A week ago, if anyone had told Chase he’d be married to Westerley’s sister by now, he’d have laughed in their face. And then he’d have run for the hills. But rather than resenting his circumstances, he found himself anticipating the days ahead. And the nights—most assuredly the nights. The realization was a baffling one.
“Things aren’t quite the same without Westerley already, are they?” Chase murmured thoughtfully. “I sent word to him. Before I offered for her yesterday morning.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’d expect the same from him.” Chase shrugged. “Besides, I’ve no doubt his mother sent word as well. Better he hears it from me.”
Mantis grunted. “He’s no saint. Look what he did to Lady Felicity.” The brawny viscount wasn’t one to suggest he cared much about such matters and his mentioning Westerley’s spurned fiancée seemed out of place. Might his friend be more interested in the delicate blonde than he’d ever let on?
“He didn’t know it was a legal betrothal.” Chase defended the absent earl.
“Doesn’t change the facts,” Mantis grumbled.
It was a moot point, and the sound of feminine laughter from across the room drew Chase’s attention. Bethany and a few other ladies were giggling at Lord Darlington, who’d collided with Lord Hawthorne when he’d taken a wrong turn.
“It’s good he’s away for now. Gives Lady Bethany, pardon me—Lady Chaswick—the opportunity to cope independently of his interference. So far, I’d say she’s doing rather well.” Mantis’ comment echoed some of Chase’s own opinions.
“Indeed.” Chase had never seen her looking as confident as she did just now.
Nor so uninhibited. He remembered how she’d visibly shrunk after her mother and the companion joined them in his carriage on the drive over. Fleeting impressions from the past reinforced the notion that she’d often subjugated herself for the betterment of others in her family.
Mantis’s suggestion wasn’t without merit.
“She tried a cigar this afternoon.” It had been daring of her. She’d be even more daring later tonight.
Mantis’ questioning gaze pricked at him.
Remembering her initial reaction when she’d inhaled the cigar, he frowned. Had she only pretended to like it when she’d taken a second draw?
What if she didn’t enjoy sexual congress? Would he have any way of ever knowing?
“Did she take it in too deeply?”
Good God! Chase pushed himself away from the wall, ready to go to blows. “What the hell are you getting at?”
“The smoke,” Mantis clarified. “Did she inhale?”
Chase blinked a few times. “Er. Yes. Sent her into a fit of coughing.”
Whereby he’d devised another technique to relieve her of her tension.
Chase adjusted his trousers and then glanced at his timepiece. At a minimum, they needed to remain at the ball another three hours. Would her mother insist upon staying for the duration? He ought to have ordered a second carriage brought over.
“Ten pounds says Mrs. Waverley’s bird falls out of her hair before the end of this set.”
Chase located the woman in question and then analyzed the feathered ornament pinned in her coiffure. He’d pulled a few pins out of ladies’ hair and knew how obstinate they could be. The bird would stay put.
“You’re on,” he agreed.
Chase was set to lead Bethany out for the supper dance in just a little over an hour. Might as well be entertained in the interim.
Chapter 20
Who Will Lead?
Bethany had often judged other ladies for being overly dramatic when they complained that their feet hurt from dancing. Dropping onto a chair for the first time all evening, she mentally retracted such an unfair judgement. Slippers offered little protection against the unyielding surface of the dance floor.
“Lady Ravensdale was right.” Felicity lowered herself onto the chair beside her. “A little bravado and the support of a few dukes and it seems one can bluster their way through practically anything.”
