Page 17 of Better Than a Duke
“Of course. Though a few of us are rather grateful to be without a spouse, given the state of the marriage. But it’s grand to have other ladies with whom to commiserate, and of course we’re well known for our charitable works and for giving splendid advice to young, single ladies about how to make a good marriage. Lady Mary Heath was the youngest, but now you’ll be. Oh, she won’t like that.” The duchess giggled. “She’s fifty-three, you know,” she whispered, “and while I have a suspicion that she helped Lord Albert on his way, she has made a good addition to our ranks.”
So they also gossiped about each other. “Thank you for considering me,” she said. “I will see if I can manage to attend. I do have a young son.”
“I understand completely. My youngest is forty-six now.”
“Mine is ten.”
As Iris sought a way to escape the conversation, the music for the first waltz of the evening began. A responding shiver of nerves ran up her arms. It had been years since she’d danced at any event larger than a country soiree. But having Lord Hentrose appear so she could escape being pulled into the widows’ tea party circle would have been handy. She likely shouldn’t have suggested he not come to collect her, then.
“That sounds delightful, doesn’t it, Iris?” Aunt Margaret took up, before Iris could invent her own distraction and slip away. “It almost makes me wish I was a widow.” She chuckled. “I’m only jesting. I do dote on Harold, you know.”
“I—”
“There you are, Mrs. Silbern,” Lord Hentrose’s voice came from behind her. “Your Grace. And Lady Margaret. I heard you’re making a valiant effort to fight off the gout. Well done, my lady.”
Her aunt tittered as Iris dragged her chair around to face the marquis. “You’re very kind, Lord Hentrose. And I’m pleased to see you in London so early this year!”
“I’ve brought my daughter with me to Town,” he commented. “And I apologize, but I’ve asked Mrs. Silbern for this dance. Might you spare her for a short time?”
“Of course I can.” Aunt Margaret reached back for Iris’s wrist and practically flung her at the marquis, who at least had the good grace to offer an arm before she could stumble. “Have fun, my dear.”
“Thank you for coming to find me, Lord Hentrose,” Iris said feelingly as they walked to the dance floor. “Did you know there’s a regular tea held by widows, for widows?”
He snorted. “Is that why you looked like you ate a bug?”
“I did not look like that,” she stated, unable to help chuckling. “I’ll have you know I would be the youngest, and the duchessunderstands me completely because her own youngest son is forty-six years of age.”
“Good God. Look at my ears. Are they bleeding? I think you’ve made them bleed.”
Oh, someone with a sense of humor and the wit to use it. A miracle in the middle of a stuffy ballroom. “I apologize, but I can’t see you, as I’ve gouged out my eyes.”
“It’s a good thing I’ll be leading the waltz, then.” They reached the edge of the polished dance floor, and he took her hand. “Shall we?”
“You’re a brave man, Lord Hentrose.”
“Beckett, please. We’re standing on the edge of disaster together, after all.”
“Iris.”
With a nod he faced her, put his free hand on her waist, and then twirled them into the dance. “I’m going to be very hurt if I discover there’s a widowers’ club or tea or something and no one invited me.”
“Would you attend if they did?”
Beckett Raines made a face. “God, no. I’d like to think I have more important things to do than declaring that having my wife die was the defining moment of my entire life. I have a daughter to raise.”
“Exactly. I mean, perhaps if I were sixty years old and Edmund was grown and married and happy I might consider sitting down for tea every fortnight with other old ladies, but I have been in conversations before that began with ‘my son is forty-six years old,’ and they tend to end with ‘you’d be perfect together.’”
“I have had a great many of those conversations myself, even without a club of widowers about to shove their daughters at me.” He glanced away. “Do you ever think things might have been easier if Edmund had been a girl? Because if Rebecca had been a boy, Iwould have felt much more prepared to raise her—him—on my own.”
“All the time. Perhaps we should trade.” She laughed. “I’m certain that would go over without any notice at all.”
Beckett tilted his head, and for a moment she wondered if he had any idea how attractive he was. Or whether, like her, he needed a servant to inform him that his hair was on fire because he never had time to notice on his own. “Edmund told me he likes horses.”
“He likes the idea of horses and being a smashing rider. I’ve sat him on a pony here and there, but don’t let him fool you.”
“I’d be happy to show him about my stable and perhaps even provide an appropriate mount for him. Rebecca has declared her intention to become a crack rider, as well, even if she has to flee to Spain and capture her own wild Lipizzaner to do it. I’m about to give in to her. Adding one more pony to the mix would hardly make a difference.”
Frowning, she looked him in the eye. “Are you resorting to bribery to sway me toward letting our children play together?”
