Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(69)

“I can’t imagine it,” Sara said, trying to picture herself as a mother. A wistful smile crossed her lips. “I don’t know if I will. Some women aren’t meant to have children.”

“You’re meant to,” Lily replied firmly.

“How do you know?”

“With your patience and kindness, and all the love you have to give…Why, you’ll be the best mother in the world!”

Sara laughed wryly. “Well, now that’s been established, all I need is someone to father them.”

“The ball tonight will be swarming with eligible bachelors. For supper I’ve seated you between two of the most promising ones. Have you brought the blue gown? Good. I expect you’ll have your pick of any man you desire.”

“I haven’t come for husband-hunting—” Sara began anxiously.

“Well, that doesn’t mean you’ll ignore any good prospects that come your way, does it?”

“I suppose not,” Sara murmured, deciding not to leave the weekend party. Now that she was here, she supposed there wasn’t much harm in staying.

Clad in their splendid evening finery, the guests assembled in the drawing room and began the long and complicated procession into the dining hall, an opulent room with a fifty-foot ceiling. With the couples arranged by order of rank, importance, and age, the ladies lightly held the gentlemen’s right arms and promenaded to the two long tables, each of which would accommodate one hundred guests. The tables were laden with innumerable crystal goblets, silver, and fine patterned porcelain.

Seated between two charming young men, Sara found herself enjoying the dinner greatly. The conversation was fascinating, for the table included poets quoting from their latest works and ambassadors telling amusing stories of life abroad. Every few minutes glasses were raised in a round of toasts, praising the host and hostess, the quality of the food, the health of the king, and every other notion that struck the guests as meritable. White-gloved servants moved quietly among the diners, bringing dishes of seasoned patties, tiny soufflés, and crystal plates of bonbons to sample between courses. After the great silver tureens of turtle soup and the plates of salmon were removed, large platters of roast, poultry, and game were brought out. The meal was concluded with iced champagne, pastries, and a luscious selection of fruits.

The cloths were removed from the tables, and the gentlemen leaned back in their chairs to enjoy Lord Raiford’s excellent stock of hock, sherry, and port, and to puff on cigars as they talked of masculine interests such as politics. Meanwhile the ladies retired to separate rooms for more tea and gossip. They would all rejoin in the ballroom an hour or two later, when dinner had settled.

Seated to Alex’s left, Derek nursed a glass of port and listened to the conversation with deceptive laziness. It was not his wont to take an active part in after-dinner arguments, no matter how good-natured they were. Certainly none of the men made the mistake of engaging him in a debate. He was far from a great orator, for he disliked making speeches of any length. But he had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter with a few well-chosen words. “And besides,” one of the men murmured to his neighbor, “I would never be fool enough to debate with a man who knows how much I’m worth.”

“How does he know that?”

“He knows how much everyone is worth, down to the last farthing!”

As the gentlemen drank deeper into their cups, the conversation turned to a bill that had recently been dismissed in Parliament. It would have abolished the practice of using climbing boys to clean chimneys. But Lord Lauderson, a fat, long-winded earl who had a habit of turning almost everything into an occasion for jokes and amusement, had made a humorous speech in the House of Lords that had killed the bill. A few of his witticisms were recounted at the table, and many of the men were laughing in appreciation. Proud of his own cleverness, Lauderson beamed until his face turned as pink as a cherub’s. “I say, I was in good form that day,” he said with a chuckle. “Glad to entertain, my good fellows…always glad of it.”

Slowly Derek set down his glass in order to keep it from splintering in his hand. He had supported the bill with as much money and behind-the-scenes manipulation as possible. With all that and Raiford’s support, the bill had been guaranteed to pass—until Lauderson’s facetious speech. All at once Lauderson’s boasting was too much to take.

“I hear you were quite amusing, my lord,” Derek said. His tone was soft, undercutting many of the boisterous jests that were being tossed back and forth. “But I doubt a group of climbing boys would have been as appreciative of your wit as Parliament was.” The table quieted immediately. Many gazes turned to his impassive face. Derek Craven always gave the appearance of never caring about anything…but it seemed that this issue was of more than passing importance to him. More than a few guests recalled the rumors that Craven himself had been a climbing boy. Their smiles faded noticeably.

“It’s clear that your sympathy rests with the boys,” Lauderson commented. “I pity the poor little wretches m’self, but it’s a necessary evil.”

“The work they do could easily be taken care of with long-handled brushes,” Derek said evenly.

“But not as efficiently as the small boys do it. And if the chimneys aren’t properly cleaned, our valuable homes could catch on fire—would you have us put our own lives and property at risk for the sake of a few cockney brats?”