Reforming the Rake. Sarah Barnwell Elliott

She didn’t mean to. It just sort of slipped out.

      “Bea? What’s wrong?”

      “I don’t know, Ellie…I’m afraid you might be right. I’d hoped this year would be different, but I’m getting worried that I’m not going to find the right person in time.”

      Eleanor hugged her reassuringly. “I know I don’t have any experience in these matters, but I’m sure everything will work out. Truly, Bea, I can’t even understand how you’ve managed to make it this far without being wed.”

      “Am I too picky?”

      Eleanor smiled. “Not in most areas of your life.”

      “But as far as finding a husband goes—”

      Eleanor gave in. “Well, yes, you are particular, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You shouldn’t marry unless you find love. I’d hate to see you unhappy.”

      Beatrice sighed once more. “I know…that’s what everyone says, unless you count Louisa, who thinks happiness should always defer to duty. But wait till you come out, and you’ll see…. I’m not sure I even believe in love anymore.”

      Eleanor weighed that thought. “Perhaps. I’m sure that Father loved Mother, though.”

      Beatrice nodded slowly. “He did…but I don’t think it’s realistic for me to expect love like that. It might be possible, but it’s definitely not probable.”

      Eleanor just shrugged, knowing better than to argue with her sister on this subject. “Do you have anyone in mind yet? I know the season has just begun, but…?”

      Beatrice thought for a moment. “Well…I rather like Randolph Asher, although I’m not sure I could ever feel anything but friendly toward him. And Douglas Heathrow has been paying me a lot of attention.”

      “That’s a start. In time, perhaps you’ll have a few more names.”

      “Perhaps. But truly, Ellie, but I don’t feel too optimistic. I think the ton perceives me as a spinster, and there’s nothing sorrier than that. Louisa disagrees with me, though—she thinks I intimidate people.”

      Eleanor scoffed. “Shows how much she knows. You’re quite amiable.”

      “I suppose,” Beatrice murmured. “But I suppose she does have a bit of a point…as you may know, I did earn something of a reputation.”

      Eleanor smiled. “I’ve heard, but it’s been two years. Can it still be that bad?”

      “No…it’s not bad. But if I were a man, I’d hardly flock to me. I mean, if you wanted to get married, would you ask someone who was almost guaranteed to refuse you? I think I’d rather court a girl who was more of a—a sure thing.”

      Eleanor looked slightly appalled. “A sure thing? You sound as if you’re talking about betting on a horse at the races.”

      “No, truly, Ellie, it’s not that different. Every year I’ve been out, I’ve received fewer and fewer proposals…six my first year, three my second, one my third and none so far this year.”

      “Well,” Eleanor said practically, “you didn’t want to marry any of them, anyway.”

      Eleanor shopped in silence for a few minutes, and Beatrice’s mind wandered back to the handsome stranger she’d met the night before. Clearly her reputation hadn’t intimidated him. Some devil inside of her made her say, “Actually, Ellie, I have received a proposal of sorts this year.”

      Eleanor clapped her hands together and took a seat next to her sister. “Bea! Why didn’t you tell me? Who was it?”

      Beatrice’s eyes sparkled. “I said a proposal of sorts, Ellie. It was indecent.”

      Eleanor opened her mouth, scandalized. “Oh. That kind of proposal. Well, who was it?” She was leaning forward avidly now, for an indecent proposal was more interesting that a decent one any day.

      “I don’t know him, although I am rather curious. He’s not the sort that I’m likely to meet at the social events I attend.”

      Eleanor looked worried. “He is of the ton, isn’t he?”

      “Yes,” Beatrice answered slowly. “He reminds me of Ben, though…a gentleman by birth but not inclination.”

      “In other words, a rake?” Eleanor stated bluntly.

      Beatrice nodded. “That about sums it up. He’s a marquess… Charles Summerson. He lives next door to Louisa, or at least his family does.”

      Eleanor’s mouth dropped open and then closed quickly. “I say, Bea, is he terribly good-looking?”

      Beatrice cast an amused look at her sister. “You could say that…. I take it you’ve seen him about?”

      Eleanor intently studied a bonnet, not meeting Beatrice’s gaze. “I might have noticed him entering his house once or twice….”

      Giggling, Beatrice picked up a pair of gloves from the ottoman and threw them at her sister.

      Eleanor ducked nimbly. “Well, he was hard to miss. How did you meet him?”

      “I…um, bumped into him on my way to Lady Teasdale’s. I actually rather liked him—he wasn’t stuffy and boring like all the other gentlemen I meet.”

      “But?”

      “But he’s definitely dangerous to my composure. It’d be best to avoid him completely, but it’ll be difficult since he’s living next door.”

      “Well,” Eleanor said, “I wish you showed this much interest in suitable gentlemen. Are you sure that—”

      Beatrice cut her off. “Yes, I’m positive. He is definitely not suitable. But my problem gets even worse.”

      “Does it?” Truthfully, Eleanor didn’t think that having someone who looked like Charles Summerson interested in you was so terrible, but Beatrice had particular notions about these things.

      Beatrice nodded gravely. “Yes—I met his mother at Lady Teasdale’s, only I didn’t know that was who she was. Anyway, she invited me to have dinner at her house in two weeks…so, in her words, she can introduce me to her son and daughter. What do I do?”

      “Well, Bea, I hate to say this, but you have to go. It would be terribly impolite to turn down her invitation at this point.”

      Beatrice dropped her head into her hands forlornly. “I know. Perhaps he won’t be in…. Lady Summerson mentioned that he has been staying with her only while work was being done on his own house, and I’m sure that by that time—”

      “That doesn’t mean that he won’t come by for dinner, especially if he has designs on you.”

      “Yes, well, I’m sure he has designs on many women. Perhaps he’ll have forgotten about me by then.”

      Eleanor looked at her beautiful sister and silently didn’t think that was possible.

      After a moment, Beatrice said suddenly, “It’s not fair.”

      “What do you mean by that?” Eleanor inquired.

      “He’s obviously a thorough rake and totally unsuitable. That’s what’s unfair.”

      “You’re not telling me that you wish he were suitable, are you? Do you fancy him?”

      “Well,” Beatrice began rather defensively, “I found him rather exciting. In all my experience being on the marriage market—” she cringed at the very phrase “—I have never found anyone exciting.” She paused to look at her sister forlornly. “Why does he have to be the only one?”

      Eleanor began to look worried. “Perhaps you should call off that dinner, after all…you can easily feign a headache, Bea. Lady Summerson will never know.”