Page 64

“You will enjoy this, Miss Coventry, I assure you.”

She longed to explain to Mr. Clark that though she had not been in Society for twenty years, she did not eat dinner like an uncultured swine. She knew very well the difference between a salad fork and the dessert spoon, as well as what courses were served first. And she certainly knew what foods she liked and disliked.

Of course, Mr. Clark was just being attentive, but her patience waned as he rattled off countless stories about university and how he’d played tricks on his friends.

How she longed to speak about anything else. Sunsets. Cherry tarts. Woodcarving…

When dinner ended, Marianne was one of the first of the women to stand, relieved for the excuse to extricate herself from Mr. Clark’s conversational grasp.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” Mother asked as they progressed to the drawing room.

“Yes, of course,” Marianne responded.

“You’ve made quite the impression on Mr. Clark.”

Marianne could have groaned. Was this how Beatrice felt? No wonder she was exhausted after ten years in the same regard. No wonder she didn’t wish to marry.

“He is kind, is he not?” Mother continued. “And set to inherit this lovely estate.”

Marianne nodded. Yes, he was kind. Yes, he would inherit.

But he was not Mr. Steele.

The thought persisted throughout the women’s conversation of pianoforte practicing and bonnet trimming. As such, when the gentlemen joined them, she moved to Father’s side, if only to provide her with further distraction.

He introduced her to Mr. Wakefield, whom he spoke with once again.

“I was just sharing with Mr. Wakefield about our time in Bath,” Father said.

“Oh, yes. It certainly was a delightful time for our family.” Especially meeting Mr. Steele for the first time.

“It is a lovely city,” Mr. Wakefield said, smiling back at her. He hesitated a moment. “Does-does your sister enjoy Bath?”

Even with Mr. Clark’s unending chatter, Marianne had kept one eye on Mr. Wakefield through dinner. He was every bit as amiable as Father had suggested him to be. Why did Beatrice not see this?

“I believe she does,” Marianne responded.

The man nodded, his eyes taking on a vulnerable light before he looked away.

Marianne narrowed her eyes. She’d thought Father had pushed for the match out of convenience, but now—

“Ah, here you are, Miss Coventry.”

Blast. Mr. Clark had found her again. If only hiding behind a settee was not frowned upon, then she’d not have to speak with him for the rest of the evening.

She listened with boredom as Mr. Clark carried on and on. Mr. Wakefield and Father both wandered away eventually, leaving her to stand alone with the man who seemed to never run out of words.

She ought to give him a chance, really. Perhaps he was simply nervous. She did her best to pretend she cared about his horsemanship and swordsmanship when his conversation abruptly shifted.

“I must say, you are a superb listener, Miss Coventry. It must be all those years confined to Daffley Park that taught you the trait.”

Her smile faded. That was rather insensitive of him to say.

“I have been hoping for your presence in Society for so very long,” he continued. “But now that it is here, and with your elder sister still unmarried, I’m sure you are aware that questions have arisen as to why you are out.”

She pressed her teeth together. She would not be speaking of such things with anyone—especially Mr. Clark. She repeated her usual answer. “I suppose my parents simply thought it was time, that is all.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Just like that?”