Page 10 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
“No,” she said directly. “I’m not. I really am not very good at drawing, or painting. I suppose that is a necessary accomplishment for noblewomen. Including for countesses?” Her stare was direct and inquiring.
“What? No,” Sebastian said at once, his frown descending. “No. Why would you say that?” He stared at her in confusion. Why would anyone assume that a countess would have to have any kind of artistic ability at all? Nobody in his family, as far as he knew, had ever been an exceptional artist.
“Because I’m not suitable to be a countess,” Miss Montague said at once, the words pouring out as if she’d saved them up for the last twenty minutes. “I’m not good at painting, or playing the pianoforte, or any particular accomplishment. I can dance, after a fashion, but I don’t embroider very well, or sing, or do anything that might seem suitable. I’d be a terrible countess. You can’t expect it of me. You can’t.”
Sebastian gaped at her in surprise. From being utterly silent and shy, she’d gone to being bold and direct to the point of telling him off. That barely seemed possible.
“I believe that what I can and cannot do, Miss Montague, is up to me,” Sebastian answered before he could stop himself. He had never been good at being challenged.
“No,” Miss Montague replied at once. “No, in this case, it isn’t. You have to stop this. I’d ruin you. I’ll be terrible—I'll never give you a moment’s peace, gossiping and being indiscreet andcausing trouble among theTon. I’ll be the worst countess ever. You have to believe it. You have to.”
Sebastian frowned. “I think, Miss Montague,” he said slowly, “that you have little idea of what is expected of a countess. Therefore, I think you cannot know how well or poorly you might fill the role suggested.” He sounded colder than he felt. In truth, he was interested. She had been so quiet, so polite, in front of her mother, and now, when Mrs. Montague was out of the room for a few minutes, she turned into a different person, a lively, bold woman who feared him not in the slightest. In itself, that was refreshing. He’d rather that than an uncertain, insincere socialite.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she replied instantly. “Indeed, one must have some knowledge of a profession before deeming it unsuitable for oneself. I am not well-versed in the ways of an acrobat, but I am almost certain it is not my vocation.”
Sebastian chuckled in spite of himself. “No, Miss Montague. I would rather hope not.”
She blushed red, and he smiled. She was interesting. She had a fast mind, and a witty streak. She was not uninteresting at all. He had thought, just a few minutes ago, that she was shy and difficult and that he’d have no way of getting to know her, even a little, but now she showed herself to be entirely different.
He liked her.
“No. Perhaps that is not the best example.”
He roared with laughter at her answer and was still laughing when they heard footsteps in the hallway.
“You need to decide to tell your father you can’t do this,” Miss Montague hissed at him, just as her mother appeared.
He looked at Mrs. Montague, who walked in, a small smile on her face, though whether she was just trying to cover up being nervous, or whether she was actually smiling, he was uncertain. Opposite him, Miss Montague fixed him with an angry, insistentgreen stare.
“Mrs. Montague,” Sebastian said, feeling a small smile play at the corners of his mouth. “I must say I am wholly enchanted with your daughter. If I may, I would like to invite her to my estate as soon as possible so that my father can approve our union.”
He looked over at Miss Montague, whose gaze was pure indignation. He hid a smile. He had, after all, won the first battle, and now he looked forward to many more. One thing she was certainly not, was insipid, and that was all that mattered besides carrying out Papa’s request.
Chapter 5
The gray stone of the London townhouses was darker gray where the rain soaked it. Eleanor, peering nervously down the street, took a deep breath and tried to be calm. She focused on the street, the stone pavement was damp and glistening with rainwater, and the sound of coaches rattling past was loud in her ears, making her heart thud even faster.
“Here we are,” Papa said.
“Yes,” Eleanor murmured. “Quite so, Papa.”
She swallowed hard, gazing around. She and Papa had taken the family coach to London, to meet Lord Ramsgate and his son, Lord Glenfield. Lord Glenfield had insisted on it, despite her protestations, and that made Eleanor frown deeply.
It seems as though he likes to see me disconcerted, she thought angrily.
She bit her lip and glanced over to where her father was jumping down from the coach.
“Here we are, dear,” he said softly, reaching up to help her down. She took his hand and stepped out onto the rain-damp pavement, the skirts of her pastel yellow dress swaying as she did.
“Best hurry,” her father commented, taking her hand and walking briskly towards the big house that loomed up from the pavement in front of them. Eleanor gripped his hand and hurried up the steps beside him, only risking looking up as they reached the top of the stairway.
Ramsgate House in London was tall, made of gray stone, with long windows and imposing gables. She shivered, despite the thick mantle that she wore against the bitter rain and cold. The aspect of it looked aloofand unfriendly, just like the manwhom she knew was waiting in there, somewhere, to welcome them.
“Best hurry and get in out of this rain,” Papa commented, lifting the doorknocker. Eleanor swallowed hard, part of her wanting to ask Papa not to hurry, wanting to stand there waiting until someone came to check if they were there, or until the entire idea was forgotten about and they could go back home to Woodford house.
Papa knocked twice and the butler appeared almost immediately. He stood back to let them enter.
“His lordship is in the drawing room,” he informed Papa as he passed him his hat and long oilskin cloak. “If you wish, I will show you up.”
