Really, could anything be more disastrous than what had happened at the club the other day? As soon as he’d entered the ballroom with Miss Wingate and Mrs. Tucket, he’d been aware of the stares and the whispers. He’d gone directly to the gaming room for a drink.
As he reentered the ballroom, he considered whether he should leave entirely. He shouldn’t abandon Miss Wingate, but she had Mrs. Tucket and Lady Pickering.
The latter woman saw him come in, her gaze meeting his and then narrowing. She left the group she was in and came striding toward him, her focus fixed entirely on him.
Tobias was reminded of how he’d felt when his mother had caught him pilfering cake from the kitchen. “Good evening, Lady Pickering,” he said brightly, hoping he might stave off a lecture.
It was, however, a foolish notion.
She steered him toward the wall. “You have quite bungled things.” She frowned at him, her green-blue eyes flickering with disapproval.
“Mmm.”
She cocked her head. “That’s all you have to say?”
He arched his shoulders. “What should I say?”
She exhaled and pivoted, her gaze surveying the ballroom. “It’s a pity, for I’d planned to introduce you to two women who are eager to wed. They are not, however, interested in marrying a rake. They’d like to find a gentleman they will love or at least hold in high esteem.”
Damn. “They sound like precisely the sort of countess I am looking for.”
“More’s the pity then.” She swept her head back to toss another glower in his direction. “A maid? What on earth were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t really.” Fiona had kissed him, and he’d temporarily lost his wits. Which was no excuse. He never should have kissed her back. He’d taken a bad situation and made it a thousand times worse.
He edged toward her, whispering, “Is it really that bad? It really was just a fleeting kiss. There was nothing more.”
“Well, I suppose that’s something. Except it isn’t to the masses. They would much rather recount your bad behavior over and over again, which ensures they all believe you were carrying on a torrid affair with a maid at the Phoenix Club.” Her brows elevated as she regarded him. “I might expect the mysterious membership committee to expel you.”
He wanted to assure her they would not, but that would only raise questions or suspicion. Besides, he was only one member. Could they vote to expel him?
“What if I told you she wasn’t even employed by the club?”
Lady Pickering’s brows went so high they almost disappeared into her hairline. “Is that true?”
He blew out a breath and directed his gaze to the dance floor where Miss Wingate was dancing. With Lord bloody Gregory. “It doesn’t matter.”
Tobias tried to find Miss Goodfellow, but it seemed she wasn’t in attendance this evening. He was disappointed, but at least she couldn’t overhear all that was being said about him tonight.
“Do you think my chances with Miss Goodfellow are ruined too?” he asked.
“It’s difficult to say. Her mother might cool toward your suit, but that’s because her father was a rector and she’s rather committed to her religious beliefs. On the other hand, you are an earl and neither of her other daughters married so well.”
“That tells me how Mrs. Goodfellow might think of me, but I am not marrying her. What of Miss Goodfellow?”
“Well, this is her fourth or fifth—sixth?—Season, and she is generally considered to be on the shelf. I am not sure she’ll have another Season after this. She would be a fool to decline your suit. Unless she doesn’t want to wed, which is sometimes the case with women who end up as spinsters.”
Tobias saw a chance to have his question answered. “How does a woman become a spinster? Is there some number of Seasons or some age that defines this designation? Why does it even happen? There is nothing about Miss Goodfellow that ought to suggest she isn’t marriageable.”
Lady Pickering stared at him as if he’d spoken a language she didn’t understand. “What a strange question. I suppose after a woman fails to marry, Society just thinks of her differently.”
“It’s ridiculous. At least with Society’s regard of me, I’ve done something to alter their perception or opinion.”
“Some would argue a young lady on her fifth Season with nary a proposal has done something. Perhaps it can’t be identified, but there is a reason she is not wed.”
“I still maintain it’s ridiculous. What if the young woman is shy or just hasn’t met the right gentleman?”
“Are you trying to decide if you should wed Miss Goodfellow? I don’t think it should matter to you that she’s on her however many-th Season.”
He gave her a wry look. “It absolutely does not. However, it may be too late. I called on her yesterday, and she wasn’t receiving. Perhaps her mother’s stringent opinions extend to her.”
Lady Pickering inclined her head in sympathy. “I am sorry to hear it. You’ll have to find another young lady who is in danger of finding herself a spinster. I shall search for a suitable candidate if you like.”
“I am good enough for women whom Society has deemed probably not good enough.” He shook his head in dismay.
“You could also take your time, do a better job of rehabilitating your reputation, and see what new crop arrives over the next few weeks.”
“I think I’d prefer a near-spinster.” And not just because he wasn’t keen to wed a young lady on her first Season.
None of that mattered since he was nearly out of time. His father had died December twelfth. Which gave him just fifteen days to be wed. Not identify a prospective countess but marry her. In a fortnight, he would be sharing his name, his home, his bed.
His entire body chilled. Not just because it was a daunting task, but because he couldn’t see it happening. Miss Goodfellow was pleasant, and he liked her, but to take her as his wife…
Once upon
