Page 6 of Love in the Time of Scandal
It was a very rude surprise that Frances Lockwood was friends with Penelope Weston. Partly that was because he didn’t know much about Miss Lockwood yet, but partly because what he did know indicated that she was utterly unlike Penelope. Miss Lockwood was anxious to please, listening to his every word as if it had the gravity of Scripture. Miss Weston also seemed to regard his words as biblical, but rather more as she might view the hissings of the serpent in Eden. Miss Lockwood liked the simpler pleasures of life, such as playing her pianoforte and dancing. Miss Weston craved excitement and adventure, and nothing daunted her, as Benedict had seen all too well; there was something wild and unconventional about her. Seeing them together was like seeing Hestia stand shoulder to shoulder with Aphrodite.
He tried not to think of another way they were different. Miss Lockwood was round-faced and pretty in a girlish way, while Miss Weston seemed to blaze with an internal heat that rendered her mesmerizing. Miss Lockwood’s looks were perfect for a wife: pleasant to look at but not distracting. Miss Weston’s future husband, whoever the poor blighter was, would need a strong stomach to be able to endure the way other men watched her.
Benedict banished all those thoughts. He needed to keep his wits about him tonight as he struggled to decide how seriously he wished to pursue Miss Lockwood. After two weeks of companionship, he ought to have a sense of the girl and how she felt about him. He’d already had one marriage proposal rejected—by Miss Weston’s sister, of all people—and he didn’t plan to suffer that humiliation again.
“You look lovely this evening,” he told Miss Lockwood, leading her out for a quadrille. Miss Weston had disappeared into the crowd, although if pressed, Benedict would have wagered a large sum that she was still watching. His skin seemed to prickle, as if he could feel her searing blue gaze on him.
“Thank you, sir.” Miss Lockwood blushed, although her smile was delighted.
Benedict started to relax. This was a girl with no artifice or vendetta. He needed to stop thinking of Penelope Weston and direct his attention to the girl he was considering marrying. “Are you enjoying the ball?”
“Oh yes, especially now that you’re here.” She modestly averted her eyes, but he could hear the eager happiness in her voice.
He leaned his head down to hers as the musicians began to play. “Then I apologize for not arriving sooner, if my presence has added to your pleasure.”
She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes as they made their opening courtesies. It gave him a twinge of something that was half satisfaction, half unease, as if he’d won something without even trying for it. Which was absurd. Miss Lockwood was an heiress; she had her pick of gentlemen, and he was not her only suitor. If she chose him, it would be because she wanted him. And he was hardly some worthless scoundrel with nothing to offer a woman. Unfortunately many of his advantages were related to his father—the wealth, the title, the estates he would someday hold—but Benedict knew he was a handsome fellow with a pleasing manner. He’d never had any trouble winning a woman when he set his mind on her... with the notable exception of Abigail Weston, much to her sister Penelope’s fiendish delight.
No. He was not going to think of that frustrating female again. The dance brought him back to Miss Lockwood and he smiled anew.
“Have you known Miss Weston for a very long time?” she asked.
Silently Benedict cursed. “Not at all.”
“I’ve only known her a few weeks, but I find her very amusing and clever.” She glanced up at him curiously. “What do you think of her?”
I try not to, he thought. “She’s all you say, as well as loyal and devoted to her family.”
Miss Lockwood nodded as though relieved. “She is, isn’t she? I had no idea what to do or how to act at balls, but she was so kind to me. Why, I would have made a silly fool of myself if not for her!”
Benedict took a deep breath to calm the spike of apprehension this inspired. In his experience, Penelope Weston’s interference was not a good thing. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have. You’re a very sensible young lady.”
She glowed at his words. “You’re so kind to say so.” She lowered her voice. “One gentleman who called on me was not as gallant; he implied Miss Weston would be a bad influence on me. But I learned later that he was desperately in debt and had a mistress as well, so his motives were far from honorable.”
“How did you learn such a thing?” Benedict asked, although he had an idea.
Miss Lockwood gave the answer he expected. “Miss Weston told me! And when I asked Miss Drummond, she confirmed it was true.”
The dance parted them again, and Benedict went through the steps while his thoughts ran down some grim lines.
Obviously Penelope Weston had significant influence over Miss Lockwood. That was unfortunate for a number of reasons, the foremost being that Penelope despised him. He could tolerate that—she had a knack for getting under his skin, too—but he couldn’t let her spoil his budding courtship of Frances Lockwood. What business was it of hers whom Miss Lockwood married? The girl deserved to make up her own mind without being swayed by Penelope’s sharp tongue.
This called for a preemptive strike. He escorted Miss Lockwood to her mother’s side when the dance ended and exchanged more pleasantries with Mrs. Lockwood. With any luck, Miss Lockwood would pay more heed to her mother than to her friend, for it was clear to see Mrs. Lockwood approved mightily of him. After securing an invitation to call on them the following day, Benedict drew Miss Lockwood aside.
“Would you be distressed if I asked your friend to dance?”
She blinked, a trace of alarm returning to her expression. “You wish to dance with Miss Weston?”
“Only because she’s your friend,” he replied, stressing the last two words and giving her a small, private smile. “I wish to be on good terms with your friends, my dear.”
Miss Lockwood almost trembled with delight. “Oh,” she breathed. “Yes, of course. Miss Weston did say it was important for—”
“Yes?” he prompted when she gasped and fell silent.
The girl wet her lips as if confiding a secret. “She advised me to look askance on any gentleman who didn’t care for my friends, or of whom my friends disapproved. Her opinion is that no one man is worth giving up my friends. Do—do you disagree, my lord?”
“Not at all.” Itwassound advice. He just had to make certain it worked to his benefit in this instance. “But I wouldn’t wish you to wonder at my asking her.”
She gave him a look of devotion, and some of Benedict’s tension eased. “You are a true gentleman, sir.”
