Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(15)

Her smile widened and she leaned across the carriage to swat him on the arm. “You sly, dear boy. You left me to wonder as to the identity of the woman you’d chosen for your viscountess. But Lady Beatrice Dennington, why there is no finer match,” She frowned. “Well, perhaps Lady Diana.” Mother tapped a finger against her lip. “Then, Lady Diana is a mere marquess’ daughter, and you, dear boy, have landed a duke’s daughter.”

Geoffrey’s jaw hardened. “I’ve not landed anyone, Mother.” Not for the first time, he wondered about the American woman’s identity.

“Are you listening to me, Geoffrey?”

She’d uttered the name, Dionysus.

He furrowed his brow. The name, of a Greek God. Something so very odd. Geoffrey went back to his university days and struggled to drag up the story of Dionysus.

“Geoffrey, I said, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” No.

Mother’s frown said she knew he lied. “I was suggesting we host a dinner party.” She clapped her hands together as though in doing so, the matter was settled. “Yes. We shall have a dinner party and invite the Duke and Lady Beatrice.” Her eyes twinkled. “Why, we shall even invite Lady Diana. After all one can never be too confident in a lady’s affections and Lady Diana would also make you a splendid match.” She wrinkled her nose. “No unseemly relations there, as far as I’m aware, and I am aware of these things, you know.”

“No, dinner parties,” Geoffrey said harshly. He preferred to launch a swift courtship and avoid as much of Polite Society as possible.

His mother’s face took on a pitched look. “No dinner parties? Hmph. Very well.”

As his mother carried on, he pulled back the curtains and peered out into the dark London streets clogged with conveyances. Marriage to Lady Beatrice or Lady Diana had seemed the very best options for him when he’d drafted that bloody list.

They both fit with one of his additional requirements— they were exceedingly dull.

Lord and Lady Essex’s townhouse pulled into focus. The front windows filled with candlelight, cast a warm, fiery glow out into the street. Normally one who loathed soirees, in this particular instance, Geoffrey rather found he preferred the mad crush of Lady Essex’s ballroom to his mother’s company.

He shoved the door open.

“Geoffrey!” His mother gasped as he stepped down without the benefit of a servant’s help.

“I’ll hardly come to harm opening my own door, Mother,” he drawled.

She snapped her burgundy silk skirts, and glared at him. “There are appearances to maintain. Why, we do not need people wondering about your eagerness and attributing it to Lady Beatrice.” She stepped over the muddied path with Geoffrey’s assistance, and made her way to their host’s entrance. “After all, ladies do not favor an eager gentleman.” She nodded her head. “It is a certainty.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from pointing out that they also didn’t favor a possible future mother-in-law who harped.

Geoffrey gave silent thanks when they reached the receiving line.

Laughter blended with the lively music being played by Lord Essex’s proficient orchestra.

His mother scanned the sea of nobles. “I’m off to join Lady Ashford, and do remember, you mustn’t appear too eager.”

Geoffrey briefly closed his eyes and sent a prayer skyward for patience, grateful when his mother hurried off to greet one of Society’s most notorious gossips.

“There you are, brother!”

His sister slipped by several couples deep in conversation, earning frowns of annoyance, which by her smile, she seemed wholly oblivious to.

She leaned up and kissed Geoffrey on the cheek.

He stiffened at her public showing of affection.

Sophie laughed and swatted at his arms. “Oh, you’re ever so stodgy. Surely it is permissible to show affection for one’s sister?”

“Surely it is not,” he said in clipped tones.

Sophie waggled a brow. “Even if one’s sister has some rather beneficial information?” She dangled that piece like the bait he used to fish his well-stocked lake in Kent.

He feigned a yawn. He’d had nearly twenty-two years of perfecting stoic control where his sister was concerned.

She let out an indignant huff. “Very well. If you’d rather I not point out exactly where Lady Beatrice is, and allow you to find her through this great crush of…” her eyes lit up as he surveyed the crowd. “Ahh, I see I have your notice now, brother.”

She did.

He’d simply developed enough self-control not to say as much.

Sophie leaned close, and whispered, “She is at the central portion of the ballroom floor, conversing with her brother, the Marquess of Westfield.”

Geoffrey gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

She pointed her eyes toward the ceiling. “There really is no need to thank me. After all, family helps one another, no?”

Before Geoffrey knew what she intended, Sophie leaned up once more and placed another kiss upon his cheek and then hurried off, her figure swallowed up by the crowd of people.

With a single-minded purpose, Geoffrey started toward Lady Beatrice and her brother, Lord Westfield, taking care to walk the perimeter of the floor and avoid the circle of couples performing the quick steps of La Boulanger. His eyes focused on the crop of golden curls and the lady’s flushed cheeks. She really was quite lovely, possessing all the attributes of a flawless English beauty.