Cecilia Grant - [Blackshear Family 03] by A Woman Entangled Page A

had turned her head to speak, ending with an inquisitive tilt. She had a long, elegant neck, and one could easily imagine her perfecting this move before her dressing-table mirror in younger days. “Can a young lady be satisfied with a distinguished gentleman who is no capable whip?” her aunt went on. “Or do you demand a fellow whose skill with the ribbons must turn every lady’s head in envy when he takes you for a drive?”
    Now came her chance to impress Lady Harringdon with her good sense; that was to say, with her endorsement of the countess’s opinions. She tilted her head in imitation of her aunt’s posture—she, too, had a neck worth showing off, and a mirror to practice before—and pursed her lips, to look thoughtful. “Speaking only in the abstract, because I would not presume to venture an opinion on any person I haven’t met, I must say I do give some weight to a gentleman’s competence with the reins. Of course his character, his respectability, his conduct in society are all more important signifiers of his worth than whether he can drive four-in-hand.” This for the benefit of Mrs. Smith, whose face had grown increasingly grave as Lady Harringdon had discounted the merits of Sir George.
    She paused for breath, and also to let her listeners know a shift in tone was coming. “I cannot help wondering about a gentleman’s diligence, however; about his capacity for application, when I hear he hasn’t mastered one of these common masculine pursuits. Particularly in the case of an older man, who would have had ample time, one presumes, to practice. Any man, whether he begins with a natural talent or not, can become a competent driver with enough practice. Or so I’ve always believed.” She turned her hands palm up where they lay in her lap, a kind of shrug in miniature. “Again,I intend no reference to the recent example. A single incident of horses straying into the shrubbery tells us nothing, I’m sure. I don’t doubt such mishaps occasionally befall even the most expert and experienced of drivers.”
    Thus did she neatly rake the soil over Lady Harringdon’s sown doubts, and sprinkle a little water as well. Though if she were to hazard a guess, she’d say Miss Smith had already cultivated doubts of her own. The young lady was working to contain a smile, the glint in her eye suggesting she knew exactly what the countess and Miss Westbrook had been about.
    “A girl with her beauty can afford to be particular about men.” The dowager studied Kate through her glass, and apparently meant this observation for Lady Harringdon, though it carried to everyone in the room. “The other sort might not have that luxury.”
    Miss Smith lost the battle with her smile, and had to duck her head and feign an urgent interest in straightening her gloves. Really, there was no reason on earth for a lady with such merry spirits, and such fine eyes, to throw herself away on a stolid old man who didn’t even know how to handle a horse. Someone ought to cut her hair and put her in a smart blue spencer, without delay.
    “You speak well, Miss Westbrook.” The countess, though not equipped with a glass, was considering her with a jewel buyer’s shrewd gaze.
    She bowed her head to accept the compliment. She
had
expressed her opinion rather artfully, if she did say so herself. Mr. Blackshear in his wig and robes could scarcely have done better. If he came to dinner tomorrow she would tell him all about it.
    He probably wouldn’t come, though. Just when she’d been hopeful of repairing the damage done by their careless tongues the night before, that impertinent Miss Watson had broached the topic of his brother’s marriage,bold as could be. Kate had felt his mortification as though it had been her own. She’d like to assure him that Viola and Sebastian had paid little heed to the conversation and missed overhearing the damning part, but she had a feeling he’d rather she not speak of it at all.
    And she oughtn’t