Page 25 of A Tenuous Betrothal
When they arrived at the dinner party, however, very soon after receiving introductions to their hosts, Rhi saw that she was not to know anything intimate about Prince Marc this evening, nothing more than the two things she’d already suspected: one, that he was well sought after here in London, and two, that he didn’t at all mind the attention.
She gritted her teeth as the woman he sat by at the other end of the table leaned close to him and said something under her breath. His responding smile and her laugh, all the sickening flirting, just made the grinding of Rhi’s teeth more satisfying. She told herself she didn’t care whom he talked to or who was interested in him. Why should she care? She had her own things to be concerned with.
Rhi sat at the opposite end of the table from anyone she knew. On her right, at the foot of the table, was Duchess Hampton, who was older and polite enough but perhaps slightly snobbish in her perceptions of Rhianna. Across sat Lord Grenville, an older gentleman and in the government, from the sounds of things. The man at her left was Lord Carmine, the one Sophie and her husband had talked of as having newly returned to Society and as being highly eligible. He was charming, his smile engaging, and he provided pleasant enough entertainment throughout the meal—his eyes were the brightest green, and Rhi quite liked looking at them—but so far, she had not been overly intrigued by anything he had said, though he had made her laugh more than once, something Prince Marc didn’t even notice.
She turned back to His Lordship. “Lord Carmine, tell me more about where you have been.”
“Yes, Lord Carmine. It’s been years since we’ve traveled. Did you enjoy your tour?” Duchess Hampton sipped the last of her drink, and a servant immediately filled her cup.
“I did, Your Grace. Such tours might seem extravagant to some, perhaps even a waste of time.” He glanced at Rhi. “But I feel as though I’ve had the education of a lifetime. Once the war ended, I was able to visit every country in Europe.”
Rhi glanced up the table at Prince Marc, who was not looking in their direction, but something about the way he held himself suggested he might be listening. Ah, at last, some interest from him in their half of the table. “Were you?” She smiled encouragingly at Lord Carmine.
Lord Grenville sat back with a satisfied air. “Now that Napoleon is no longer a problem and the war in the Americas has also ceased, we are free to move about once again.” He ran a hand along the surface of the table. “We can be congratulated for placing the perfect man, our Nelson, in such a position as to make a difference. We may owe the entire victory to those who chose him.” The self-congratulations were overflowing from his portion of the table.
Prince Marc coughed, and the Duke of Sumter exchanged glances with his friend.
Rhianna cleared her throat. “Perhaps Admiral Lord Nelson also con-tributed.”
The smothered snort from down the table gratified her. She hid her own smile and then smoothed the obviously ruffled pride of Lord Grenville. “Was it you, yourself, who chose him?”
“I did, yes.” His chest expanded. “There was just something about him that I knew would be the exact leadership we needed; we see from his actions at Trafalgar that he was indeed the man for the job.”
Duchess Hampton dabbed her mouth and replaced her napkin. “We can all thank you, then, for were it not for your keen eye, we would all still be threatened by that menace emperor.”
While Lord Grenville commenced to express all the many ways he had influence, Rhi glanced again at the prince, who met her gaze and nodded with a small smile. And that shared understanding sent a wave of something—not quite of friendship but perhaps the feeling of having an ally in the room—that gave her strength and stemmed the loneliness that had been growing since she had first felt at odds with him.
Chapter Ten
As dinner wound to aclose, some of the guests stood to take a turn about the room. Sophie joined Marc a short distance from everyone else. “You seem more... stressed than the last time you visited.” The duchess’s observant gaze studied him too closely.
He attempted a relaxed smile. “I suppose this new responsibility would make one less carefree. I’m certainly much more focused on something besides my own personal enjoyment.” He lifted the corner of his mouth. “At least we can get to know Lord Carmine in more intimate circumstances without him knowing we are intrigued by him.” His gaze flicked to Miss Davies, who had transformed in a matter of hours from a beautiful woman to one so far surpassing simple beauty that he could hardly trust himself to look at her. She was beguiling, really, something more than she was before. And his curiosity was piqued. Regardless, Marc would be leaving her here, in the arms of a British noble. He told himself there was nothing about her that need interest him—just a pretty dress and a new hairstyle, the common entrapments employed by every female determined to win herself a husband.
He knew his thoughts would sound unfair if vocalized, but he must continue thus if he were to remain unattached. He could not marry, and a promise from his father was not the same as a promise from Marc. He’d told himself so over and over since he’d read the addendum to the will.
“Between you and me, she’s totally unprepared for this crowd. I don’t think she even sees her own attraction,” he at last told Sophie. “We need to set up constant surveillance. She should be shielded from unwanted conversations. She could be tricked by the lowest of men, by someone not inclined to care for her happiness, by any sort of—”
Miss Davies joined them then, and he realized he’d been staring. And she didn’t look pleased.
“What is it?” He stepped closer to her as Bartholomew joined them at his wife’s side.
“Must you now carry a perpetual frown on your face?” Miss Davies asked.
He forced his face to relax. “Have I a frown on my face?”
“Your frowns are constant and directed at me. You walk about as if always displeased. And, while we are on the subject of your disapproval, I do wish to make one thing plain.”
“Oh? And what is that?” His blood seemed to race and burn within him at the same time, but he forced his face to maintain a pleasant expression.
“I’m happy you didn’t desert me. But your opinions are not needed in this hunt for a husband. I am perfectly capable of choosing my own spouse and neither need nor want your thoughts on the matter.”
He felt his mouth open and seemed powerless to close it. So she had overheard his words to Sophie. When he could speak at last, he croaked through dried lips and throat, “Pardon me?”
“I think I have made myself clear.”
Sophie tried to hide an inappropriately large smile. Bartholomew didn’t even try. He clapped Marc on the shoulder and tugged him toward the opposite side of the room. “Come. I do believe the women have this in hand, don’t you? We are needed for only protecting from ruin, scaring off rakes, and talking contracts.”
Marc nodded, feeling weak and useless. He seemed to have lost all his sense and wit and control over the situation. How had such a thing come about? He lowered his voice as they walked away from the ladies. “You think they have the rest in hand?”
