He, rudely, heard her. “I would not call it common, Miss Tate, but enthralling nonetheless.”
“At Carlton House, I’m sure all was as proper as it should be,” said Cathy, giving Bianca a look of warning. “It is the home of the Prince of Wales.”
“And yet we have seen how even the noblest of gentlemen, like His Highness, may harbor a wild and scandalous nature,” replied Bianca with a simpering smile. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. St. James?”
He sent her a searing glance across the table. “I would, Miss Tate,” he said with a faint smile. “In the case of the prince.”
“We’ll not be gossiping about His Highness,” warned Papa, before forcing the conversation toward inane topics like the weather and the state of the roads near Marslip. Bianca ate in silence and hoped Mr. St. James was as bored by this excessively polite conversation as she was.
By the time Aunt Frances led the way to the drawing room after dinner, she was seething. Thanks to Papa’s dry conversation, St. James had come across as faultlessly polite and capable of discussing roads and turnpikes until everyone in hearing fell asleep. It was one of Papa’s favorite subjects, though, and even Aunt Frances had recognized how unlikely she was to deter him from it. The ladies had retreated from the dining room to avoid falling face first into the pudding.
“He’s very much a London gentleman.” Bianca returned to her first plan, persuading Cathy that St. James was too snobbish and too elegant to make a good husband. “No wonder he agreed so enthusiastically with Papa’s raving about the roads. It must have been a vicious shock to his person to make the journey north.”
Cathy looked at her sadly and said nothing.
“He seems hearty enough.” Frances was having more port. “Solid farm stock.”
“Yes, how astonishing! I never would have guessed, from the amount of lace on his coat.”
“Don’t you disdain a farming man,” said Frances sternly. “It makes a man ever so strong and firm-minded, well grounded in his passions and purposes.”
“I shudder to imagine Mr. St. James’s passions,” said Bianca before she could stop herself.
With a faint noise of distress, Cathy jumped up and fled the room.
Frances raised her brows, mellowing with her second taste of port. “What’s got into her? I declare, that girl needs a husband. She’s been very emotional lately. One dinner with a man and she’s in tears!”
Bianca scowled. Contrary to all previous indications, Aunt Frances sounded almost like Papa. “You do know St. James wants to marry Cathy?” she said.
Frances’s brows snapped upward. “What, what? Cathy?”
“He’s already made Papa an offer for her,” she replied. “That’s why he’s come to Marslip—to win a bride and secure a handsome income from Perusia, no doubt. And Papa approves.” She gave a tiny shrug. “Only I don’t believe Cathy is coming around to the idea.”
“Fool girl,” said Frances stoutly. “She could certainly do worse.”
“Yes, of course,” said Bianca innocently, “the great-grandson of a Groom of the Stool! Or no—forgive me—afalconer. The honor! The prestige! We shall be elevated above everyone in Staffordshire.”
The older woman shot her a dark glance. “I see what you’re up to. You disapprove, and you want me to blow it all up. Well, I won’t! Making foolish marriages is a Tate family tradition.”
Bianca flushed at being caught out. “But Cathy and Mr. Mayne,” she began hotly.
“Pshh!” Frances rose and aimed a stern finger at her. “Ifthatwere meant to be, Mayne would have been here on his knee, begging Samuel for her hand. Has he even made her a proposal?”
Bianca scowled in furious acknowledgement that no, the gentlemanly curate had not.
“Nor will he,” finished Frances with savage coolness. “Between the two of them, nothing would ever get decided, let alone accomplished. I never met two more docile, agreeable people in my life! They both require someone with more backbone. At least this St. James fellow has that. He didn’t letyourumble over him, did he?”
Bianca shot to her feet. “Why can’t two people who are matched in disposition make a happy marriage? Why must there be one with backbone and one who gives way? I daresay two gentle, accommodating people would sort things out quite well, if left to their own devices.”
“No?” Frances leaned closer, her sharp blue eyes pitying. “Then why hasn’t Mayne gone to your father, even in the face of a determined rival? Why is your sister sitting by accepting St. James’s compliments and flattery? You always think you know best, miss, but this isn’t your problem to solve.” She threw up one hand. “You can’t save people from getting what they deserve!”
She swept out of the room, Trevor waddling after her with a startled yip.
Bianca seethed. Did no one see that Papa had been dazzled to the point of imbecility by the Londoner’s manners and elegance? Did no one realize Cathy had been cowed into silence, not charmed into agreement? She reserved judgment about Mr. Mayne, who certainlycoulduse more backbone, but he ought to have a chance to prove himself, and this hurried rush to get Cathy to the altar seemed specifically designed to prevent him having one.
She stormed up the stairs and banged on her sister’s door before flinging it open. “Cathy, I—”
She stopped cold. Her sister jerked upright from the open bureau drawer, red-eyed and with a petticoat in her hands. An open valise sat on the floor at her feet. “Don’t try to stop me, Bee,” she said, her voice trembling. “Don’t you dare!”
