Page 60 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
“So you draw lots here, too?” Maria asked. “In America, we have the unmarried gentlemen draw from among the names of the unmarried ladies to see who’s their valentine for the year.”
“That’s how it works in England, too,” Celia put in, “but the Foxmoors treat it as part of the entertainment. When a man draws a woman’s name, he gets to dance the final waltz with her and take her in to supper, that’s all.”
“At least it’s late in the day,” Freddy said. “There won’t be a bunch of women wandering the place with their eyes closed, bumping into everything.”
“Freddy,” Maria said in a low voice, “I’m sure the English don’t do such a silly thing as that on St. Valentine’s Day. That’s probably an American custom.”
“Actually, no,” Minerva said. “Plenty of people here still have that superstition. It’s nonsense, of course—the idea that a girl might be yoked to a man for all eternity simply because he was the first person she saw on St. Valentine’s Day, but you can’t convince some people of that.”
Jarret nodded. “You’ll definitely find one or two of the maids walking about tomorrow morning with their hands over their eyes for fear they’ll see the wrong man before they meet up with their sweethearts.” He gestured to Gabe. “That joker there likes to ask them to pick something up, just to see if they can do it with their eyes closed. He’s a devil that way.”
“It serves them right to be thwarted if they’re foolish enough to participate in such a ridiculous superstition,” Mrs. Plumtree said with a snort. “I’d never let any ofmyservants do it. It smacks of country ignorance.”
“I think it’s romantic,” Celia said dreamily. “You let Fate choose your mate. The stars align, and suddenly you’re confronted with the man of your dreams.”
“Or the man of your nightmares,” Maria bit out, thinking of how Fate had thrown her into Oliver’s power a week ago. “Fate can be rather fickle in that respect, if you ask me. I wouldn’t trust Fate with my future.”
Minerva eyed her over her glass of wine. “Probably a wise policy.”
That began a debate among the Sharpe siblings about love and marriage and how difficult it was to find a mate in society. From the surreptitious glances they cast their grandmother throughout, Maria guessed that most of the discussion was for Mrs. Plumtree’s benefit. She wondered if the woman even noticed. She seemed distracted this evening, probably for the same reason Maria was.
Oliver and his curst “bit of fun.”
As soon as they’d finished eating and it was acceptable for her to bow out, she excused herself to head upstairs. She had to escape them, to be alone with her thoughts. But before she could reach her room, Freddy came up behind her.
She halted to face him. “What is it?”
He looked worried, an unusual state for him when he was well fed. “You’re upset because of what I let slip about Lord Stoneville going off to a brothel.”
“Why would that make me upset? He has the right to go where he pleases.”
“But I was wrong,” he protested. “He went to gamble. Lord Jarret said so.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Lord Jarret will say whatever he must to hide his brother’s peccadilloes from hisgrandmother. But there’s no need to hide them from me. I know his lordship’s faults.”
When she started to walk away, Freddy laid his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Mopsy. I messed that up. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t. I’m fine, really I am.” Her throat tightened. “You and I both know that Lord Stoneville sees me only as a means to an end.”
“That’s not true,” Freddy said earnestly. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. It’s how I look at the last bit of bacon on the serving plate. He likes you.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“And you like him, too.”
She let out a shuddering breath. “I like Nathan.”
“But if Mr. Pinter doesn’t find Nathan—”
“Then we’ll go home and hope Nathan doesn’t take too long in returning.”
“You could marry Lord Stoneville,” Freddy said.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat. No. She couldn’t, even if Oliver wanted to. But there was no point in telling him that. “I hardly think that a man who runs off to brothels at every opportunity would make a good husband.”
Freddy slumped his shoulders. “I suppose not.”
“Why don’t you join the gentlemen at their port? I promise, I’m right as rain.”
