Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,74
She is very fashionable.”
She was rewarded barely five minutes later by her sister’s entrance to the drawing room, looking very pretty and bright-eyed, with her sociable manners in perfect place.
“Oh, well done,” their mother murmured to Deborah. “I only wish you had come yesterday.”
Deborah laughed. “I’m not sure I would have known what to say yesterday. A great deal seems to have happened since then!”
*
Christopher, having made the necessary decisions for the workmen in the dower house, rode over to Coggleton House. He was interested to see what his reception would be.
Although he didn’t truly expect the Letchworths to be not at home to him, he also knew that receiving him today was no guarantee they would receive Deborah. But he wanted a hint as to their feelings, and he wanted a blunt word with young Letchworth. Beyond that, he was quite prepared to cut the connection with them or anyone else who insulted his wife.
By ill luck, Frederica Ireton was crossing the hall as he was admitted.
“Why, Christopher,” she said, smiling, “What a pleasant surprise. Come into the drawing room. Don’t worry, Alfred isn’t here.”
“Good.”
She glanced at him. “You didn’t need to hit him.”
“I beg to differ. In fact, he’s lucky that’s all I did.”
“Such heat.” She lowered her amused voice. “Did your wife give you such terrible grief for catching us?”
“My wife gives me no grief at all.”
“She does not seem very spirited,” Frederica said with barely disguised contempt.
Christopher laughed. “You have no idea how wrong you are. My wife understands perfectly how things are.”
Seeing she had erred, she smiled pleadingly and tried to take his arm, but he avoided her touch, bowing her instead into the drawing room.
“Mr. Halland,” Lady Letchworth said in surprise, laying aside her needlework. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He didn’t miss her quick glance over his shoulder, or her not quite concealed relief to discover his wife was not with him. She hadn’t yet decided what to do about Deborah, he deduced.
“Deborah sends her regards,” he said blandly. “And her thanks for the other evening’s delightful dinner. She has taken my cousin’s wife to meet her family.”
“Of course, I had almost forgotten Lady Bilston was with you now. How is the dear young lady?”
“Very well. You may see for yourself if you care to join us next week. Deborah will send you a card.”
“Ring for tea, Frederica,” Lady Letchworth said, presumably to avoid answering.
“Not for me, ma’am,” Christopher said at once. “I am not really fit for the drawing room since I rode over from Gosmere. Is Letchworth about?”
“At the stables, I think, fussing over some fetlock or other.”
“Then, if you will excuse me, I’ll beard him there. Good day.”
He bowed and sauntered away, closing the door to lessen the likelihood of Frederica following him.
He encountered Letchworth just coming from the stables, an unusual scowl on his brow that vanished when Christopher hailed him.
“Halland! I didn’t know you were here.”
“Just dropped in to pay my respects, but I’m more suited to the stables right now. How is the fetlock?”
“On the mend, but I won’t ride him for a few days.”
“Walk with me then and explain to me your unforgivable rudeness to my sister-in-law.”
Letchworth’s scowl came back. “I knew you had come about that.”
“Do you blame me?”
Letchworth sighed. “Not entirely. But you must see my difficulty, too! I thought her sweet and pure and honest.”
“Do you have evidence that she is not?” Christopher asked dangerously. “I believe the accusation was against Deborah. And it’s arrant rubbish peddled by the Regent’s snake. Who the devil are you to judge my wife?”
“I don’t,” Letchworth protested. “But you cannot judge me either since you had married her before this came out.”
“I knew all about it before I married her,” Christopher said contemptuously. “Do you seriously imagine she did not tell me?”
Clearly, that was exactly what Letchworth had thought, for he gaped at Christopher in astonishment.
Christopher curled his lip. “I see that you do judge her. Loath as I am to end the friendship between us—”
“Wait, Halland, let a man speak!” Letchworth interrupted with some indignation. “I confess I have not truly been thinking of this from your point of view, but you must see it from mine. Lucy may well be pure as the driven snow. In fact, I know she is. But she is not honest. She did not tell me.”
Christopher allowed him that point.
“In fact,” Letchworth said bitterly, “the truth paints that silly joke about her sister being the governess in a whole different light.”