As a well-bred young lady, manners dictated she engage him in conversation.
“Are you enjoying your stay in London, Lord Morwick?” Petra ventured, spearing a sliver of thinly sliced potatoes in cream sauce.
“Not in the least.” The flecks of gold in his sapphire eyes flared and sparkled at her before he turned away.
Well, that was uncommonly rude. “How unfortunate,” she said.
“I don’t find it so.” He drained his glass and waved for another.
Good Lord, he is a sot. “If I may make a suggestion, Lord Morwick, the brunch may last several hours.” She pointedly looked at his empty wine glass. Mother would positively have fits if this large, rough man became drunk and disrupted the entire room.
A mocking smile crossed his lips. “What would you know of such things? I doubt you’ve ever had anything stronger than tea. May we end this painfully awkward attempt at conversation?”
Petra opened her mouth to speak and found she couldn’t think of anything remotely polite to say. She’d never had a gentleman address her in such a way.
“Good.” He nodded at her stricken look. “We are in agreement.” Morwick then turned his attention back to his plate of food. Lord Kilmaire, to his left, said something and the two began speaking in earnest.
Mortified at having been cut down during her own brother’s wedding brunch, Petra turned back to her plate.
What an absolutely horrible man.
After finishing brunch, the ladies all gathered in the large drawing room. The air filled with the laughter of Lady Kilmaire as she teased Arabella. Petra knew the two had been close since they were children. Lady Cupps-Foster, Arabella’s aunt and Lord Morwick’s mother, regaled the room with details of the Duchess of Canfeld’s ball the previous week with the other women all chiming in to comment.
By the time Arabella took her arm and brought Petra to the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, Petra had nearly put Morwick and his discourteous behavior out of her mind. She congratulated herself on having maintained a polite demeanor throughout the exchange with the impolite Earl of Morwick, thankful her exposure to him was brief.
After nearly a half hour of being peppered with questions by the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, who considered herself to be something of a matchmaker, the elderly woman finally sat back and regarded Petra with amusement. “Forgive me for speaking my mind, Petra, but such a thing is the advantage of old age; that, and the benefit of a cane to wield.” She lifted up the head of the cane leaning against her skirts. “You’ve spoken highly of many of your suitors, yet I do not sense an excess of regard for any particular gentleman. I understand your mother favors Lord Dunning.”
“Lord Dunning has asked to call on me,” Petra said carefully, not certain where Lady Cambourne’s line of questioning would take her. Her mother favored Dunning, but Petra did not.
“Humph.” The older woman’s fingers flitted against the top of her cane. “I do not think Dunning to be your choice of husband. He’s closer to me in age.” She chuckled.
“Mother finds him to be suitable.” Petra had already decided to encourage several other gentlemen she’d met in hope of distracting Mother from Lord Dunning.
“A practiced answer.” The older woman leaned forward. “Your life is very well-ordered, isn’t it?” She glanced toward Petra’s mother as disapproval colored her words. “With military precision.”
“I suppose so, my lady.” Petra demurred. She’d been cautioned by her mother repeatedly toneveroffend the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne.
“Would you like to know what I think?” The Dowager’s gloved hand tightened on her cane. “That is a rhetorical question, my girl. For I shall tell you what I think whether you wish it or not. You, Petra,” Lady Cambourne leaned so close Petra could smell the lavender in her hair, “fairlysimmerwith rebellion.”
Petra jerked back in surprise. “I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”
“Pish. I am well-versed in playing demure and obedient as I did so myself for many years. Do not be so quick to allow your mother to make all your decisions. It isyourlife, after all, not hers.” Lady Cambourne gave her a kindly smile. “Follow where your heart leads, as your brother has.”
Petra nodded slowly, confused by the comment. “Forgive me, but—”
“I realize my advice is contrary to what society dictates. I assure you,” she said with a laugh. “And I am considered a bastion of propriety. But I like you, Petra Grantly, and would see you happy as your brother is. You remind me a bit of myself, when I was busy being perfect.”
“I—” Petra closed her mouth, uncertain as to what she could say to such a statement. Her entire life had been dictated by her mother. But that was no different from any other young lady of her acquaintance. True, Mother’s rules had begun to chafe at Petra, and thereweretimes when Petra could feel her ladylike decorum begin to slip before she steadfastly pushed it back into place.
Thankfully, Mother had been too busy agonizing over Rowan’s choice of wife to pay too much attention to Petra as of late. Petra had stretched her wings, so to speak, and taken note that all marriages need not be passionless. Incredibly, an image of Morwick flitted through her mind. Her nose wrinkled as she pushed such a thought aside.Surely not.
“So there is someone.” Lady Cambourne murmured.
Petra composed herself. “No, there’s—”
“My lady,” Mother said from behind Petra, “might I borrow my daughter for a moment?”
Lady Cambourne glanced up at her mother. “Of course, Lady Marsh. Petra and I have had a wonderful chat. I commend you on raising such a lovely young woman. She is a true credit to you and Lord Marsh.”
