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SOME EXCUSE FOR INCIVILITY

S arah had not known what to think of Marleigh’s information on the dining arrangements.

She enjoyed people and conversation, but was not overly proficient at it, especially with gentlemen with whom one was to experiment with flirtation.

Their arrival at Matlock had been intimidating enough, with miles of servants lined up, staring down their aristocratic noses at her.

No one was prouder than servants employed by earls, as well she knew.

She often told her uncle that his butler was much more earl-like than he ever could be.

And then, there was the matter of her clothing.

She knew—because her friends had explained it many times—that she had the worst taste in the history of tastefulness.

She would select a fabric so bright and cheerful, and the resulting dress would look as though she had been attacked by blind dressmakers.

For her first day at Matlock, she had attempted to choose a subtle, simple frock, something understated and elegant.

“Sarah,” Georgette had whispered, “Are you wearing an undressing gown?”

And only then had she noticed that it did, indeed, look very much like a pattern one might use for one’s favourite night-wear.

“Hm. So it is. No wonder the dressmaker looked askance at my selection.”

Georgette sighed. “She ought to have guided you more helpfully. ’Tis probably just as well that there was no time to procure a whole new wardrobe. You likely would have chosen an array resembling hot air balloons.”

“I saw an ascension from Hyde Park once. They were lovely.”

“You would think so,” Georgette said, but Sarah had seen her smile. “I brought an extra domino you can wear for the masquerade, in the loveliest shade of pink.”

“Oh, actually, I do have my costume for the masque. It is really something, I promise.”

“That is what I fear.”

All her friends had attempted to help her in the past, but of course, their figures were much more fashionable, and she had been stubborn about changing from her aunt’s woman, who would not argue with her.

Sarah had heard herself referred to as ‘sturdy’—not by any who loved her, of course.

But it was the sad truth. She was strong enough to walk for miles in London’s worst weather, she never took chills, and tradesmen found it impossible to cheat her.

These were the positives of ‘sturdiness’.

But her bust was too large and, garbed in most of the current styles, she appeared about ready to begin a confinement.

While Lilly might wear a dress clinging to her posterior and appear appealing, Sarah would, in the same fashion, resemble her father’s Brougham carriage, sticking out at both ends.

For tonight’s dinner, she had chosen her most flattering dress, to which she had added a fur-trimmed pelisse. In her imagination, it had added elegance to an otherwise simple gown. In reality, it looked rather like a weasel had lost consciousness and swooned across her shoulders.

“I shall look upon this first night as a practice,” she told her reflection in the looking glass. “I am unlikely to net a mate on the first fishing expedition, after all.”

She could not recall seeing any other gentleman besides Lord Saye when they arrived—so magnificent was his presence in puce waistcoat and clawhammer jacket, and so impressive was his introduction—and thus she had no idea who her dining partners might be.

Why was it that Saye could be dressed in anything he wished, yet only appear the height of elegance?

If she had worn that many fobs, seals, and rings, she would be mistaken for a chandelier.

He had gleamed, while she appeared in a faux-undressing gown and the earl’s servants snickered at her behind their hands.

Except they were all too high in the instep to actually snicker.

She would have liked them better if they had.

Despite her misgivings, however, the evening began with surprising pleasantness. She was not, as she had feared, shoved out into the garden to make way for the more popular ladies, but seated at a pretty little table in the orangery, and had Lord Saye himself as her first dining partner.

“This is unexpected,” she said. “I presumed you would employ your powers of hosting to avoid the lesser stars amongst this glittering assembly.”

Saye laughed at her frank speech. “A woman who speaks her mind! This might be even more fun than I had hoped. Very well, let us drop the niceties and speak as we find.”

“I apologise, my lord. I have a terrible habit of saying exactly what I think, whether or not I ought to think it. It is my pleasure, of course, to dine with you.”

“I do not think it needful of an apology—it is an odd habit for a woman, but I daresay I may accustom myself to it.”

But then abruptly, her eye was caught by something she had never seen before, and she leant forward several more inches, peering intently at his chest.

He glanced down at his front, as if to check whether his valet had not turned him out perfectly—which of course, was not in the realm of possibility. “Have I soiled myself already?” he asked mildly.

