Page 4 of Oddity of the Ton
Monty steered his partner—a particularly voracious angler—across the dance floor, aware of the envious stares of the un-partnered ladies.
Desperation was such anunappealingquality in a woman. Monty preferred aloof, indifferent females—the thrill of the chase, and their feigned lack of interest that posed a challenge for the briefest of moments. But—once he claimed his quarry, they lost their appeal. Like a delectable entrée, their taste might be relished the first few times, until blandness set in. At which point he tossed them back into the water.
Sadly, women possessed different angling tastes to men. Oncehe’dbeen impaled on the hook, he’d be netted for life—stuck with the same dish day in, day out.
But not for some years, provided Mother didn’t erode his resolve.
As if she heard his thoughts, Monty’s mother came into view. Bedecked in a forest of black silk and lace, despite being at least ten years out of mourning, she watched over the company—aspider waiting to devour any unsuspecting creature who dared approach.
The dance took him closer to her, and she focused her gaze first on him, then his partner, the vain and shrewish Lady Arabella Ponsford. Her mouth creased into a smile of satisfaction, and she inclined her head in the manner of a monarch.
Heaven help me—I know that nod.
Mother approved of Lady Arabella.
Not unexpected, given her pedigree—Lady Arabella’s late mother was the king’s third cousin, and, to Mother, birth was everything.
Doubtless the whole room considered Lady Arabella his perfect match. But he wasn’t ready to submit himself to matrimony. His late father was proof a man could sire a child in his fifties—though to mentionthatin Mother’s presence earned him a tongue lashing, as if he were a wayward child.
“Sweet Lord!” his dance partner exclaimed. “What the devil isshewearing? A potato sack would look better. But I daresay, given her ample figure, her dress is the most expensive in the room, given the yards of silk it must have required.”
She paused, expecting a response.
“Of course, Lady Arabella,” he said.
One redeeming quality of ladies of thetonwas that they talked, and never listened. Therefore, only a limited repertoire of responses was needed to survive their company.Of courseandindeedoften worked, particularly if accompanied by the woman’s name—assuming he could recall her name.I wholeheartedly agreewas a favored phrase for allaying a lady’s suspicion that the man she talked at wasn’t listening. And if the man were unfortunate enough to be married to the woman, he could limit his portfolio toyes, dear—a phrase Monty’s father had placed great reliance on.
“I’m glad we’re of one mind,” Lady Arabella said. “That family should be applauded for elevating themselves from the gutter. The younger daughter is remarkably pretty, and could almost pass for a lady—I’m quite fond of her. But as to the elder—I’ve seen more attractive heifers. Justlookat her!”
Like many young ladies desperate to ingratiate themselves with a man, Arabella sought to insult one of her own sex.
Perhaps he should share his opinion of Arabella herself—a grasping harpy whose outer beauty belied the ugliness within. But he had no wish to meet her gaze, lest she see the contempt he harbored. Instead, he stared out into the blurred faces of the onlookers, curling his lip in a sneer.
One day, Fate would ensure Lady Arabella paid for her cruelty.
The dance concluded, and he steered her toward her friends then retreated to the safety of the punch bowl, before any of them could catch his eye in the hope of securing a dance.
A hand clapped him on the back, and he turned to face the newcomer.
“Cranleigh!” he cried. “Some congenial company at last.”
“You must be desperate if you refer to me ascongenial, old chap,” came the reply. “But I’m afraid I must abandon you. I’m expected on the dance floor.”
“With whom?”
“Lady Arabella Ponsford. Exquisite creature—not the handsomest girl in the room, but her fortune renders her a little more attractive than she would be without it.”
“She’d be handsomer still if she kept her mouth shut,” Monty said.
Cranleigh barked out a laugh. “What man in his right mind listens to what awomanhas to say?” He glanced across the room to Monty’s mother, who stared at them, disapproval in her expression. “Of course, not all of us are still clinging to ourmother’s teat. Give my regards to the dowager. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must ingratiate myself with Lady Arabella.”
“Take a detour to the buffet before you do,” Monty said. “A harpy’s voice can erode a man’s senses before he notices. I’d recommend the strategic placement of cheese in your ears.”
“You ought to make allowances for Lady Arabella, given that she’s an orphan.”
Monty snorted. “Don’t pretend you have a conscience, Cranleigh. You consider her status an advantage because it’ll make her one of the richest heiresses in England when she comes into her majority.”
“Or on her marriage. I daresay her fortune is enough to compensate for being saddled with her for eternity.”
