“You enjoy hunting?” He pulled out a large, speckled handkerchief and mopped at his forehead. She looked at the gathering beads of sweat with horrified curiosity. “How very—well, I suppose it is not so unusual for young ladies to enjoy hunting these days.”
“And shooting,” she continued, ignoring the glare her mother directed at her. “I do so wish my father would let me shoot.”
“Shooting? Young ladies ought not to shoot, Lady Theodosia.”
She beamed at him. “You sound just like my father.”And you look like him, too. When he spluttered, she rose and tugged on the bell pull. “Are you well? I shall have some more refreshments brought in.”
“No, there is no need—I do not—thank you, Lady Theodosia, but I am quite well.”
“Are you certain? My father finds he suffers from gout on occasion, and I declare I could spot it from anywhere.”
“I do not suffer from gout,” he said, a little sharply. “My health is perfectly satisfactory.”
Theodosia let the silence drift uncomfortably before she smiled. “Of course, sir. How do you like to read?”
“Read?” He blinked as though the idea were entirely foreign. “Do you mean novels?”
“What else? I read as often as I can, although I am so busy of late I hardly have the time. Mrs Radcliffe’s novels are my favourite. A female author? Can you imagine?” She did not give him the chance to reply, although he opened his mouth hopelessly in the attempt. “I find it positively charming that ladies can be authors, too.”
“Sensationalist fiction,” he said, mopping his brow once more.
“And yet so very compelling. I could readThe Mysteries of Udolfoa thousand times over.”
“Theodosia,” her mother said, approaching them from the corner of the room. “Are you letting your tongue run away with you again?”
“How can I help myself when I feel so comfortable around Lord Weston?” Theodosia said. “He makes me feel quite as at ease as Papa.”
“Enough.” Lady Shrewsbury’s tone was quiet, but the expression in her eyes promised trouble. “Thank you for calling, Lord Weston. I do hope we’ll see you again.”
I don’t, Theodosia thought.
“Yes, well.” He rose awkwardly to his feet, giving Theodosia a rather unfortunate view of the way his waistcoat strained at the waist. “I’m afraid I have some business. Urgent, you know. I’m sure I shall see you again.”
“Will we see you at the Norfolk ball tomorrow?” Lady Shrewsbury pressed.
“Well, I.” He mopped at his face once more. “I expect I shall attend, but I cannot be certain—I cannot make promises.”
“Of course. I quite understand.” Her mother gave him a tight-lipped smile that made no pretence at humour. “Goodbye, Lord Weston.”
“Indeed. Lady Shrewsbury. Lady Theodosia Beaumont.” He bowed. “Lady Annabelle.”
All three ladies curtsied and he left the room. As soon as he did, Theodosia flopped back on the sofa. “Goodness,” she said into the silence. “I thought he would never leave.”
“Theodosia Charlotte Beaumont.”
“Yes, Mama?”
“What were you doing?”
Theodosia blinked innocently. “Why, discussing the benefits of modern literature with Lord Weston.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You knowpreciselywhat you were doing, young lady, and I shall not have it.”
“But he was so old, Mama,” she said, casting her sister a pleading glance. “And did you see? He barely had any teeth.”
“That is not the matter at hand.”
“It should be,” she muttered. “I understand my duty, Mama, but surely there isonegentleman in all of London prepared to marry me who is also in possession of his teeth.”
