Page 30 of Tempting the Marquess

Chapter6

The thoughtof leaving her bedchamber and eating with others made her whole body hurt, but the morning after the Hartley musicale Samantha forced herself to venture downstairs to breakfast with her parents. Now that the routine had been established, the last thing she wanted was a barrage of unwanted questions if she attempted to cryoff.

When she entered the dining room, she found her father shaking his head in irritation as he read from anote.

“Is something amiss, Papa?” Samantha asked cautiously. The memory of him hitting that delivery man was too fresh to risk provoking his temper, no matter how amiable he’d become.

Lord Claremont grunted and took a swig from his teacup. “You wouldn’t believe it, Samantha. Just received a note from Sir Francis Quinn saying he was set upon by a pack of ruffians after leaving his club last night. Broke his nose, dislodged some teeth, and gave him a pair of shiners! What is the world coming to, when a gentleman cannot even walk the streets without being attacked?”

“How terrible!” her mother gasped from the other end of the table. “I simply cannot believe it. Sir Francis is such a dear! Has he hired one of those men from Bob Street to investigate?

“Bow Street. I don’t believe so, would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Thugs who attack gentlemen usually scurry back to the sewers from where they came quick enough. Aren’t you eating, Samantha?”

She looked up, her cheeks flushed red with guilt.

Eva tsked. “See, now you’ve gone and frightened her with your talk, Claremont. Samantha is obviously shocked to hear of Sir Francis’s badluck.”

Samantha bit her lip and nodded, all the while keeping one eye out for lightning bolts. Although she was proud of herself for halting the fisticuffs, it would be an icy day in purgatory before she felt a whit of sympathy for the lecherous baronet. As the silence stretched, she snatched up a piece of toasted bread and began buttering it with unusual precision.

Her father frowned and went back to reading the letter. “As I was saying, Sir Francis has taken himself off to the country to recuperate, so is not able to come to dinner tonight. Actually, he writes once he is better, he will be setting sail for India. How veryodd.”

“Declining dinner? Oh bother!” Eva cried, her lower lip curled into a childlike pout. “At such short notice, too.”

“Before you start railing at the injustice, I do know of someone who could make up the numbers. He is a distant acquaintance, but a very savvy investor who is planning a new venture.”

Samantha smiled encouragingly at her father, wondering if this might be a topic he could teach her about. “What kind of venture, Papa?”

“One to potentially provide the funds for a whole wardrobe of pretty gowns and bonnets. Would you like some new geegaws, m’dear?”

“That would be lovely,” she replied politely, trying not to shudder at the thought of another shoppingtrip.

“Samantha needs a whole new wardrobe anyway—her gowns are far too girlish and plain,” said Eva. “How else will she bring a man like Standish up to scratch?”

“Conversation? Shared interests? Love?” Samantha muttered under her breath.

“What was that? Oh, if only you had been a son I wouldn’t have this constant pain. Nothing is more important than doing your part to better the family fortune and position. Tell her, Claremont.”

Samantha raised an eyebrow, waiting for her father to dismiss the comment, as he often did when his wife spoke. Instead, he nodded firmly in agreement.

“Listen to your mother. On this matter she is absolutely correct.”

“Of course I am,” Eva replied with a sniff. “Now, I must go and supervise preparations for my dinner. If I don’t watch Cook like a hawk, she will make some sort of low-class country fare and embarrass me in front of my friends. Excuseme.”

When her mother had gone, Samantha finished her toast, then glanced down to her father. “Do I have to attend tonight?”

The earl’s lips twitched. “If I must, then you must. Besides, it is good practice to dine with those we do not like. Teaches restraint.”

She shuddered. Not liking was an understatement. Her mother fancied herself a patroness of the arts, and often invited an eclectic collection of painters, sculptors, and poets to dinner. Another opinion might say every handsome man in a two mile radius with no money or prospects, yet an undeniable aptitude for petulant complaints, vicious gossiping, and endless self-congratulating.

Hours later, indeed, nothing had changed.

Beyond miserable, Samantha watched with pure envy as her father poured himself a fourth large brandy. Having no awareness whatsoever of her surroundings was very appealing rightnow.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard so much twaddle in all my years.”

She jumped in surprise and smiled hesitantly at the bespectacled and bearded elderly gentleman sitting to her left. She wasn’t sure what to make of Papa’s business acquaintance, even though he had been the opposite of the other guests, pleasant and courteous.

“They certainly are a most interesting group, Mr. Ashcroft.”