“I’m sure he will.”
“You seem sure of a great many things,” Ariana snapped before she could help herself.
Lady Phyllis blushed, and for once looked her age. “I’m sorry. I’ve presumed too much. It’s only—LordLangton seems a kind man, and from a few things he’s said, he’s fond of you.”
“Yes, he is, and I of him. I apologize. Steering an event like this can be wearing on the nerves.”
“It’s delightfully arranged, but I shouldn’t claim any more of your time.” Lady Phyllis rose, and Ariana knew she should protest that she’d enjoyed every moment, that it had been a pleasant relief. But she let the girl leave, words unsaid. She drank from her punch. She should have done more to convince Lady Phyllis that she and Norris would be a bad match, but where was the purpose? Norris was drawn to pretty Miss Weathersted. Moreover, logic had no part in love, or she wouldn’t be overwhelmed by her feelings for Kynaston.
He’d left the house. She wouldn’t meet him again tonight, and if she could possibly arrange it, she’d never meet him again. Ever.
She stood to take up her duties again.
She did her best to act normally as the party progressed toward its end. Pretense helped restore normality, so as the last guest left, she could almost laugh at her drama. She was still powerfully attracted to Kynaston, but not madly enough to ruin herself over him.
She certainly couldn’t marry him. That would be a union of passion and strife and quite probably a disaster of epic proportions, because she didn’t believe he would change. He’d never cease his drinking, and he’d squander her money as quickly as he’d run through his own. As Lady Kynaston, she could end up counting pennies in a house with a leaking roof, with tiny mouths to feed and her husband off carousing with low friends and vile harlots.
But now she couldn’t marry any other.
She tried to fight that truth, but failed. Such a marriage would inflict misery on an innocent man.
Thus, Norris must marry Miss Weathersted.
Her brother was standing across the hall, so Ariana joined him to say, “That went well and you did your duties excellently.”
“Don’t know why you’re so surprised.”
“I’m sorry if I doubted you. Did you enjoy it?”
“In parts. Not too keen on poetry.”
She went directly to the point. “Miss Weathersted is very pretty.”
“She is, but prettiness isn’t everything.” His tone surprised her, as did the sentiment.
“I’m glad to hear you say so. Is she kindhearted as well?”
“She’s kind to Phyllis, I suppose,” he said, with the beginning of a doting smile.
“Onlyto Phyllis?” Ariana teased. “Not to you?”
“Of course she’s kind to me. I’m an earl.”
She was amused by how firmly his feet were on the ground, but she wanted him to be in love. Madly in love. In part that was because she wanted some crazed lovers in the world to find happiness. But she had a more practical reason. If he was madly in love, he’d permit no delay in getting to the altar.
“I’m surprised that Lady Phyllis and Miss Weathersted are friends,” she said. “They’re not very alike.”
“Wouldn’t say they’re friends exactly. Neighbors, and the Weathersteds are Phyllis’s godparents.”
“So they stepped in when Kynaston’s roof started to leak on her.”
“Exactly. Bit of a rum do, that. A man ought to take care of his place.”
“He certainly should.”
“Truth is,” he confided, “Phyllis finds Cessy Weathersted a bit of a trial and always has.”
An unpleasant worm of an idea slithered into Ariana’s mind. He kept referring to Kynaston’s sister as Phyllis. No “Lady” attached.
