“These do, indeed.”
“How fortunate then that you have arrived and they can push such memories aside.”
“Our cook has proven to be adept at finding them morsels of fish. I believe they would follow her anywhere.”
They laughed together and Arthur was offered a glass of orgeat lemonade. As this was not a favorite choice of his, he declined, but Miss Ballantyne raised a brow. “You would prefer a brandy or a glass of Madeira, I suppose?” She clicked her tongue. “Best to abandon such indulgences until after your wedding night, unless it is your intention to disappoint.”
Arthur blinked at this blunt advice. He knew that brandy could dampen his ardor, so to speak, but had not considered a greater effect. The famed courtesan held his gaze as if in challenge and he had to cede that she would know.
“I did not realize my suit was common knowledge,” he said, accepting a glass of orgeat lemonade. He braced himself against the first taste even as he saluted Miss Ballantyne. “You are well informed.”
“It is a habit that is difficult to abandon,” she ceded and they sipped.
He did not mind the almond flavor and was pleased to find that Miss Ballantyne’s concoction was less sweet than the one he recalled.
“I confess myself surprised at the news you intended to wed,” she said.
“By my mother’s accounting, I should have done as much already,” he admitted, seeing no reason to disguise the truth. “But yes, I have formed an alliance and will wed shortly.”
She looked into the depths of her glass, choosing her words with a care that Arthur could not explain. “And you are in search of his grace on this evening for a reason?”
“I was summoned by him.”
“Summoned? That is a strong choice of word, Mr. Beckham. Surely the duke was more gracious than that.”
“He has a talent, Miss Ballantyne, for sheathing an iron fist in a velvet glove. I had no doubt that my attendance was mandatory, nor was I so foolish as to be late.”
She smiled again, but her gaze was thoughtful. “Do you know why he sought your presence here tonight?”
“No. I wonder, though, if it has to do with my pending engagement.”
Her dark brows rose and she watched him closely.
“The lady’s father did say he would consult with the duke on the matter.”
Miss Ballantyne’s confusion was clear. “But why?”
“I cannot say. Perhaps they are good friends. Perhaps he respects his grace’s counsel.” Arthur shrugged.
“How curious. I did not realize that Mr. Grosvenor and his grace were acquainted.”
Suddenly, her reactions made sense. “Oh, you mistake my intention, Miss Ballantyne. It is not Miss Grosvenor I would marry, but Miss Patience Carruthers.”
Did he imagine that his companion was startled? Arthur would have denied it but Miss Ballantyne’s expression became inscrutable and her attention fixed upon the glass she held. “What a curious match,” she said softly, then raised her gaze to his. Her expression reminded him of one of those Venetian cats newly arrived in his chambers.
“I do not find Miss Carruthers that unlikely of a spouse,” he said heartily. “She is clever and pretty, not so young as some other eligible ladies, to be sure, but I would have a wife closer to my own age.”
His companion smiled. “I meant Miss Carruthers’ choice of you as a spouse,” she said, her eyes dancing at the surprise Arthur failed to hide.
“Me?”
Miss Ballantyne refilled her glass. “You are handsome, to be sure, young and no doubt virile, and I understand that you have wealth, as well, but the Carruthers sisters are daughters of a publisher. They have been raised to know their own minds, to think and discuss and read widely. Indeed, they are most uncommon young ladies, and thus I would expect their marital choices to be somewhat uncommon.”
“But the eldest is wed to Baron Trevelaine.”
His companion saluted him with her glass. “A match made by his grace, and thus a conventional one. Also a happy one, I believe.” She sipped. “But the second daughter, Miss Patience, is said to be the cleverest of them all and practical beyond compare. I might believe that she had chosen you for your income, but beyond that –” she tilted her head to consider him, then shook her head minutely “– I cannot see why you would appeal to her. You have a charm, Mr. Beckham, but such a lady would require more substance than I would expect you to offer.”
Arthur did not know what to say. He fancied he had been insulted, though he was not entirely certain what detail he would cite if he took umbrage.
