A few minutes later, a blonde goddess burst through the door, dressed in seashell-pink silk and clutching a slim leather volume to her chest. This must be Lady Cecily, then. Her attempt at looking flustered did not fool Amelia one bit. There was a cold, hard look of calculation in the young woman’s eyes as she glanced at His Royal Pomposity. ‘I hope I have not interrupted anything?’
Oh, no, you don’t, thought Amelia uncharitably. You would enjoy nothing more than distracting any attention away from another young lady. She shared a meaningful glance with Sir George, who must have thought much the same because his usually smiling mouth was a little pursed.
‘Not at all,’ said the Dowager. ‘We had just finished discussing a poem, my dear.’
‘Perhaps I should read next, then? As I am already standing?’ Lady Cecily bestowed her sweetest smile towards their hostess. ‘Unless you had already selected someone to go next?’ When nobody else spoke up, she opened her book at the page that she had marked with a ribbon. Although not before she had placed her perfectly proportioned figure in the Duke’s direct line of vision.
‘Here we go again,’ muttered Sir George quietly into Amelia’s ear. It was only then that she noticed Lady Cecily’s choice of literature and inwardly groaned. She was going to shamelessly read from The Discerning Gentleman’s Drivel.
It started innocuously enough, but the moment the other Potentials began to listen to Lady Cecily’s rendition of the Almighty’s words, with expressions of awe and wonder on their pretty faces, Amelia decided to go back to her pamphlet. They might wish to worship at the altar of Aveley, but she had no intention of humouring them while they did so. Valiantly, she tried to shut out the sounds, but snippets kept permeating into her brain and curdling her stomach until she thought she might burst from the effort of it all.
All accomplished young ladies should read. However, their choice of literature is telling. Most novels are acceptable, so too are books filled with illustrations of flora and fauna. A young lady’s mind should not be filled with anything too scientific or academic to comprehend...
Amelia rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, in her irritation she had also snorted. Quite loudly, it seemed. All eyes in the room suddenly swivelled towards hers incredulously. Lady Worsted tried, and failed, to stifle a grin. Lady Cecily-With-Potential paused and positively glared at her, and even the Duke himself honoured her with a glance. One of his eyebrows lifted in question but, to his credit, he appeared more amused than insulted by her unintentional outburst.
‘Did you have something to add, Miss Mansfield?’
The wretch asked this with a completely straight face. Demurely shaking her head and then pretending to cough made a knot of unpleasantness form in Amelia’s gullet, but she did it for the sake of Lady Worsted. ‘I apologise for the interruption—I had a frog in my throat. Please do continue.’ For good measure she smiled sweetly at Lady Cecily even though her stomach tightened in protest.
The Potential smiled politely back at her, but there were daggers shooting from her blue eyes.
It is essential that a good wife has a basic knowledge of politics. As your hostess, she will need to ask pertinent questions designed to stimulate worthy discussion between your male guests...
‘Pah!’
Amelia truly had intended to keep quiet, but the sound came out of its own accord, fuelled by her growing annoyance at the man’s imperiousness and the pathetic adoration of his women. Next to her, she heard Sir George muffle a giggle and would have nudged him firmly in the ribs were it not for the fact that she was the centre of attention again.
‘Come now, Miss Mansfield. You obviously have something to say. We all insist that you say it.’
The Duke’s expression was still bland, but there was something swirling in his silvery blue eyes. Challenge? Humour? Sarcasm? Well, if he was going to have unreadable eyes, then she would have no option but to meet the challenge.
‘As you have asked, Your Grace, I would like some clarification of your intent in that passage. I am curious to know which topics you feel the female sex would have trouble comprehending.’
Chapter Seven
A wife’s first duty is to obey her husband. Therefore it is the husband’s first duty to enlighten her as to what he wants her to do...
The minx had neatly put him on the spot and Bennett was damned if some tiny part of him didn’t admire her for it. Every head in the room, the majority of them female, was now turned towards him expectantly. Only a few of them were waiting for his wisdom. The rest, Uncle George and Aunt Augusta included, were waiting for him to fall flat on his arse. His aunt was sucking in her cheeks to prevent herself from grinning; it made her look as if she had just swallowed a lemon.
Why had Lady Cecily read from his book? Although he hated it, it happened, he was forced to admit, far too frequently because the Potentials believed that he would be pleased to hear his, or in actual fact his father’s, words spewing from their pretty lips. Bennett would have preferred they read something—anything—else in the hope that it would give him a clue as to whether or not they were in any way compatible with him. Did any of them share his taste in literature? Did they prefer poems to essays? Marlowe to Shakespeare? Novels or newspapers? Hearing his own words read back to him with such reverence always made him want to cringe with embarrassment and told him nothing about the lady spouting them, other than the fact that she was keen to be his wife. But how could he be keen to marry any of them if they remained virtual strangers to him? And Lady Cecily had inadvertently given the outspoken Miss Mansfield the perfect opportunity to hoist him with his own petard. He would need to formulate his answer carefully.
