“I’m a bit surprised,” he continued, “Mick Trewlove’s sister would take her meal here and not dine with him in his lodgings at the hotel.”
Her brother had an office where he conducted business and a suite of private rooms on the top floor. Mr. Sommersby would have become aware of those facts when he let his residence, since he’d have had to visit the office to sign his lease agreement. “I wasn’t in the mood to be put through my paces,” she answered honestly.
He arched a dark brow in question.
“Wednesday next, I’ll be formally introduced into Society at a ball that my sister, Gillie—the Duchess of Thornley—is hosting in my honor.”
All her family members were a bit nervous, not quite sure whether people would attend out of curiosity about the commoner who had caught the attention of one of the most powerful dukes in Britain or if no one would show at all, signaling theton’sdispleasure that the Duke of Thornley had married beneath him.
Noting the speculation in his gaze, she continued, “As for how I have a sister who is a duchess—”
“I doubt a soul in London exists who hasn’t heard tales regarding the Trewloves and their various marriages among the nobility.”
Mick had married Lady Aslyn, daughter to the deceased Earl of Eames and ward of the Duke of Hedley—Mick’s father, as it turned out, not that the man had ever publicly acknowledged Mick as his son, although they had developed a close relationship of late and were often seen together. Finn had taken to wife Lady Lavinia while Aiden had wed Selena, a widowed duchess. Then, of course, there was Gillie with her duke. Her siblings’ marriages should have given them all the social acceptance they craved, but it seemed the aristocracy was reticent when it came to welcoming newcomers into their midst.
“I suppose there is some truth in that. They are all the talk from what I understand. They’ve set rather high standards and expectations for me, even before they began collecting aristocratic spouses. So, when I have dinner with Mick, he and his wife, bless them, are insistent we follow proper etiquette while dining—selecting the correct utensil from among the ridiculous number set out on the table—and discuss only topics appropriate for dining with the nobs. When I marry a lord, my life will become naught but nights of formal dining and quiet discussions about boring subjects.” She looked around her. “I doubt there will be robust laughter or claps on the back or such astonishing joy at reaching the end of a hard day and having a bit of time to relax with friends. So I came here tonight to avoid having to face any faults with my behavior and to enjoy the revelry surrounding me.”
“Then why seek to a marry a lord?” His tone was flat, tinged with a bit of disapproval, as though he had the right to be offended by her plans.
She wasn’t keen to have him sitting in judgment of her. “My family expects it. I grew up expecting it. To be honest, there are few ways for a woman to better herself except through marriage. Business ownership or hard work might gain her more success than a man but it doesn’t garner the same amount of respect. It’s rather irritating really, but that is the way of the world. You can’t disagree with my assessment, surely.”
“I don’t suppose I gave it a great deal of thought, one way or another. It depends on the lengths you’ll go to in order to acquire what you want.”
“All the lengths that are necessary. Would you not do the same?”
“I’m not certain I would.”
“Then I assume you are fortunate, and life has offered you few challenges.”
“You would assume incorrectly.” As though embarrassed by his words, he dropped his gaze to his bowl and began stabbing the fluffy potatoes on top into the meat filling.
God. How was it that they’d become so short with each other? A change in subject was needed. “If I may be so bold, you don’t sound as though you come from the streets. I’d wager you’ve had some education.”
“My father insisted.”
“You strike me as being a solicitor. Or a banker, perhaps.” Someone with a position of authority and influence. It was simply the way he held himself, the confidence that rolled off him in waves.
“Nothing quite so interesting, I assure you.”
His tone indicated that line of conversation was at an end, but she wasn’t yet ready to let it go. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity, Mr. Sommersby. How do you earn your way?”
He studied her for a long moment, as though torn between telling her to go to the devil or answering with honesty. Finally, he said, “I am a gentleman with means.”
Which told her nothing at all. Had an inheritance fallen into his hands? Had he achieved success at business, investment, with the horses, or gambling? “How do you spend your day?”
“Doing whatever I please.”
“Yet you claimed not to be fortunate.”
“Everything comes with a price, Miss Trewlove.”
What price had he paid? Not that it was any of her business, not that she was rude enough to inquire. She’d already skirted the edge of good manners. Yet, she couldn’t deny being curious about him. It was odd how he drew her interest when no other man had—not in this way at least.
She’d found numerous men attractive certainly but had never had her heart fluttering because of the beauty of one of them. She’d never wanted to delve into every aspect of one of their lives, didn’t know why she wanted to know all the details of his. Perhaps it was simply that she’d begun preparing herself for analyzing the men she would meet next week as potential husbands, and her mind had decided to practice her skills in order to hone them. Or perhaps he piqued her interest simply because he seemed so determined not to be known.
While they’d been conversing, they’d managed to finish off their meal. Becky hurried over. “Will there be anythin’ else, loves?”
“Nothing for me,” Fancy said.
