Page 51 of The Spinster's Stolen Hear
“Indeed, very much so,” Nathan answered, smiling faintly. “It’s Mrs. O’Hare, is it not?”
“Indeed, it is,” the woman responded, spearing a roast tomato. “Andyouare Lord Whitmore. Your mother is a friend of mine, and she discusses you frequently.”
Nathan winced. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh, don’t worry. All mothers rave about their children. The good ones, at least.”
“Good mothers, or good children?”
Mrs. O’Hare put the tomato in her mouth with a wink. “Well, now, that would be telling. Anyway, I hope to see Rose later today. She entertains hopes of you marrying this Season, yes?”
He cleared his throat, shifting. “I believe so.”
“And how is that going along?” She met his eye and snorted at the look in his face. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. A woman of my age and station tends to dispense with formality and get straight to the point.”
“Well, your frankness is certainly refreshing. Make no apologies to me,” Nathan responded, and Mrs. O’Hare grinned.
She was a pleasant enough conversation partner, and the breakfast slipped away most pleasantly, until a flare of music jerked Nathan out of their discussion.
“Time for the dancing,” Mrs. O’Hare said, with a sigh. “I recall that when I was young, I used to dance all night. I had the ankles and knees for it, you know. These days, my joints protest if I even dare to climb the stairs too quickly.”
Nathan chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Were you fond of dancing?”
“Fond of it? Ilivedfor it. Young women are often like that, you know. They don’t look ahead. And the ones that do are told that they are foolish little things, bound to obey their parents and with nothing in their heads but gowns and trinkets,” she paused, snorting again. “I quite approve of this new movement for women to be well educated. Whyshouldn’ta female grasp Latin and mathematics as easily as a man? I have a parcel of children myself, and I must say, the girls are cleverer than the boys.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Nathan replied. “I believe this new literary movement is encouraging women to read more, which can never be a bad thing. Unless, of course, you are one of those people who disapproves of novels.”
Mrs. O’Hare gave him a sharp glance. “Do I strike you as a person who disapproves of novels?”
He smiled wryly. “No, Mrs. O’Hare, You do not.”
The conversation progressed, with Mrs. O’Hare doing most of the talking. Nathan didn’t much mind, until a familiar name made him sit up straight and nearly spill his whiskey.
“They’re saying that Miss Randall, will be wed soon,” Mrs. O’Hare said, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m not surprised. I met her a while ago, and she is quite a breath of fresh air. No fortune, of course, but naturally her cousins will settle something on her.”
Nathan swallowed thickly, trying to compose himself. “She… she’s betrothed?”
“No, not yet, but Lord Barwick’s pursuit of her is rather obvious, and she is accepting his attentions. Other gentlemen are already pulling back. No sense in wasting their time, if she already has an understanding with another,” Mrs. O’Hare sighed. “Frankly, I think I would have chosen better for her than Lord Barwick. Not that she could get better than a Marquess, but I’m not sure he’ll suit her. Still, it’s not of my concern. I daresay Miss Randall knows what she’s doing. Her mother certainly does.”
He felt ill. Nathan was aware that he’d drunk too much whiskey on too little food, and the room began to swim. The music seemed to be louder than before, and the laughter was growing raucous.
“It’s certain, then, that she’s going to marry him?” he pressed. “Is it not just gossip?”
Mrs. O’Hare glanced at him oddly. “Well, I heard it from Lady Randall herself, an old friend of mine, so I imagine it’s as settled as it’s going to be. Why do you ask?”
Nathan didn’t respond. He didn’t have an answer, of course. He knew he was acting strangely, and asking impolite questions, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Come, now,he thought.You knew this would happen, didn’t you?
Before he could process the thought, Nathan found himself on his feet, with Mrs. O’Hare staring up at him, mildly confused.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice tight and a little too loud. “I find myself quite taken ill, Mrs. O’Hare.”
“Goodness,” she said, looking concerned. “Would you like to lie down? I’m sure there’s a quiet, dark room around here. I can summon a physician, and…”
“No need, thank you. But I must ask a favour of you. I shall return home immediately, but my mother seems to be having a good time. Would you mind telling her that I’ve left, but reassure her that I am well? And… and could you take her home in your carriage?”
It was not a proper request to make of a woman he did not know well, but Mrs. O’Hare’s expression softened.