‘I think, perhaps, my choice of phrasing was unfortunate in that instance, Miss Mansfield. It is not so much that a woman would have difficulty comprehending a specific topic, rather that there are certain unsavoury topics that I would protect them from. Politics, for example, can be quite cut-throat. Tempers are often high, which makes it a challenging environment for most ladies. They might become upset or feel threatened by the forceful masculine way of discussing such matters.’
The Potentials nodded back at him in agreement, their limpid eyes grateful for his thoughtfulness on their behalf, like a quintet of marionettes all controlled by one puppeteer. It was most disconcerting. Now he was thinking of them as puppets? Good grief!
Miss Mansfield did not look so delighted with his response.
‘I see. That is interesting because in another chapter you also say that “the perfect wife supports worthy good causes with her charity. She needs to fully understand which causes are the worthiest so that she can guide her fellow women in the right direction”.’
She paused for effect, like the greatest of orators.
‘How can the perfect wife achieve such a feat if you are to shield her from the harsh realities of life, and politics in particular? Surely a solid understanding of politics is essential in such an endeavour?’
Had she just quoted his words back to him verbatim, and without the benefit of his book in front of her? He really had not expected that, but he recognised the words because his father had repeated them often enough. Clearly Miss Mansfield had a memory that an elephant would envy. She also, Devil take her, made a valid point. When Bennett had written the book he had merely been recording snippets of advice handed down by his father. He had not considered that different pieces of advice might contradict one another.
While Bennett struggled to formulate a suitable answer to save himself from looking stupid, his uncle had given up trying to hide his delight at the turn the evening had taken. He was openly grinning, his eyes crinkled with amusement. The traitor even went as far as patting Miss Mansfield on the back for her insight.
‘You are quite right, Miss Mansfield,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘When compared side by side, those two chapters would seem to give a confused mes
sage.’ Bennett was a renowned diplomat. He could save this. ‘However, many books might seem to offer conflicting advice if passages are taken out of context. The Bible, for instance, in Exodus tells us that it is wrong to kill. Thou shalt not kill. That is the sixth commandment. Yet Exodus also tells us that it is permissible, under God’s holy law, to take a life for a life, eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’
Miss Mansfield blinked at his logic and he thought, for a moment, he had won this battle of wits. But, like a cobra, when she struck it came out of the blue and her bite was deadly.
‘How interesting. Are you now comparing your own words, Your Grace, with the words of God?’
Bennett’s jaw dropped and for several painful moments he simply stood there, frozen, except for his mouth, which was opening and closing of its own volition, much like that of a reeled fish. ‘Well...well...of course not!’ he finally stuttered. ‘I was simply making the point that isolated passages of text, when taken out of their proper context, might appear to contradict each other.’ He felt like a fool—yet he also enjoyed the challenge she presented. What a magnificent politician he would be if he could effectively spar with her and win! Unfortunately, tonight she had bested him because he could not think of a single response that would put her firmly back in her place. Given half a chance, it was now quite apparent she would eat him alive. ‘But your point is well made, Miss Mansfield. And thank you, Lady Cecily, you honour me by selecting a passage of mine to read here tonight although, I must confess, I would rather hear a passage from a great writer than my amateurish scribblings. Lady Priscilla, what have you chosen to read?’
Lady Priscilla obediently jumped to attention and began reciting some awful poem that served to take the focus away from him. For several minutes he pretended she held his complete attention until everyone in the room was similarly engaged. Only then did he risk a glance at Miss Mansfield. He caught her shamelessly staring at him. Despite the fact that she had just made him look a fool, his breeches started to become a trifle snug. His pride had just taken a serious dent, so what his groin had to be happy about he could not fathom. He had been outmanoeuvred by a common woman.
In public.
Because of his own arrogant stupidity.
Up until that moment, he had not even considered that his father’s advice was contradictory. He had never had cause to question it before, and as much of it had been given in the weeks leading up to his father’s death it seemed disloyal to do so now. But how could he expect a wife to lead the charge in supporting the worthiest causes if she was kept in the dark about politics? On that matter, as much as it pained him to consider it, clearly his father had been wrong and Bennett should have spotted the error before he consigned it to perpetuity in print. Touché, he mouthed silently across the room.
Miss Mansfield offered him a saucy shrug alongside her smug smile, then buried her nose back into her own book unapologetically. It gave Bennett the rare opportunity to study her properly. Or, more importantly, an opportunity to try to understand his own unexpected reaction to her. Arguably, this room was filled with the most desirable young ladies of the ton. His five remaining Potentials were too polite to risk reading while others were speaking. All of them were very pretty, very accomplished and perfectly bred young women. Any one of them would make him a perfect wife. Why was it then that his thoughts, as well as his gaze, kept creeping back to Miss Mansfield?
For a start, he reasoned, she looked nothing like them. Her dark hair and soulful dark eyes were not exactly fashionable, yet her beauty made the other women in the room pale in comparison. She also did not appear to pay him any particular regard, which was not merely unusual, it was unheard of. Worse, the woman went out of her way to bait him. It was plainly obvious that she had thoroughly enjoyed besting him. The other young ladies would be mortified to have intentionally caused him offence. Miss Mansfield revelled in it. Maybe that was why she fascinated him? She was so different to every other woman of his acquaintance and she certainly did not behave like them. Despite the fact that she’d been raised in Cheapside and worked for a living, she was heartily unimpressed by his title or his position in the government. Yet he wanted her to be impressed.
