Page 37 of Everything But the Earl
Grace smiled, although she felt sad now that Owen’s departure was imminent. She had enjoyed her time with him far more than she expected to. But this was what they’d agreed to, and anyway, Grace was anxious to get to work on her pottery.
She hadn’t felt right taking time away from Owen while he was here, but as soon as he was gone, she planned to set up her studio at the cottage. Her fingers itched to get back into the clay.
“I shall keep busy,” she told Owen. “Hopefully the time without you shall fly by.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I shall return before you know I’m gone.”
Chapter Nine
Adinner partyat his mother’s home was the last event Anthony wanted to attend. He’d considered inviting Lark just to have an ally, but his mother insisted the guest list stay small for some specific reason.
He learned what that reason was as soon as he was seated for dinner, next to a Lady Eugenia Trestle, the daughter of the Earl of Rainsford.
He’d walked into a trap.
No one at the dinner table said what Anthony’s presence at this dinner implied. The Earl and Countess of Rainsford were perfectly pleasant. The countess kept up a steady stream of conversation with Mother, mostly society gossip. Anthony’s Uncle George, his mother’s untitled younger brother, kept the earl entertained, bouncing around various parliamentary business. This left Anthony to speak with Lady Eugenia, likely by design.
She was pretty, albeit very young, barely nineteen. Her hair was pinned atop her head in an elaborate nest of curls that must have taken her lady’s maid an hour to assemble. She had porcelain skin and flushed cheeks and impeccable table manners.
And she was dull as dirt.
Anthony fished for topics. Had she read any good books recently? No, she didn’t really read. What did she think of the weather? Oh, it was pleasant, she said amiably, even though London had been a rainy,muddy mess for three days. How did she like to occupy her time? Needlepoint and promenades in the park.
“Have you read Shakespeare?” he asked at one point. “Or seen any of his plays performed?”
“Oh, no. Papa thinks the theater is vulgar.”
“Even Shakespeare? The greatest British writer who has ever lived?”
“Indeed. Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking of idioms Shakespeare invented. ‘Dead as a doornail,’ for example. That was Shakespeare.” And that was how this whole dinner was making Anthony feel.
As the men began to retire toward the lounge for whisky and cigars, Anthony’s mother hooked a hand around his arm and pulled him into the hallway.
“We must discuss your betrothal.”
Here it came. “What betrothal? As you may recall,mybetrothal became null as soon as my would-be bride was caughtin flagrantewith the Earl of Caernarfon. And now my betrothed is married to him.”
“You must get married.”
“I must do no such thing.”
“The Rainsford girl is lovely, isn’t she?”
“She has all the brainpower of a lamprey. We’d have nothing to talk about.”
“Your job is not to talk, Anthony. Your job is to carry on the Beresford legacy.”
“Right. And I cannot bestow the title on a cousin because…”
“Because it is your duty to carry on the title. I like Lady Genovia.”
“Eugenia.”
“Regardless, she is pretty and biddable.”
Anthony lowered his voice. “She is boring and vapid.”
