He greeted them and acknowledged Worthey and Rennold, who stood next to each other; Joshua took a spot near the mantle. The woman he wanted to see was noticeably absent.
He answered questions mechanically—such conversations required little deliberation—while his mind strayed toward thoughts of the missing Lady Dunlevee.
“And will you join us for a carriage ride?” Kat asked. She peered up at him, using her pale blue eyes and long lashes to flirt with youthful charm. Again, he was reminded of how they’d changed, turning into beautiful young ladies. They ought to be married and settled, but he was not that man. For any of them.
“Ah, no. I am sorry, but I rode my horse over.”
“But Lord Rennold has his landau. We can all squeeze in,” she said.
“Oh, you simply must,” Prim said.
Must he? He was trapped by etiquette with no mannered way to say no. And so they went. Kat somehow managed to find a place next to him and she plied him with questions of his travels.
It was a disturbing thought to know DuChamp held his salons on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. It also explained why Char was away from home. He had wanted to talk to Char and Char alone.
“You speak four languages? I could barely manage Greek. My governess said I was hopeless and that I better pray for a good match,” Kat said.
“If one applies oneself, anything is possible. Perhaps there were other distractions,” Joshua said.
“Oh no,” she said. “If it involves a book, I— Oh, look there is Lady Osbaldstone’s carriage.”
Joshua took a deep breath to silence his thoughts.
“Are you home to stay, Mr. Forrester?” Worthey asked. He was a young pup and had no business flirting with the ineligible Taylors. His father was an earl and would countenance no such marriage. Unless—just how large were their dowries?
And with that thought, all of his suppositions regarding Lady Dunlevee’s circumstances dissolved into a heap of nothing. If the family possessed money, they would provide for their daughter.
“For a few months, perhaps. One of my professors at Cambridge is putting together an expedition to Greenland, in which I have an interest.”
“Oh, but you must stay.” Evidently Kat had lost interest in Lady Osbaldstone; she clutched his forearm. “At least through the end of the Season. We could have so much fun. Why, Rennold is having a week-long house party at the end of the month. Send him an invitation, Renny. For me.”
It was decided, without input from Joshua, that an invitation would be sent. Yes, a written invitation was best. They were much more easily declined.
“There,” Kat said. “It is as simple as that. You will be my charades partner.”
He was feeling claustrophobic and bedeviled by the time they returned to Lady Beckham’s townhome. Why hadn’t he just stayed home and alphabetized his bookshelf?
Behind the others, Joshua led Kat into the sitting room.
She was there. Char greeted everyone warmly, and when she reached Joshua, he held her hand a bit overlong and said, with some seriousness, “May I speak to you? Alone?”
“Certainly.”
She wore a light blue day dress, not matching her eye color exactly but vividly enhancing the shade. Her gaze was darker and more intense than that of her flirtatious sister, Kat. How did one say this woman was beautiful and that woman not? Char wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d seen, but damn if she didn’t possess those traits which most appealed to him. To put a point to it, she was a sensual creature who came alive when she smiled and made him feel a little warm when she squinted to examine him.
Once they were in another room, he whirled to face her. “Why are you no longer living at Dunlevee House? The new viscount is not married. Surely it is your right to claim the home until there is a new viscountess?”
“Well…I—I guess it really is none of your business.” Her gaze did something different, one brow lifting in affront.
“That may be the case, but I am not the type of man to watch as a woman bears the weight of unfairness or financial ruin. Especially when her rights are impeded.”
“Is this about Arthur’s death? For I can see no other reason you should inquire about matters that are not your concern.”
“As a gentlemen, I must intrude if there is no one to guide you or provide for you.”
“Guide me? I’m no young debutante, Mr. Forrester. I’m a widow who has earned the freedom to manage her own life.”
“Ruin, you mean.”
“What bee is buzzing in your ear, sir? We barely know each other and you feel the need to give advice when none is needed.”
“And as Lord Chesterfields says, ‘Advice is seldom welcome, and those who need it the most, like it the least’.”
“Chesterfield? Lord Chesterfield,” she said with incredulity.
“Why not? He is very often right, even decades later. And I find his writing most stimulating.”
“All right then, take my advice—”
The door rattled, and they turned to stare at the unwelcome interruption.