Emmeline rolled her eyes. “Lord Melrose was meant to marry last season, as well, and the season before that. The ton always thinks he’s steps away from stumbling into the parson’s mousetrap, but he hasn’t been caught yet.”
It didn’t appear to Emmeline that Lord Melrose was in any hurry to marry, but Lady Fosberry was never wrong about such things. If she said Lord Melrose would wed this season, the man was doomed to become betrothed before grouse season commenced.
“I think he’ll offer for Lady Philippa.”
Lady Fosberry attempted a careless shrug, but Emmeline didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in her ladyship’s eyes, and she hid a smile. Her ladyship was forever trying to trip them into a matchmaking error, but she was rarely successful. “Lord Melrose is meant to marry Lady Christine Dingley. His mother wished for the match, and he’s hardly going to go against his deceased mother’s wishes, is he?”
“Besides, Lady Christine is the season’s belle,” Juliet added. “To the belle go the spoils.”
Emmeline thought the marriage mart was rather ridiculous, really, with its belle, and the Incomparable, and the Nonesuch. But then the ton was ridiculous.
Why would their approach to marriage be sensible?
“I can’t say I think Lord Melrose is the sort to defy expectations.” Phee tapped her lip, considering it. “Particularly in a matter of such consequence as choosing a wife.”
“He is very proper,” Helena agreed.
“Well, he’s had to be since that awful fever took his parents off. Dreadful business, that.” Lady Fosberry shuddered. “An ancient title, an enormous fortune, a dozen or more properties, and three younger sisters to look after knocked the boyish antics right out of poor Melrose.”
“But even his mistresses are proper.” Tilly snatched another teacake off the plate. “Let’s not forget his mistresses.”
“Tilly!” Emmeline scolded, shocked. “Hush, will you?”
“What, do you suppose I don’t know about mistresses? Well, I do. Lord Melrose has had a number of them, and each of them as proper as a governess.”
“Is there such a thing as a proper mistress?” Juliet turned a doubtful look on Lady Fosberry.
Lady Fosberry gave an airy wave of her hand. “Discreet widows are the thing.”
“Never mind his mistresses.” Emmeline shot Tilly a quelling look. “If past patterns are predictive of future behavior, and I submit they are—”
“Predictive behavioral patterns.” Lady Fosberry snorted. “My dear girl, people are nothing if not unpredictable. They rarely do what one expects them to. You’d do well to remember that.”
“—Lord Melrose will do precisely what’s expected of him, and marry Lady Christine,” Emmeline finished.
“He hasn’t yet. Indeed, he doesn’t appear to have the least inclination toward Lady Christine, and the season is nearly half finished. The ton begins to whisper she won’t bring him up to scratch.” Lady Fosberry lowered her voice, as if Lady Christine’s failure were shocking, indeed.
“That is curious.” That Lord Melrose hadn’t yet succumbed to Lady Christine’s dubious charms rather improved him in Emmeline’s estimation, but she predicted his rebellion would be short-lived.
“Still, there must be something to your theories,” Lady Fosberry admitted grudgingly. “You did predict Lord Eaton would marry Miss Yates last season, though it was her third season and the ton had given her up as a spinster.”
“One needn’t have a comprehensive knowledge of mathematics to put Lord Eaton and Miss Yates together. He’s wanted her since her first season, and was only waiting for his father to die before offering for her.”
Still, Emmeline couldn’t deny she and her sisters had been remarkably accurate, for all that their matchmaking had begun as a game. It was meant to be a harmless way for them to amuse themselves, but they’d honed their skills over the long, quiet winters in Buckinghamshire.
“As for Lord Melrose, you forget, my dears, that I’ve known him since he was in short pants. I tell you, he’s just the gentleman to surprise us all.”
“I’ll allow it’s statistically possible—” Phee began.
“As are many things that will never happen,” Emmeline interrupted.
“—but given Lord Melrose’s behavioral patterns, I don’t think it likely. I predict Lady Christine will become the Countess of Melrose before the final ball of the season.”
Emmeline thought it rather a pity, really, as she didn’t think Lord Melrose and Lady Christine a good match, but then everyone paid a price for the gifts bestowed upon them by fate, and Lord Melrose appeared destined to be cursed with a silly, disagreeable wife.
“Oh, that reminds me!” Lady Fosberry snatched up the copy of The Morning Gazette she’d brought with her this afternoon. “There’s the most delectable bit of gossip here about Lady Philippa nearly coming to blows with Lady Christine over a length of lavender silk at Madame Toussaint’s shop.”
Emmeline couldn’t imagine an existence where a length of lavender silk was one’s greatest concern. “Who won the prize? Lady Christine, or Lady Philippa?”
