Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 42

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 42
The seating arrangement at Devonshire House had been meticulously designed to place families of equal standing beside one another, and as chance would have it, the tables for the Marquess and Marchioness of Somerset and the Earl and Countess of Bennett were positioned remarkably close that evening.
“Marchioness of Somerset, what a pleasure to see you.”
“Oh, Countess of Bennett.”
The conventional greetings and pleasantries were exchanged, followed by a brief silence. The Countess touched the tips of her gloved fingers uncertainly before venturing to speak.
“In truth, I’ve always wanted to ask—I do wonder how Patrick is managing his work at the Museum.”
“Oh, I’ve worried myself to exhaustion. Beatrice is so stubborn, you see….”
Once the floodgates of parental concern open, there’s no stemming the torrent.
And when the children in question trouble their parents in such remarkably similar ways, both sets of parents could not help but regard this evening’s meeting as fate itself.
“Perhaps the two families ought to arrange a dinner together soon….”
As the conversation ripened, the Marquess of Somerset’s voice lifted an octave with enthusiasm, and the Countess of Bennett smiled warmly, nodding in eager agreement.
“How wonderful that would be. If only those two could be matched well, that would be enough….”
“…And yet we must not rush things.”
In the midst of the warm, congenial atmosphere that had prevailed, the Earl of Bennett suddenly cut through their exchange with gravity.
“Both of them are contrary creatures. If we press them, I fear they’ll either withdraw their affections or run off somewhere entirely.”
After a brief silence, the Marchioness of Somerset concurred with his words.
“There’s wisdom in that. My daughter is the same—if I tell her to go right, she bolts left; if I say go left, she darts right.”
The elevated emotions cooled at once. The Marquess of Somerset and the Countess of Bennett appeared somewhat deflated, yet they could not help but agree that hasty pressure would only increase the likelihood of failure.
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Then let us simply watch and wait. I do hope the two of them will grow closer.”
All eyes turned at once to the refreshment table, where a beautiful pair, apparently absorbed in conversation, had abandoned their plates to laugh almost constantly. The sight of them delighted the parents immensely.
Beneath the chandelier’s glow, the luminous Thursday night deepened quietly.
* * *
After emptying the first glass and then the second, neither of them returned to their seats. The night deepened swiftly, and the landscape around them shifted subtly without their notice.
With a small table between them, Beatrice rested her chin on her hand, utterly engrossed in Patrick’s words.
At one end of the table, empty Champagne glasses had accumulated in a neat row. Beatrice was aware she had drunk somewhat more than usual, but she did not particularly mind.
How many times had she called a passing servant to exchange her glass? Her cheeks flushed pleasantly, and a tickling laugh bubbled forth at the most trivial remarks.
Patrick’s state was much the same. He rambled lengthily about how capricious the mists were in the Northpen region where he’d collected red moss specimens, all the while breaking into soft chuckles.
When he spoke of friends with whom he exchanged moss samples by post, his voice grew animated. He remarked that corresponding with them put his mind far more at ease than with the pretentious scholars, and with a promise that Beatrice must someday join them, the two laughed again.
In truth, he couldn’t quite say what was so amusing and delightful. He simply felt an endless buoyancy, a tickling warmth within.
For all this time, Beatrice had looked only at him, listened to him with complete attention—it seemed he could say anything to her.
He had even begun to feel that he was no longer alone….
Then, at some point, Patrick understood why conversation with Beatrice felt so unexpectedly at ease.
In most such gatherings, High Society people were so interconnected that one inquiry into childhood or schooling would lead to endless gossip and questions.
But she was not the sort to pry into such things. Her conversation touched only upon “now” and “the future,” and that reassured him.
The talk wandered here and there—from pigments and paint-making to the colors of marshland soil, then on to anecdotes about old masters. With each turn of the conversation, the candles on the table burned down inch by inch.
“A message for the Earl of Bennett.”
The conversation was interrupted for the first time by a note delivered by a servant. Patrick unfolded the neatly creased paper on the tray, visibly taken aback, and ran a hand across his jaw. Beatrice, glancing over, widened her eyes.
This evening, you are to escort Lady Somerset to her residence. The Marquess and Marchioness of Somerset shall depart first. We shall also leave early.
To escort a lady by carriage at this late hour—it was an enormous breach of propriety, one permitted only between those engaged or about to be married the very next day.
Could they truly do such a thing…?
The parents’ scheme to throw the two of them together was mortifyingly transparent.
“My parents would never go this far, no matter what. This is all because of you.”
Beatrice set the note down on the table with a sharp tap and fluttered her fan. The more she thought on it, the more absurd it seemed, and she heaved a profound sigh more than once.
“What did I do?”
“They must have taken quite a fancy to you. As a prospective husband.”
“Good heavens.”
Even as she sighed, she could not prevent the corners of her mouth from curving upward.
“This is most vexing. I fear I’ve disappointed the Marquess and Marchioness.”
“Indeed. I too feel quite remorseful toward the Earl and Countess.”
As they traded apologies back and forth, each claiming their own guilt was greater, the ballroom gradually began to empty.
The orchestra members, worn with fatigue, were deliberately selecting only the slowest dance numbers, and most of the guests had departed.
Those who remained were merely a few inebriated gentlemen sprawled across a corner sofa, snoring openly, and ladies beside them who nodded off with fans held before their faces.
Clink.
At the sound of a servant clearing glasses from a nearby table, the two of them realized it was time to leave.
“Shall we go? I will escort you to Devonshire House.”
Patrick rose and offered his arm, and Beatrice, making a show of reluctance, placed her hand upon it and stood.
She was rather more intoxicated than she’d realized. She tried to walk straight, but her body tilted subtly, and by the time they reached the stairs, she was nearly leaning her full weight upon him.
This should be all right. It should be fine….
Beatrice tried to steady herself. Patrick Bennett was a gentleman of propriety, merely extending the courtesy expected when accompanying a partner as their parents had suggested.
And he is quite an attractive man. Tall and lean, with sharp, refined features—so as a woman, it was only natural to feel a biological pull toward him. Nothing more than a simple matter of instinct.
The warmth creeping across her cheeks had nothing to do with excitement; it was surely the Champagne. With that conclusion firmly reached, Beatrice felt a lightness settle over her as she turned to Patrick with a soft smile.
“I can’t tell you how reassuring it is to have Patrick as my ally.”
“You mean the group that avoids marriage?”
Patrick Bennett asked suddenly, his gaze fixed ahead. Beatrice couldn’t fathom why he was pressing for a definition of something already so familiar, but she kept her composure and nodded firmly, dismissing the question.
“Yes. Our Unmarried Alliance.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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