Page 5 of Oddity of the Ton
“On your head be it,” Monty said. “Nothing’senough to compensate being saddled with any woman for eternity.”
“That’s because you’ve not found the right woman.”
“I won’t find herhere.” Monty poured a glass of punch and swallowed it in a single gulp. Then he gestured across the room. “Look at them, Cranleigh. Do you want to know what these women remind me of?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“Hothouse orchids. Exquisite to look at, but they serve no purpose other than to be admired. When a man takes one on, he’s burdened with a responsibility for life—to feed and water her while she strives to maintain her elegance. But when the bloom inevitably fades and the petals grow tired around the edges, the man must redouble his efforts while turning a blind eye to her fading beauty. And then, once the beauty has gone—do you know what the man’s left with?”
“I cannot imagine.”
“A bowl of dirt,” Monty said, “and the realization that he wasted his better years seeking a perfection that never existed.Which is why I intend to wait until the last possible moment before marrying.”
“And deny yourself the chance at happiness—not to mention an heir?”
“On the contrary,” Monty replied. “By delaying marriage, I’m prolonging my happiness and merely deferring the production of an heir.”
“Your mother will be disappointed.”
“Mother isalwaysdisappointed,” Monty said. “Therefore, I might as well act in a manner that furthers my happiness to the exclusion of all else. Go tend to your orchid, Cranleigh. I wish you joy of her.”
“There’s prettier orchids to be had,” Cranleigh said. “Take that delectable specimen over there.”
Monty looked where his friend indicated and recognized the young woman who’d been dancing with Colonel Reid. She approached Lady Arabella, and the two women exchanged the outwardly congenial smiles of good friends, tinged with the hardness of bitter rivals. Arabella’s smile slipped. And well it might—the newcomer surpassed her in beauty as the sun outshone a dying match. Thick blonde curls shimmered in the candlelight as if her hair contained a piece of the sun. She glanced across the ballroom and met Monty’s gaze. Brilliant blue eyes stared at him, and he looked away. Delectable she was to look at, but her expression conveyed a calculating nature.
Heaven help Colonel Reid. A master strategist he might be in a battle, but in courtingthatyoung woman, he was engaging in a war he had no hope of winning.
“Divine, isn’t she?” Cranleigh whispered. “She surpasses Lady Arabella in looks, if not in breeding. But a man would be willing to put up with a little stain on his line of succession to havethatpretty mouth around his—”
“Who is she?” Monty interrupted. The last thing he needed to hear was what Cranleigh wanted a woman to do with her mouth.
“Miss Juliette Howard.”
“The silk merchant’s daughter?” Monty glanced toward her again. “I’ve seen Mr. Howard at White’s, though have yet to be introduced. He seems pleasant enough, though that wife of his is a little loud for my tastes. He’s another man who’d benefit from stuffing cheese into his ears.”
“It’sSir Leonardnow,” Cranleigh said. “A knighthood rather than a baronetcy, so it’s unlikely to satisfy his wife.”
“I doubt anything would satisfy her, save a titled husband for their daughter.”
Monty caught sight of Mrs. Howard—LadyHoward, as she was now—arm in arm with Countess Fairchild. Then he glanced toward Juliette Howard, then back to her mother.
A definite resemblance. Lady Howard’s eyes, though green, were the same shape, and framed by a delicately featured face. She must have been captivating in her youth—no wonder Sir Leonard had been ensnared. But, like all elegant females, age had faded her brilliance to reveal something of her true nature. She couldn’t completely disguise the sharp-nosed sourness, no matter how dazzlingly she smiled.
Miss Howard approached her mother, and they crossed the dance floor to sit beside another woman—an unremarkable-looking creature that Monty hadn’t noticed before.
Miss Howard and her mother turned their attention to her, and she seemed to shrink, like a woodland creature trying to make itself smaller to elude a predator. She nodded and lowered her gaze in the manner of a servant.
Was she Miss Howard’s governess? Though why she’d be invited to a party with the family made no sense. Perhaps she was a maiden aunt.
Ungainly and plain—whoever she was, she was Monty’s opposite in every aspect, save one.
It was evident from her expression that she loathed being here as much as he.
“You should be dancing, not drinking, Montague,” a voice said.
Mother always knew how to creep up on him, until it was too late for him to escape.
“Would you like a glass?” he asked.
