Page 30 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
“Do you know them, Claire?” she asked.
“I fear I do not, so we shall discover together if they are men of character.”
“I prefer that they be men of wealth. Westcliffe, do you know of their financial situations?”
“No.”
“You have a nice dowry, Beth,” Claire said. “You do not need to concern yourself with their finances.”
“Of course I do. I do not want a man to marry me for my money. If he has wealth, then I shall know for certain that he is marrying me for me.”
“Whether he be rich or poor, Beth, he shall want to marry you for you.”
“Father doesn’t share your confidence.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. He’d have not given you a Season otherwise.”
The ladies settled into silent eating for all of fifteen seconds—he knew because he counted. He’d made a wager with himself that they’d not reach a minute of quiet before dinner was over.
Then Beth announced, “I can think of nothing worse than being married to Lord Hester.”
“He’s quite well-off as I recall,” Westcliffe said. “And I believe he’s only forty.”
Beth glared at him. “My life will be ruined.”
Such drama. Perhaps he would move to a hotel for the Season.
“I notice that Ainsley is not listed,” Claire said, her eyes dancing with amusement. Was she teasing him? Or was she sensing his impatience with the banality of the situation? Granted, Hester was not particularly charming, but neither was the man an ogre.
“I can vouch for his unwillingness to marry,” Westcliffe informed her.
“That is unfortunate,” Beth said. “What fun we’d have if we were all in the same family!”
“I can scarcely imagine it.” He heard a cough designed to cover a laugh coming from the other end of the table. He glanced at his wife. She was far too amused, and he found himself wishing that she’d released the laughter.
“Beth, dear heart,” Claire began, “I believe you must curb your enthusiasm somewhat lest you frighten the young men away.”
“Oh, I shall behave with the utmost decorum in public. But we’re family. Surely a bit more levity is allowed.”
“As long as we are not upsetting Westcliffe’s digestion. I daresay he’s not accustomed to the flightiness of young ladies.”
“I daresay he is if the rumors I’ve heard from Cousin are to be believed.”
He watched as Claire took great interest in the food remaining on her plate while her cheeks burned a bright red.
“I assure you, Beth,” he said quietly, but firmly, “there is no truth in the rumors regarding me and young ladies.” Older ladies, mature ladies certainly. But young ones? No, not for some time now.
Beth took the paper he’d given her earlier, folded it up, and tucked it beneath the sash at the waist of her dress. “I’m so grateful to hear it. I didn’t believe them. Not really.” She gave him a pointed look. “Truly, why would you seek out the company of another when you have Claire?”
Why indeed? And he realized that while she’d heard rumors of his indiscretions, she wasn’t aware of her sister’s. Not unusual. As those who knew about it—the members of his family—were not prone to gossip.
“When Claire showed me around the residence, I noticed that you had a pianoforte. To show my appreciation for all you’ve done for me thus far, may I play it for you this evening?”
Surely she couldn’t speak while she played. “I would like that very much.”
Within five minutes, Westcliffe realized that he shouldn’t make assumptions about young women. Beth could indeed play and speak at the same time, and she seemed intent on revealing the history of each tune that tripped lightly from her fingers.
“Did you think she would be silent while playing?” Claire asked quietly as she handed him a snifter of brandy.
