Page 29 of Oddity of the Ton
The footman who’d earned Lady Arabella’s disapproval was nowhere to be seen. Surely the duchess hadn’t dismissed him for inadvertently offending Lady Arabella, who held everyone and everything in contempt?
Then a side door opened and the footman entered. He exchanged a few words with the duchess, who nodded and smiled, placing a hand on his arm. Across the room, Monty noticed Lady Arabella watching the exchange, her mouth creased with disgust as if she’d just ingested an unripe plum.
Sorry, Miss Harpy, you’ll have to find another victim for your spite.
“Thereyou are, Montague. At last.”
Mother appeared at his elbow, together with the dowager duchess—who, though ancient in years, clearly possessed the ability to scuttle about the place as silently as a spider. And as quickly, despite the silver-topped cane she held in her claw-like hand.
“Duchess,” he said, addressing the dowager. “And Mother—may I bring you some coffee and one of”—he gestured toward the pile of sweets—“whatevertheyare?”
“My coffee-drinking days are over,” the dowager said. “But some of the young women here tonight might appreciate your gallantry.”
“I agree, Augusta,” Mother said. “Lady Arabella’s without a cup. I’m sure she’d appreciate a little something.”
“Quite so.” The dowager raked her gaze over Monty, then arched her eyebrow in appreciation.
Sweet Lord—was he thelittle something?
“I’ve no wish to impose myself on Lady Arabella,” he replied. “She appears to be having a private conversation with Miss Juliette Howard.”
“Is not my son terribly ungallant, Augusta?” Mother said. “And after the lengths we’ve gone to secure his interests.”
To secureyourinterests, more like, Mother.
But he daren’t voice his response. The dowager carried the air of a woman who was not to be refused—or disobeyed—and Monty suspected that her cane was put to a great deal more use than merely supporting her as she walked.
“I’m sure the boy meant no offense, Matilda,” she said. “Young men must be forgiven for their disrespect of their elders. But they always come around to our way of thinking eventually. They must enjoy their little rebellion before they don themantle of duty.” She fixed her gaze on Monty. “Dear boy, I’m sure you’ll be a credit to your mother once you embrace your responsibilities. In fact, I have the very thing to bring together two young people who are so obviously well matched. What say you to a little dancing?”
He couldn’t think of anything worse.
“Oh, yes!” his mother cried. “That would be a perfect end to a perfect evening. The two of you were partnered so well at dinner, I’ve no doubt you’ll shine on the dance floor. Augusta, would your granddaughter play for us?”
Devil’s toes—one dance with Lady Arabella at the Fairchilds’ ball was enough to last a lifetime. After enduring her complaints throughout dinner, the last thing he wanted was to spend the rest of theeveningwith her, let alone the rest of his life.
The dowager approached her granddaughter-in-law. “Jeanette, darling—the young people are wild for dancing. Would you oblige?”
A ripple of enthusiasm threaded through the company, and Monty’s heart sank as he spotted Lady Arabella staring at him, expectation in her eyes.
“Mother—have you been scheming again?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she said, a little too forcefully. “Augusta’s merely giving you a helping hand.”
“Oh,isshe?”
“She’s taken pity on me, on account of your failing to do your duty.”
“Not this again, Mother.” He sighed. “I’ve already said—”
“Don’tIhave a say? I don’t want to see the Whitcombe line expire while you refuse to entertain the prospect of Lady Arabella as your bride.”
“Why not say that a little louder, Mother, and announce your desperation to the whole room?” he retorted. “If I want a bride, I’ll take one on my own terms. I mustlikeher, at the very least.”
“And, in order to like her, you must first get to know her. Augusta has been most obliging in that quarter. Our hostess had originally placed you next to the vicar’s wife until Augusta intervened on your behalf.”
Sweet heaven—was there no escaping female wiles? If Mother had recruited the dowager to her campaign to shackle him to that harpy, then all hope was lost. He must surrender, or desert—the latter of which was infinitely more preferable.
“Will you not dance tonight to oblige me, Montague?”
