Page 20 of The Duke of Kisses
“Just so.” Clare finished his brandy and stood. “Thank you for the company. I am anxious to get home to my wife and daughter. Have a good evening, lads.” He turned to David. “Pleasure meeting you, St. Ives. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” It didn’t appear to be an open invitation to call on Fanny, but David knew that was precisely what it was. This had been an interview of sorts, and apparently, he’d passed.
This made him inordinately pleased but also a bit queasy. He was supposed to be meeting another young woman—and he would. Soon. He pushed the nagging thoughts from his mind. He inclined his head and lifted his glass in a toast. “Likewise.”
Anthony and Ware said good night to Clare, and he turned and wove his way out through the tables.
“He came to assess your worthiness.” Anthony directed his gaze at David.
David drank the last of his brandy and set his empty tumbler on the table. “So it would seem.”
“Do you have an interest in Miss Snowden?” Anthony asked.
“I might.” It was the most he was willing to admit out loud. Yes, he was interested. But there were…complications. Again, that bothersome sensation pulled at his brain. He wasn’t avoiding it—he wasn’t. He was simply adjusting to his new role and making acquaintances, including Miss Snowden’s.
Ware peered at him over his brandy glass. “And are you really not interested in my upcoming party, or were you just staying that to impress Clare?”
“I’m really not interested, though I don’t begrudge you such entertainments.” He flicked a glance toward Anthony. “Or you. I hope that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
Anthony laughed. “Of course it doesn’t.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ware said loftily. “I only associate with lecherous scoundrels.” He exhaled. “But now that Beck has married and completely abdicated any bit of depravity he possessed, I suppose I must accept decent friends too.”
“He’s referring to his good friend the Marquess of Northam. You placed Miss Snowden in his wife’s curricle this morning. They were recently wed. We’ll introduce you to him if he ever shows up at a Society event again.” Anthony shifted his gaze to Ware. “He’ll come to a race.”
“Most definitely. Especially since my races will include women—he’s more likely to attend anything if he can bring Lavinia along.”
“Ah, love.” Anthony lifted his glass in a toast, then frowned at their empty tumblers. “You’re both out.”
“A solvable problem, thankfully.” Ware drew the attention of a footman, and a moment later, they all had fresh drinks.
Anthony raised his new glass. “Where was I?”
Ware snorted as he reluctantly lifted his glass. “Nattering on about love.”
“Ignore him.” Anthony rolled his eyes. “Ware will never marry, and honestly, who would want him anyway?”
“No one, which is precisely the point.” Ware grinned widely before he took a long drink.
“St. Ives, on the other hand, seems amenable to the institution.” Anthony slid him an inquisitive glance. “Or at least courtship.”
David was more than amenable. He expected to marry. But as with the earldom, he just hadn’t expected to be faced with it this soon. However, with the earldom came responsibility and that damned persistentthinghe’d promised. He was nothing if not a dutiful son.
He tipped his glass to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of the smoky brew. Just once, he’d like to break free.
* * *
After folding the last pair of stockings, Fanny set them atop the stack only to have the entire tower slouch to the side and slide from the table. “Oh bother!”
Ivy swept into the drawing room and eyed the pile of stockings on the floor. “Problem?”
Fanny sighed. “No, just a Fanny Moment.” That was what they’d taken to calling her bouts of clumsiness or misfortune.
“Well, this one is certainly drier than yesterday’s.” Ivy smiled as she joined her in picking up the stockings. Taking several, she sat down at the small round table opposite Fanny and began to refold them. “Are you coming with me to deliver these to the orphanage?”
Nodding, Fanny said, “Yes, if you don’t mind. I wanted to speak with Mrs. Frawley.” She managed the establishment with assistance from several patronesses, including Ivy.
“Oh?” Ivy’s interest was clearly piqued.
“I’ve been thinking I want to start something,” Fanny said. Her sister had been dedicated to helping both orphans and unmarried mothers and their children for some time. Having spent time in a workhouse herself, Ivy understood the hardships that faced people who were alone in the world. Unfortunately, Ivy had been exactly that person after their parents had turned her out when she was seventeen. Fanny continued, “A kind of workhouse where women can come to learn a trade that they can then do somewhere else. They can learn to sew or to read and write or to become companions.”
