“Be careful,” Portly said, pushing to his feet. “If you must bring down the Coventry, be very, very careful, and spare me the details. I will squire Clarice around more faithfully than a new footman just up from the country waits on a tipsy duchess, but I want no part of your latest scheme.”
William poured himself another drink. “I am always careful, darling. You know I am. I’ll catch the young marquess in the middle of a friendly kiss, one the wrong sort of person might misinterpret. Then I will do him the very great favor of explaining to his she-dragon step-mother exactly what the price of my silence will be. I get my blunt, Tavistock gets a valuable lesson in deportment.”
Portly paused, hand on the door latch. “And the Coventry?”
“The Coventry will be the subject of unfortunate talk, rather a lot of it. My objective is to take from Della Dorning that which she values most—her husband’s peace of mind and thus hers as well. It’s truly an elegant little scheme.”
“It’s a doomed scheme. I bid you good night.”
Portly closed the door with a soft click, leaving William to enjoy the rest of the decanter by himself.
Della had learned to keep track of her siblings because they could not be trusted to keep track of her. They meant to, of course, just as they meant to listen to her remarks at supper or answer her questions at the breakfast table. The older Haddonfield siblings were easily distracted from their good intentions, however, and thus Della had learned to pay attention.
She kept a close watch on her family and on her surroundings. As it had become apparent that she would not outgrow her nervous spells, she had also learned to notice the easiest path out of any room or building. She noticed where a lady might withdraw discreetly to gather her wits when her thinking mind was convinced that the world was soon to end.
She took particular care with stairways.
She learned to use the attributes of invisibility—her youth, lack of height, and femaleness—to her advantage. When in company, she dressed on the plain side of good taste, she wore a simple honeysuckle fragrance, she laughed softly if at all.
And yet, the instant Ash stepped out onto the terrace, he strode right for the small table she occupied in the shade of the overhanging balcony.
“Hiding in plain sight,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek. “I hope breakfast was uneventful?”
For all he wore riding attire like it was made to show off his physique, Ash looked weary. Della had fallen asleep alone in their bed and awoken to a note that Ash and Sycamore had gone for a morning hack.
“I broke my fast with Lady Tavistock and her step-son,” Della said, setting aside her book. “His lordship is painfully young, and her ladyship tries hard to treat him as an adult, but he’s a bit tiresome.”
Ash sank into the chair beside her so they both had a view of the terrace. “Seventeen is a difficult age. A fellow’s majority is still several years off, but a year or two at university has already worked its dubious magic on his sense of adult male entitlement. What are you reading?”
“Mrs. Wollstonecraft. I was surprised to find her in Lady Wentwhistle’s collection, though the volume does not appear to be much read.”
Ash regarded the guests enjoying the morning air, some seated elsewhere on the terrace, some drifting down into the garden. His air was distracted as he watched Lady Fairchild’s daughter Catherine descend into the garden on William Chastain’s arm.
“Chastain did not attempt to approach you at breakfast?”
“He did not come down to breakfast, as far as I know, though young Lord Tavistock pronounced Chastain a capital fellow. His step-mama nearly choked on her eggs at that observation. How was your ride?”
Ash stripped off his riding gloves and laid them on the table as he continued to regard the other guests. “A new mount is always a little more work, and the gelding I took out was high-strung and overly fresh. I told Sycamore about Lady Catherine’s eyes, and he confirmed that Papa had a dalliance with Lady Fairchild.”
“How could he know such a thing?” And why was Chastain showing Miss Catherine his favor?
“Sycamore has read all of Papa’s journals and diaries, and for the better part of a year, Lady Fairchild was the earl’s frequent companion. They met by agreeable happenstance at least twice at a