
“It won’t happen. At least not in this century. Members of the House of Lords believe women lack the education to make informed decisions.”
“And whose fault is that, I ask you, sir?” My voice rose with the anger and frustration I’d been feeling since I heard my petition had been so ignominiously tossed into the fire. “If gentlemen don’t educate their daughters, our only recourse is to educate ourselves. Of course, many fathers would never allowthat. As far as they’re concerned, the only skills a lady needs are embroidery, playing the pianoforte, and dancing. Oh, and making herself agreeable to marriage-minded gentlemen who are only interested in one thing, providing them with a bloody heir.”
He arched a brow. “Etiquette and comportment seemed to have gone missing from your curriculum, I see.”
“As well as yours. A gentleman would not toss that insult to a lady’s face.”
“Rosalynd!” Grandmother’s voice stopped me cold. Her flushed face and snapping eyes spoke volumes about her state of mind. “What in heaven’s name are you doing? You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” she hissed as she closed on me, heavily leaning on her cane.
Suddenly, I became aware that the music had stopped. Most of the guests around us stood open-mouthed, ogling the duke and me.
Grandmother curtsied to the duke, or tried to. Her creaking knees would not cooperate. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
“No need to, Lady Rosehaven.” He bowed to both of us. “Your servant, ladies.” And then he strode off through the path the throng made for him as if he were the Prince of Wales himself.
“Honestly.” They should just drop to their knees and lick his boots.
Grandmother wrapped an arm around mine and hauled me off. For an elderly lady, she had a mighty strong grip.
“Where are we going, Grandmother?”
“We’re leaving. Smile and nod. If not for yourself, for your sister.”
I did as I was told, only to be met by a sea of frowns and snickers, with Claire the only friendly face. After collecting Chrissie, we walked out of the ballroom with our heads held high.
Only when we were ensconced in the Rosehaven carriage did Chrissie ask, “Why did we leave so early?” She was right. It wasn’t even midnight. Balls usually lasted until three in the morning.
“Your sister decided to make a cake out of herself.”
“What happened?” Chrissie asked, her eyes sparking with curiosity.
“I quarreled with the Duke of Steele in the ballroom in front of the entire assemblage.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s an ass.”
Chrissie giggled. “Oh, my.”
Grandmother stamped her cane on the carriage floor. “Young lady, your sister may have very well ruined your chances of making an advantageous match.”
Chrissie hitched up her chin as she curled her arm around mine. “If a gentleman is so easily dissuaded against offering for me by a public quarrel, then I want no part of him.”
I patted her hand. “Thank you, Chrissie. But Grandmother is right. I did make a spectacle of myself.”
“If you did, you must have had a good reason.”
I spilled the sorry tale of what I’d overheard and the quarrel in the ballroom with the duke.
“You’ll need to apologize to him, Rosalynd,” Grandmother said.
“I’ll write him a note.”
