Page 48 of Not his Marchioness
“The waltz?” she echoed, her voice pitched higher than usual, as though the idea truly alarmed her.
He bent closer. “What is the matter, My Lady? Surely you are not scandalized at the thought of dancing the waltz with your husband?”
“No,” she said quickly, determined not to reveal how very much the thought of such intimacy on the dance floor unsettled her. “It is only that I did not know the waltz could be danced among the ton.”
He smirked. “We are at Lady Swanson’s ball. Of course, the waltz can be danced.”
With that, she inclined her head and made for her cousin.
Rhys had thought they would at least have a drink together. However, Charlotte was nothing if not difficult to read.
He made his way through the crowd, spotting several gentlemen he had known well in past endeavors. Yet he knew they were keeping their distance.
A few times, he had gone to the House of Lords, and on each occasion, he noticed the same thing: all the gentlemen with whom he had kept company before were now keeping to themselves. It wasn’t merely that they kept away from him; they were avoiding each other as well, as though being seen together might dredge up their past deeds.
It was ridiculous. His standing in society should not be determined by the likes of Woodhaven, Rosslyn, and Sherwood. Although he couldn’t deny that, since their wives’ meeting at hishome, those men had been somewhat more cordial toward him. Their wives had bought the charade of a happy home.
Perhaps after tonight, he could put all his worries about the future behind him.
He nodded in the direction of Lord Rosslyn, who was standing across the room with Lord Sherwood, sharing a brandy. Lady Swanson, their hostess for the evening, was busy chatting with a few matrons.
“If it isn’t Ravenscar!”
“A pleasure to see you tonight,” Woodhaven said. “My wife and I were very sorry you had to cancel.” He waved a hand. “The wretched flood washed out our entire driveway. It was dreadful. You would’ve had to swim your way home!”
He chuckled as though that was the wittiest remark made in at least a century, and Rhys joined in with a polite laugh.
“My wife tells me you are having some of our revolutionary ladies over for dinner soon?”
Rhys had known this was going to come up.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “My wife sought the counsel of your wife and her friends, and they pointed her in that direction. She thought they might be… a little more flexible with her, her strengths, when it comes to helping her put together her school.”
“A school?” Woodhaven shook his head. “Ravenscar, I do appreciate that you are looking to reform yourself and that your wife is doing the same. Charity is always to be admired. But a school for peasants? What would that do?”
Rhys took a deep breath, reminded of conversations overheard between his father and mother. His mother had always advocated for those less fortunate, while his father maintained that anyone could better themselves if they set their mind to it.
“Surely it is for the betterment of the entire realm if those who cannot so much as decipher their own name can do so,” he argued. “Is it not beneficial to all of us if they can seek employment and better opportunities? If they can read and write, and perhaps do basic maths?”
Woodhaven rubbed his thumb and index finger over his mustache as he considered. “I don’t see how it benefits any of us.”
That was what it was always about, wasn’t it? How such things might benefit those who were wealthy enough to never have to worry about another day’s work.
“It benefits us because we will not have to worry about their welfare,” Rhys said. “If they can improve themselves, they can improve their circumstances. They can improve their neighborhoods, and we will not have to look at them in their current state. I dare say I would rather enjoy my morning walks without having to smell the stench that wafts from London’s lessprosperous neighborhoods. You know as well as I do that on a bad day, when the wind is just right…”
Woodhaven raised his hands. “I understand what you mean. You think providing them with schooling will change that?”
Rhys clenched his fists. His thoughts drifted to St. Giles. He had been there several times over the past few months. First, he had called on Lizzie, the auburn-haired woman he’d woken up to during last year’s first snowfall. Then, after she had disappeared—as those women so often did—he’d called on others. The view from their windows had been the same: filth, sewage, and homeless people. It wasn’t right.
Then, he thought of Charlotte and what she had said about his mother—what his mother would expect of him now. Surely, she would want him to help those who could not help themselves.
Wasn’t that determination? And hadn’t Charlotte’s reading material been enough to send Woodhaven into apoplexy?
She was right. Perhaps he ought to stand for something. But right now, he stood for nothing at all.
“I think education is beneficial for all—men and women, rich and poor,” he stated. “We cannot continue to complain about the burden that the peasants are on the public purse if we do not at least offer them the chance to better themselves.”
Woodhaven rubbed his chin in thought and then nodded. “And then, when they do not take the chance, we need not worry about spending a penny on them because they have been given the opportunity and rejected it.”