That was an interesting thought. He wanted to impress her. How very...unusual.
Bennett could not remember ever having felt the need to impress a woman before. He could also never remember engaging in an intellectual argument with a woman before. Yet just now, just as she had that first evening at dinner, and when he’d foolishly ridden home with her, Miss Mansfield had asked him genuinely challenging questions that made him think. Perhaps his attraction to her was not a purely physical thing, as he had hoped? There was a distinct possibility that he admired her quick, clever mind as well as the alternative perspective she put on things. She certainly would be a match for some of the braying idiots who sat with him in Parliament. Just thinking about her giving one of those pompous fools a proper set-down made him smile.
Inadvertently, he found his gaze repeatedly wandering back to the maddening Miss Mansfield. When he realised that his uncle was staring back at him with great interest, Bennett let the silly smile slide off his face and pretended to concentrate on the reading. Keeping his eyes trained forward proved to be quite a challenge and when Lovett finally interrupted him with their prearranged urgent message he almost hugged his servant with gratitude for providing him with an escape.
Chapter Eight
It is important that a lady knows how to behave in every social situation. Chaos will ensue if rank and social etiquette are not strictly adhered to...
The Renshaw ball was every bit the crush Lady Worsted had promised. From her position with the matrons and wallflowers, Amelia happily watched all of the dancers twirling about the floor in all of their finery. She had never seen so many different shades of silk in one place, nor so many feathers. Lady Worsted was sporting a vivid custard-coloured ostrich concoction that added at least ten inches to her height. And it was not the most impressive headdress in the room. That feat went to the hostess herself. Lady Renshaw sprouted so many plumes that it might have been easier just to sit a peacock on her head and be done with it. Every time she turned, the woman inadvertently tickled someone else’s nose with it.
And the dancing! The tiny, shallow part of her that was still aristocratic envied all of the beautiful gowns and the way that they drew attention to the young ladies wearing them. She marvelled at the way they moved in unison as they gracefully performed all manner of intricate steps. As a child, her mother had taught her some of them, so Amelia recognised the cotillion and a few of the country dances, but she had no idea what was currently being performed on the floor. Her eye kept wandering to the Duke and his most recent partner, Lady Priscilla. He performed the steps exceptionally well, managing to look graceful yet entirely masculine. Each time he and Priscilla came together they exchanged pleasantries. Priscilla hung on his every word. The Duke looked bored.
Amelia supposed that being so adored must become wearing. From the moment they had all arrived in the ballroom, a veritable swarm of brightly coloured young ladies had gravitated towards him, eyelashes fluttering and fans flapping, and he had politely, if a little indifferently, greeted them all in the same way. Even the Potentials. Except he had made a point of adding his name to each of their dance cards. Not that she wanted him to, nor was she jealous, but it had not occurred to him to scratch his name on Amelia’s empty card, even for the sake of politeness. But then again, why would he? She was little better than a servant and, as far as he knew, there was nothing aristocratic about her. He was also probably still sulking over her comments at the reading salon earlier in the week, and they had scarcely exchanged more than two words since that night.
The orchestra struck up the highly anticipated first chords of the waltz and the dancers hurried to reach their new partners. His Royal Highness the Duke of Pomposity bowed to Lady Pri
scilla and escorted her to her mother and then began to make his way towards their group slowly.
‘Miss Mansfield, would you do this old man a favour and take him for a spin around the dance floor?’ Sir George had already taken her hand as if it were a foregone conclusion that she would accept him.
‘I can’t waltz,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I have never been taught it.’
‘If you can count to three, then you can waltz. I taught Bennett to waltz in five minutes flat. It is not a complicated dance. Besides, it is the gentleman’s duty to lead. Any mistakes will be immediately attributed to me and every girl should waltz at her first ball.’ As they were already at the edge of the dance floor, further argument was futile and Amelia was secretly delighted to have been asked to dance at least once, even if her partner was old enough to be her father and only asking her to be kind.
Sir George surreptitiously positioned her arms correctly and began to count the rhythm as he swayed her from side to side. ‘One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. That’s it, my dear; now we shall attempt a slow turn.’ He continued his helpful whispered count while Amelia picked up the steps and, before she knew it, she was gliding around the floor almost as skilfully as the others.
‘This is easy!’ She could not prevent herself from beaming at him. ‘You are an excellent teacher, Sir George. I almost feel graceful.’
‘And you make me the envy of all of the other gentlemen here. Already I can see that a few young men have stolen a sneaky glance at you, all wondering who you are and if you are taken.’
She rolled her eyes at his silly comments. ‘I am a lady’s companion, Sir George, and not in the league of all of these beautiful young ladies. But your compliment is very well received regardless.’
‘Nonsense. Once we have finished, I predict that all the young bucks will be queuing up to dance with you and then I shall be left to watch with Her Grace and Augusta.’ He pretended to find that prospect dire, but he had not left the ladies’ sides all evening, save this one dance.
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