“So?”
“You’ve found your own vice, with watching.”
“And he has his, with the leather pieces—” Althea paused for emphasis. “—which he shares with you.”
Beth looked away from her cousin, unable to meet her eyes and acknowledge that parallel.
“So you gave him an ultimatum. He declined. ’Tis been weeks since then. Usually, you’d at least have had a dalliance with a stable boy by now. Why haven’t you, I wonder?”
“Haven’t wanted to,” Beth mumbled.
“Why is that, though? Are you hoping he will come around? Or is it that you’ve found someone who is more important than the freedom to do as you please? Mayhap ’tis now more important to do ashepleases on this one thing. ’Tis called compromise, and it is a necessary part of any relationship.”
Beth gave her a wry look.
“Yes, well, I tried to compromise with Evan. Our differences were too great. That is not the case between you and Robert, though.”
“We are quite the pair, aren’t we?” Beth asked with a sigh. “We may yet end up as two spinsters, pinching the footmen’s bottoms and vetting new maids for their figures.”
Althea grunted and shook her head. “Speak for yourself. What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. I need a plan.”
“You’ll think better with supper in you. Come on, now.” Her cousin dragged her up, waited while she dressed, and accompanied her down to their waiting supper.
Beth’s mind churned. Did she flaunt society’s requirements out of self-defense, rejecting them before they spurned her? If so, then Robert was far more important. Mayhap her reactions were reflexive or, worse, just plain stubbornness. But could she break that pattern of reactive behavior? Even if she could, she needed to formulate a plan to win him back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Unable to find any interest in Sarah’s club, even to test the small pile of new designs he’d completed, Robert went to White’s. He could not stand to be in his house any longer, staring at pieces Beth had helped him create and furniture he’d used to worship her beauty and ingenuity.
Neither Bags nor Michael were there, but the earl who’d attended Evan’s house party was.
As Robert wound his way toward his usual corner, the man approached. Robert’s stomach knotted when he stopped to talk.
“Orford.” The man nodded, looking uneasy.
“Smythe. ’Scuse me, it’s—” he searched for the man’s title.
“Never mind that. I saw your designs at Greenborough. They’re ingenious.” He gave Robert an awkward slap on the shoulder that could have been friendly or mocking. “I never knew you had it in you, old chap.”
“No, you wouldn’t have, would you?” Robert held himself rigid, his words bitter through a clenched jaw. He wasn’t the forgive and forget type, and declined to give Smythe a free pass simply because time had passed.
Ready for the man to cut him down for his attitude, he braced.
But the earl surprised him. “You’re right. Not well done of me at all. That is why I came over now. You have my apologies. I have a son of my own now, and it has given me new perspective.”
Robert’s jaw nearly hit the floor in shock.
Ignoring his speechless gape, the earl said. “Think on it. Perhaps you could call on me and meet my son. I’d also like to place an order with you, if you’re amenable.”
Robert took the proffered card with the man’s address in numb fingers, and managed a nod as the schoolroom tyrant strolled away.
Still in shock, he settled in his usual seat facing his two friends’ empty chairs and ordered a drink. Nursing it, he contemplated the peculiar turn of events. One of his bullies had not only complimented him, but had requested one of his designs. He wasn’t sure he trusted the earl, but Evan did, else earl or no, he would not have received an invitation to Greenborough Park.
Mayhap the School of Enlightenment needed classes for men. Could he find his way past his childhood fears? And Beth was right—with his wealth and wares in high enough demand, he could afford not to care about rumors or disparaging remarks. But decades of first his father lavishing his older brother with love, then peers who denigrated him for the lack of a title, his shape, or anything else they thought up, could not be undone at one little peachy woman’s behest.
Lost in thought, he jumped, spilling a few drops of whisky onto his hand when a deep voice asked, “May I join you?”
