Page 39 of The Proposition
Sensing Tansy’s growing nervousness, Clemency held her tongue, deciding that it was not the time to defend her love of Bethany Taylor, Maria Edgeworth, Samuel Richardson, Fanny Burney, and Ann Radcliffe. What good would it do? Women of Lady Veitch’s age were set in their ways, and it was not worth aggravating her simply to prove a point.
A belief in one’s own cleverness indeed.
“What sound advice,” Clemency murmured, feeling Tansy exhale with gratitude beside her.
Lady Margaret nodded, adamant, and continued, “Knowledge is bitter, it robs the face of a round and feminine sweetness. It produces a rigid aspect to the face. I do not think you have read too much just yet, Miss Fry, for your beauty is not in question.”
“Is that so?” Clemency fought to keep her voice from straining. “And what, if a woman did overstep and indulge too much in reading, could be done to restore this…sweetness?”
She expected Lady Margaret to entertain them all with another speech, but Turner Boyle chose that moment to join them. He strode to the space between Clemency’s chair and the widow, propping the back of his left hand on one hip.
“If music be the food of love,” Boyle quoted irritatingly, “perhaps it is also the restorative one might seek.”
At his arrival, Lady Margaret and her daughters brightened. “There is Lord Boyle, our songbird. What a gallant voice you have. All gentlemen should sing as you do, with the clarity of heaven’s own trumpets.”
He gave a polite little bow and pursed his lips in a shy way. “That is too much praise for me, Your Ladyship. It was only the fineness of the room, its shape and size, that made the performancegallant,as you say. And some credit must go to Lord Ede. I have had the pleasure of accompanying him to hear Haydn and Mozart, and he has contributed greatly to my education on that score.”
There was that name again. It was like a glass of cool wine, bringing a vibrating smile to Lady Veitch’s mouth the moment he said it.
And Tansy’s lovely playing,she added for him silently.
“Itisa very fine little room,” Lady Veitch preened.
“It is perfect,” Lord Boyle insisted. “I should rather hear a small, intimate performance here than attend a grand production at the Théâtre des Arts.”
Lady Veitch clapped her fan lightly against her palm and tossed her head, charmed. “Oh, but what do the French know about opera?” She laughed and laughed, and Lord Boyle and Tansy joined in. William wandered over, standing stiff and awkward behind Tansy. He looked frightfully out of place, a gentleman, surely, but not one made for the endless exchange of escalating compliments and deflections that made up an afternoon tea with the excessively coddled. They traded a trapped, sullen look over Tansy’s shoulder.
“In fact, what do the French know about anything?” Lord Boyle asked, drawing a scream of laughter from Lady Veitch.
Clemency boiled. She could not lash out at Lord Boyle in any meaningful way, not there, and certainly not while she was meant to be playing the dutiful wife-to-be. And so she smiled primly and squinted up at him. “The Théâtre des Arts…Pray, when were you last in Paris?”
Was it before or after you destroyed, perhaps indefinitely, an innocent young girl’s heart?
It was briefly satisfying to watch him struggle to answer. “Of course…Well, it was…” He finally shrugged and gave up searching for an accurate answer. “It hardly matters…Journeys abroad so tend to run together. One is always a bit blurry from the weariness and travel.”
“Well stated,” Lady Veitch said, unfurling her fan again and fluffing it near her chin. “I myself have never been toParis, but I am sure there are superior amusements to be found here in town.”
“And if one is in France, then one must inevitably put up with Frenchmen, and who could possibly abide that?”
That went over even better, and a snide little chuckle chased around the room.
“Pray,” Clemency began, her voice pinched, “who is Denning Ede? You both seem to think highly of the man.”
“Who is…” Lady Veitch nearly collapsed. “He is the keeper of polite society, the arbiter of all good company, a bosom companion of King George himself!”
Clemency could only imagine what Turner could be doing with the arbiter of all good company. Boyle was suddenly quiet and steady, watching her.
“Influential in Parliament,” Turner added. It seemed only for her benefit, and a threat.
“Influentialeverywhere,” said Lady Veitch. “In a town rife with scandal, he is true north, how fortunate Lord Boyle is to be so frequently at his side.”
The man sounded like a veritable bulldog, yet Boyle had him fooled. How, she wondered, was such a thing possible? The enemy of my enemy, she thought, realizing that Ede’s spotless reputation was now masking Boyle’s treachery. Audric would certainly know more, and so would she. Soon. Clemency painted on an unwavering smile and stood, Stevens dodging closer to take the cup of unfinished tonic from her. Her movement stifled the laughter, and Lady Margaret glared at her as if punishing her for ruining their fun.
“Miss Fry?” she asked.
“I am suddenly so hot,” Clemency murmured. “The viewfrom your balcony looks exquisite, Lady Veitch, might I see it?”
“Let me escort you, here,” Boyle said, solicitous, jumping to take her arm.
