the duke.
“They…disagree with me.”
“Sorry,” said Randolph. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?”
He reached for the platter in the center of the table. “Have a cream cake?”
With a smile, she took one.
Verity escaped the Greshams when the dancing began again after supper. It was a considerable relief to move down the ballroom with a stranger introduced by the hostess and talk of commonplace things. Not that she disliked Lord Randolph’s family. Quite the contrary. They were charming, interesting people. She’d been comfortable with them except for the part when she’d felt…interrogated? No, that wasn’t right. It had been like interviewing for a position without knowing what it was. No, that was silly. Like taking an examination in a subject for which she hadn’t prepared? Ridiculous. What was the matter with her? There was no reason to feel wrung out by the encounter. But she was. And she’d completely forgotten to ask Lord Randolph about the archbishop.
The set ended. Olivia’s friend Ronald asked her for the next. He was cheerfully cordial, and Verity glided over the awkwardness of not knowing his last name. When the music ended, he delivered Verity to Olivia with a flourish, demonstrating his obedience, and left them together.
“I always feel I should pat Ronald on the head, like a good dog,” Olivia said.
Verity laughed but said, “Don’t foist any more partners on me, please.”
“Wasn’t Ronald polite to you?”
“He was charming, but Mr. Wrentham clearly didn’t wish to dance with me.”
“Oh, Wrentham.” Olivia looked mischievous.
“He was much more interested to learn that Miss Reynolds is in London.”
“You told him that?”
“Of course I did, when he asked me. He was quite put out when I didn’t have her address in my pocket.”
“Well, drat it. Now I’ll have to—” She bit off the rest of her sentence.
“No more notes.” Verity realized that she didn’t trust her friend on this subject.
“I promised, didn’t I?” Olivia grinned. “Never mind them. I challenged Mr. Rochford to play cards with me.”
“You did not! What did he say?”
“He laughed.”
“So he refused?”
Olivia shook her head.
“He accepted?”
“Not yet.”
“I wish you’d forget this idea.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of being so infernally…circumscribed, when fellows our age can do pretty much whatever they please?”
“Yes, but not in the way you—”
“And married women, too, if they’re discreet.”
“My interests run in other areas.” A card game was trivial, Verity thought. She wanted to travel the world. And what had become of her plans in that regard? She hadn’t made any headway.
“You can’t tell me you disapprove of cards,” Olivia said. “You’re not one of those canting dissenters.”
“Of course not. I just don’t think Mr. Rochford is worth the trouble of a scandal.”
“Don’t force me to point out that you’re not the arbiter of my behavior.”
Olivia’s smile was pleasant, but Verity heard finality in her tone. They wouldn’t remain friends if she persisted.
Twelve
Randolph joined the expedition to his mother’s charity school on Wednesday afternoon. As he told her, he was interested to see the place. It had been several years since he’d visited any of her projects. And since she was taking a party of ladies along, he was only too happy to act as escort. Only when he added that the school seemed to be in an iffy neighborhood did his mother comment, dryly pointing out that she often went there quite alone.
“Surely you take a footman as well as John Coachman?” he said.
“As I will on Wednesday,” his mother replied.
Randolph had had the sense to drop the subject then, before she could ask if Miss Sinclair’s presence had anything to do with his offer. Because he didn’t want to admit that of course it did. This pert young lady was occupying a large portion of his thoughts lately. He couldn’t resist a chance to spend more time in her company.
Flora came to Langford House early on the day, and they set out in the ducal carriage to pick up Miss Sinclair and, as Randolph discovered only then, Lady Hilda Stane on the way. Hilda had been allowed out of her house arrest for this unexceptionable expedition. Randolph found himself seated beside her on the rear-facing seat, directly opposite Miss Sinclair, who looked exceedingly fetching in a dark-blue pelisse and straw hat with a curled feather. To look up was to meet her blue-green gaze. Their knees touched with each lurch of the vehicle.
“Beatrice refused to come,” said Hilda. “She and Olivia are deep in some scheme. A great secret, it seems.”
She sounded sulky at the idea. Miss Sinclair looked concerned.
They drove along