“You certainly know how to make a lady feel the center of the universe,” Lucy chastised.
Marshall accepted the rebuke with good grace. “I apologize. Chaperoning an eighteen-year old girl is more taxing than I’d imagined.”
Lucy tilted her head sympathetically. “How unfortunate your father is not here to look after Lady Naomi’s interests. Still, she is well launched — she’s quite a success, Monty. I’m sure you’ll have her off your hands before the Season’s out.”
“Thank you, but there’s no hurry to get Naomi to the altar.”
Lady Lucy’s smile faltered under his glowering expression. “On the subject of spouses,” she said abruptly, “I’ve had an interesting tidbit from my father.”
Marshall had no interest in gossip, but he struggled to attend. “Oh?” he asked, his mind already drifting back to the ferns waiting for him in his greenhouse.
“Yes,” she said. “He attended supper at the home of a political acquaintance of his in Commons, a Mr. Bachman.”
Marshall nodded. “I’m acquainted with the family.” Would copper pins be better than steel, he wondered. Or maybe twine? If he just held the fern to the soil with twine stretched across the stem, there would be no risk of injury to the developing roots beneath the surface …
“Their guest for the Season is the Duchess of Monthwaite,” Lucy said in an impatient tone.
His eyes flew to her face. One side of her mouth turned up in a smug, satisfied smile at capturing his attention.
So, his letter to Alexander Fairfax had done its job.
“Isn’t that interesting?” Lucy pressed. “No one has seen her in over a year, and suddenly she reappears in town. Why is she here, I wonder?”
“I do not make a habit of conjecturing as to the motivations of people with whom I am not personally involved.” His words held a tone of scolding. It was badly done of him, he knew, but her aspersions against Isabelle, however vague, were despicable. If they were to wed, she would have to learn to hold her tongue on the matter of his previous marriage. It was none of her concern.
Lucy’s mouth opened in a startled O. “I — ” she began.
“Tell me, Lady Lucy,” Marshall said abruptly, “do you cook?”
She laughed nervously. “Cook? Certainly not! Are you funning me, Monty?”
He shook his head. “I recently learned that a lady of my acquaintance is an excellent cook, a fact that had previously escaped my notice. It led me to wonder how many of our young ladies secretly harbor culinary ambitions.”
Her brows furrowed. “I have all the proper accomplishments, of course,” she said. “I speak French fluently. My drawing master was always pleased with my work. I’ve been told that my playing at the pianoforte is wonderful.”
The waltz ended. Marshall patted her hand as he led her from the floor. “Don’t trouble yourself, Lady Lucy. I’m sure you are perfectly adequate in every way.”
Her mouth set in a hard line, but then she favored him with a sparkling smile. “Thank you, Monty,” she said, as though he’d bestowed the highest compliment.
She’ll do, Marshall thought. He gave her a small smile, satisfied at having so easily concluded his wife hunt. All that remained was an appropriate period of courtship and engagement. Neither Lucy’s mind nor personality particularly captivated him, but they didn’t have to. All he needed was a duchess and mother to his children. As to that, she was certainly attractive.
It was then Marshall realized he’d not paid the least bit of attention to her abundant physical charms so amply on display. And now that he did notice them, it was only to think that as becoming as Lucy looked in her fashionable gown, the only dress that had made an impression on him in recent months was woolen cook’s garb with no pretension of shape and a splatter of grease on the sleeve. Its owner still made it look better than Lucy Jamison did her flimsy frock.
• • •
Naomi’s hands swayed to the music as she watched her brother lead Lucy Jamison in the waltz. The swirling couples seemed to float on clouds, gliding in smooth circles, bobbing up and down ever so slightly. “Such a romantic dance,” she commented to her friend Emily, who stood beside her on the outskirts of the ballroom. “Is it as marvelous to perform as it is to watch? Not that I’m in a hurry to try,” Naomi hastily added. “The Lady Patronesses will grant me permission soon enough, I’m sure.”