A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,43
means. What else?”
Nathaniel had debated whether to mention the notes to Robbie, but this conversation took the decision from him.
“I expect we are about to be blackmailed.” He searched through the cards in his hand and found that he’d once again discarded the wrong ones into the crib and tossed away a significant number of points with them.
“Blackmailed?” Robbie’s usually serene gaze narrowed. “By whom?”
“I was hoping you might have some ideas.”
“Lady Althea, what a pleasure to welcome you to my humble home.” Lady Phoebe Philpot, a-twinkle in diamonds and malice, offered a shallow curtsy after the butler had announced Althea to the guests gathered in the formal parlor.
“The pleasure is mine,” Althea replied, returning the curtsy at a depth intended to be so unassailably respectful as to convey amusement. “I do apologize for Mrs. McCormack’s absence, and on such late notice. She was desolated to miss tonight’s gathering.”
As luck would have it, Milly’s digestion truly had acted up that afternoon, and Althea’s companion had remained at Lynley Vale, drinking weak tea and trying to look crestfallen.
“Spring is a time for indispositions,” Lady Phoebe replied, taking Althea by the arm. “Perhaps that’s why you haven’t yet removed to London? My mama was prone to the worst rheumatism in spring. When I was a girl, we never went south before mid-April.”
Her ladyship wore a pleasantly curious expression while implying that Althea was old enough to suffer rheumatism.
Althea donned a similarly bland smile. “Don’t you find the same old London gossips and scandalmongers tedious year after year? Perhaps that’s why you yourself bide here in the countryside rather than go racketing south. I vow there is nothing more distasteful than people who cannot mind their own business. Mayfair during the Season boasts more than its share of such souls, don’t you agree?”
A gentleman by the window snorted. He was youngish, fashionably dressed, and holding a glass of claret.
“Then you don’t care to stay abreast of what polite society is about?” Lady Phoebe asked. “Don’t care to know whose son has gone out to India to make his fortune, or who has become engaged to whom?”
Althea gently disentangled her arm from her hostess’s and moved off a few steps to sniff at a bouquet of daffodils. She rearranged two of the flowers so the one with the tallest stem stood in the center of the bouquet.
“Unless one of the parties to the engagement is myself or an immediate family member, such news isn’t urgently relevant to me, is it, Lady Phoebe? Of course, I wish all couples contemplating matrimony much joy, but then, I wish all mankind joy.” She peered at some cutwork yellowing behind framed glass above the daffodils. “Shall we be about the introductions?”
The guests watched this exchange with as much subtlety as spectators ringing a prize fight. Althea knew that her ensemble showed her to good advantage and made Lady Phoebe’s finery overdone by comparison.
Rothhaven had been right on so many counts.
The introductions proceeded without further skirmishing, and the gentleman holding the claret turned out to be William, Viscount Ellenbrook. He was enjoying Lady Phoebe’s hospitality on the way to his own estates in the West Riding. Unlike several of the guests, his manner was genuinely cordial, and Althea was relieved to find him seated to her left at table.
“Did you answer her ladyship honestly earlier?” he asked quietly as footmen tended to the first remove.
“Regarding?”
“Why you are avoiding London. I myself am dodging at least three heiresses whom my dear mama has declared would suit me wonderfully. I’m sure they are lovely young ladies, but Mama married Papa. Her judgment in marital matters is not to be trusted. More wine?”
“Please.” The wine was unremarkable, the fare equally so, but at least Ellenbrook was good company. He kept his hands to himself, he did not gossip, and he did not over-imbibe. Althea was on the verge of declaring the evening a qualified success when the ladies rose to take their tea in the parlor.
“Might I call upon you, your ladyship?” Ellenbrook asked, as he stood politely with the rest of the gentlemen.
Lady Phoebe clearly heard the question, as had her niece, Miss Sybil Price, seated on Ellenbrook’s other side.
As had half the table, while Althea hadn’t seen his lordship’s request coming.
She had three choices. She could accept Ellenbrook’s overture, which would be polite, and also consistent with her wishes. Ellenbrook was good-humored, intelligent, and handled himself well in company. He merited a cordial reply.