He had found The Fitful Widow vastly superior to Shakespeare’s comedies, which he thought unbelievable and tedious. After one was read, the others were very much the same and lacked the brilliant wording of the tragedies.
In contrast, Sarah’s play had entertained him, and yet, there was a kernel of human honesty in the characters. Why else would he have related this situation to what he’d read? Indeed, Sarah’s play may have jolted his personal complacency and made him think a bit beyond his usual sensibilities—and that meant she had talent, even if she wasn’t a male.
Offering to stage her play had been an easy matter after he’d read The Fitful Widow.
But widows were not dukes and he’d best not let anyone else know the comparisons he was drawing. He had meetings scheduled for the day and he should be about them.
And so he set off to undo the damage Rov was hell-bent on stirring with his childish actions. He and Gavin were already fighting a duel. That should have been enough for one man, but not Rov. He appeared bent on wreaking as much havoc as possible for no other reason than his own vanity. Gavin had truly misjudged his former friend.
As he went about his duties, he discovered Ben had been right in claiming tongues were wagging about his new mistress. Everywhere he went, he received winks and nudges and more than a few sly, jealous innuendoes from his peers. Bedding the Siren had burnished his reputation, which was puzzling to Gavin. He’d never once judged a man by the woman he poked.
Apparently he was in the minority.
And it wasn’t just the men who commented. Feminine interest had also been stirred.
He discovered this when he attended the afternoon garden party to meet Miss Charnock.
Over breakfast, his mother had given him quite a set down. She had informed him she’d made excuses the night before, citing his importance to the nation. “However, I have rearranged an introduction for this afternoon at the Countess Fizzwill’s garden party. I expect you to be there.”
The only answer to such a declaration was, “Yes, Mother.”
And he was there. The introduction went smoothly.
The Charnock heiress was an uncommonly beautiful woman of what Gavin guessed to be two-and-twenty. She reminded him of a tigress with her abundance of tawny hair and dark, almond shaped eyes. There was a rumor that she had Indian blood. However, Gavin knew her family lines were impeccable because she’d already received the approval of his great-aunt Imogen. She was all a duchess should be—young, which meant she was fertile, very attractive, and well connected. That she was an heiress was an additional advantage. The title could never have enough money.
Gavin also met her father and mother, both beaming their approval of him and behaving as if they would plaster themselves to his side.
To his relief, when he suggested he and Miss Charnock stroll around the countess’s gardens, they did not follow.
Gavin opened the conversation with some talk of the weather.
Miss Charnock’s responses were unremarkable in their politeness. She mentioned she was fond of roses and Gavin made a mental note to have Talbert send roses to her.
However, once they reached the haven of a rose arbor and were out of earshot of eavesdroppers, Miss Charnock shocked him with a different side of her character.
The veneer of bored society miss dropped away. She whirled on him. “Is it true that you have claimed a woman known as the Siren for your mistress?”
“I’m not certain this is polite conversation,” he answered, glancing around to see if anyone could have overheard her.
“I’m not polite,” she informed him. “Not when I have questions.”
“And here I was thinking you performed ‘polite’ rather well.”
She blinked at his mild rebuke and then laughed as if delighted. “You are vastly more interesting than what I’d heard.”
Now she had Gavin’s attention. “And what have you heard?”
Her nose wrinkled as if in distaste. She reached for one of the lush blooms on the arbor and pulled a velvety petal, rubbing it between her fingers before deigning to say, “That you are all that is right and proper.”
“You don’t say that as a compliment.”
“It isn’t,” she answered. “Who wants to be leg-shackled to a paragon?”
“Or an unconventional young woman,” he added, although her honesty was revealing. A paragon? Is that what people thought of him—and not in a complimentary way?
She laughed. “We are all unconventional if we allow ourselves to be. So tell me about this woman. Is it true she danced naked?”
Gavin could well imagine Sarah’s response to that statement. “Not naked,” he said dutifully. “However, it was a stunning performance.”
