Page 21 of A Brilliant Match
In the shadows of their box at the opera, she smiled, recalling his expression of relief when she had at last brought the carriage safely back to him. It had been harder than she’d expected to control the pair, and she was proud of herself for doing it. And it was nice to be lauded for her skill.
She must keep him at a distance, because the simple truth stood. He wasnoteligible. He did not have the position in Society she desired to align herself to, and more to the point, he did not have the funds to set her up in style. With such focused attention coming from him—and with so little coming from other gentlemen this early in the season—she must not allow herself to be vulnerable to his charm.
The tragedy that was being sung below her came to the end of the second act, and she began clapping along with everyone else, conscious that she had not been at all interested in the story or the music. Sophia, on the other hand, had not stopped weeping from emotion at her side. When the audience began to stand and move about in their boxes, Dorothea stood.
“Mama, shall we go and have a glass of champagne?” she asked.
“You two go without me,” her mother said, sending them off with a wave. “I cannot bear the crowds. There is only one more act after this, and I long for my bed.”
“Are you sure we should take champagne?” Sophia whispered as they walked to the entrance of their box. “I have heard it can alter your senses.”
“Not with such a small amount, silly,” Dorothea replied, but she was struck by doubt. She had heard that one drank champagne at the opera, and she intended to be like everyone. However, perhaps she should not subject either herself or her sister to that temptation when she truly did not know its effects. Or perhaps she was wrong about what an unmarried lady should drink at the opera.
When they were at last able to secure refreshment, Sophia made no comment when Dorothea asked for two glasses of lemonade. They turned and sipped, Dorothea’s eyes taking in the people milling past them with scarcely any opening to cross over to return to their box seats. They pressed their backs to the wall and sipped quietly without speaking, surrounded by a hum of conversation.
Almost immediately, a male voice addressed her from the side. “Lady Dorothea.”
She turned, her smile in place, hiding the little dip of disappointment when it was not Mr. Shaw.
“Lord Hastings.”
She curtsied, taking in his appearance. He was still handsome, despite having easily passed his fiftieth year, and in spite of his upper lip which seemed to disappear in a smile that was not his most attractive feature. “Have you been presented to my sister, Lady Sophia?”
“I have not had the pleasure, no.” Lord Hastings took Sophia’s hand and bowed over it. She curtsied, blushing, looking anywhere but at his face.
Silence fell after the initial greetings, and Dorothea strove to think of something of interest. It must not be said that the Rowlandson sisters had no conversation, although she had started to fear that was indeed the case since their arrival in London. The only one she felt at all comfortable conversing with was Mr. Shaw. But he must not count.
“Are you enjoying the opera?” she asked, conscious that it was rather flat in the way of conversational gambits but unable to think of anything better. She waited for him to answer, and he did so after what seemed like an infuriatingly long stretch of time for the simple answer he returned.
“Yes. Very much.”
She tried again. “Where do you reside when you are not in London?”
At this, his eyes lit up, and he showed the first signs of life. “My estate is located on the moors of Northumberland, near the border of Scotland. It is there that I prefer to spend the majority of my time.”
Dorothea opened her mouth, then shut it again before knowing quite how to respond.
“I see.”
This was a daunting bit of information. Although she would not mind an age gap in her quest for a suitable match, she did not relish the idea of spending ten months out of the year in such a cold and inhospitable place as Northumberland.
Just when she thought the conversation was doomed to die for lack of feeding its fire, he spoke again “Lady Dorothea, I am hoping you will do me the honor of walking with me in the park tomorrow.”
“Oh, tomorrow! I…would be delighted.” Dorothea attempted to mean it as he murmured his pleasure at her acceptance. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
She was still undecided. As an earl, Lord Hastings would be an excellent match if she could contrive to secure him, and it seemed as though she had caught his attention. But he inspired none of those fluttery sensations that Mr. Shaw seemed to ignite in her. And although Lord Hastings could clearly lead London society if he wished it, he had made his preferences for residing on his estate clear. Perhaps she could convince him to spend more time in London than he had previously done. A wife must certainly be capable of changing her husband’s habits, mustn’t she?
Sophia cleared her throat delicately and tugged on Dorothea’s sleeve.
“I don’t think you can have considered,” Sophia whispered in a painfully shy voice. “You promised to take Camilla to themodistetomorrow.”
Dorothea frowned in annoyance. It was true that none of her middle sister’s clothes fit any longer. That was the reason she had not joined them at Gunter’s. A trip to themodistewas absolutely essential.
However, what no one seemed to understand was to what lengths Dorothea was striving to secure a good match. After all, was she not doing it for her sisters’ sakes? She was! For them, and for Everard, too, for it was becoming increasingly clear that he would benefit from the guidance of an older man who could serve as a father figure. Why, only yesterday he had slipped past Mr. Sands again and met up with friends to see a cock fight! She could not seem to get him to mind her.
Attracting a distinguished, worthy suitor would only help them all to achieve more brilliant matches than they might otherwise. But she could not do this while also serving as mother to all of them. The mantle of responsibility lay heavily on her shoulders. All of these thoughts flew quickly through her mind in the time it took her to expel a long, silent breath.
“I don’t suppose you could…” Dorothea murmured back to Sophia, hoping she might take Camilla to the modiste in her stead. One anguished, startled look from her sister silenced her. “No, of course you cannot. I did not consider.”