She was hastily recalled to herself, straightening as she felt her cheeks redden. Even thus mortified, she found she must know the answer to a burning question.

“I apologise yet again, my lord.”

“Apologies are like my brother’s purse—utterly useless.” He grinned. “Did we not already agree to speak frankly? Why are you staring so at me? Not that I blame you, understand.”

“Could you tell me…is your cravat some sort of variation on the Napoleon? My young brother, Percy, is fascinated with the subject, though he is only nine years, and I thought we had learnt most of the popular styles. But I have never seen that one.”

“My cravat,” Saye replied loftily, as the soup was brought in, “is a variation of nothing but my valet’s genius and is surely nothing so crude as the Napoleon. For a price, I might just be willing to sketch it for your dear Percy.”

“A price?”

Saye ordered the footman to fetch him pencil and paper, and while they waited for it, Sarah began her soup and Saye began to question her. Did Lilly actually like Balton-Sycke? Had they an understanding? Had Balton-Sycke drawn up any papers in the nature of a settlement?

Sarah answered him to the degree she could, upholding Lilly’s best interests, of course, as he, in turn, sketched out the design for Percy’s benefit and education.

“I see,” Sarah breathed, staring at the drawing, and then at his neck. “But how do you maintain such a defined frill on the drape’s edge?”

Saye looked left and right, as if there might be valets in the bushes, attempting to eavesdrop.

Low-voiced, he said, “The secret is in the precise amount of starch to be used. Only I and my man have the receipt. There are gentlemen’s gentlemen who would kill for this information, so I shall swear you to secrecy, and you may only reveal it when the boy is old enough not to embarrass himself, or me, by improper application. Do you understand?”

“I do, my lord,” Sarah replied quite earnestly. “I am honoured, and I promise you that if Percy grows up to be the slovenly sort of gentleman who would wear the Horse Collar to a subscription ball, the secret will die with me.”

Saye beamed. “You know, I like you…” he paused. “…Miss Benson, is it?”

“It is Bentley,” Sarah said, returning his smile, and deciding she rather liked him as well.

“Of course, of course. Eldest child of Hampton’s heir.

Now, why in blazes would you apologise for anything you say?

Your father, or your brother at the very least, will be an earl like as not.

You must learn to wait for others to do the apologising.

Your words, like you, take precedence. Do you see? ”

“I know that is certainly the case with the men,” she said dubiously.

“Having decided to marry, I note the sad truth that those who must be in want of a wife are seldom single men of good fortune, and of those, my ‘precedence’ such as it is, has had little effect in nudging them towards the altar. In my experience, the more myself I am, the more quickly such gentlemen back swiftly out of the room, out of the door, and down the street.” She sighed.

“I have an appalling sense of fashion, my lord. It is an unfortunate fact that I look much more appealing unclothed than clothed, no matter how much money I spend. Only my husband will ever possess that useful crumb of information, but as we are no longer in Eden, it is hardly to my credit. Now how is it, I ask you, that you are able to wear any shade of puce without apology or regret, while I cannot even pull off ivory?”

Saye preened; there was no other word for it.

“Yes, well, the ability to appear magnificent under any circumstance is a gift. Believe me when I say that capturing a mate in no way requires this degree of beauty, else few would ever marry. As an earl’s daughter—or nearly so—you may saunter into a ballroom, point at one of the young bucks ever circling within, and declare, ‘I shall take you.’”

Sarah sighed. “ Phymatopus hecta .”

“Pardon?”

“Gold swift moth. A female flies up to a hovering male. They dance in the air together. The male then flies over the female and hangs, fluttering, beside her. And then they mate. It seems so simple, and yet, it seldom is.”

He raised his quizzing glass, stared at her, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Never mind moths. Back to my superb sense of fashion, sagacity, perception, and obvious attraction to the opposite sex. I shall reveal to you another secret. Two words—cease caring.”

“Cease caring?” Sarah repeated. “Do you mean, become a heartless, self-absorbed, pompous, ostentatious dandy?”

He considered the notion with a faint grin on his countenance. “Well yes, but only heartless when the circumstance demands it.”