The Lord of the Highwaymen - Elizabeth Bramwell Page 0,23

made a mull of things,” said Conway, indifferent to the insult. “Women don’t want their intellect respected when they are alone with a fellow. What do you think they want?”

“Oranges?” offered Dook before swearing when the earl wrenched his chair back in retaliation.

“Flirtation, you fool! They want flirtation!”

“What, only in the orangery?” asked Killarney, his face the epitome of innocence. “What would they like in the other rooms of the house?”

“Nothing but privacy in the vestibule,” murmured Louis, his eyes still closed. “I learned that one from experience most terrible.”

Even William was momentarily pulled from his misery by this comment, but the fact that Louis still had the wine glass balanced on his fingertips meant the chevalier was not far enough in his cups to share the details of this promising tale.

“I meant that our saintly friend here should have listened to our advice and flirted with Amelia. Why else would she have been dressed as Cleopatra?” continued Conway.

“Because she likes the Ancient Egyptians?” countered Dook.

“In the earl’s defense, she did say that she didn’t want to talk about hieroglyphics,” said William.

None of his friends appeared to be paying attention to him, so he drained another glass of whisky before holding it up for the waiter.

“She wouldn’t have dressed that way if she’d thought it would result in him boring her to death about a dead language,” said Killarney.

“We don’t know that it bored her, just that she didn’t want to discuss it at that moment,” said Dook, growing. “I mean, yes, William had an odd turn while in the orangery, but I don’t believe it’s a lost cause.”

“Hieroglyphics,” repeated Conway with considerable disgust but then suddenly looked thoughtful. “I say, it might prove a useful way to deter the unwanted attentions of some old Paphians I can think of. Quick, William! Tell us precisely what you said!”

“Not again!” Killarney groaned loudly, one hand clasped to his face. “Won’t you leave the poor man alone? He feels bad enough as it is!”

“Agreed,” mumbled William. He didn’t feel drunk despite the shocking amount he’d imbibed, although it did seem as though his face had become stuck to the table.

“This was our fault for making William pretend to be dashing,” said Dook. “We should have found a way for him to engage Amelia in a more comfortable setting. Like a library, or a monastery, or something of that nature.”

Half of William was quite offended at the easy way their friends accepted Dook’s assessment of his nature. It was too much effort to respond, however, so he slipped back into a fit of melancholy.

“He’s attended more lectures and scientific demonstrations with Amelia than I’ve had hot dinners,” complained Conway. “I laid a monkey that he’d have come up to scratch by the end of the Season, but it’s starting to look like I threw that money to the wind.”

“We all did,” murmured Louis. “Alas, it is not the certain wager I was promised.”

“Since it was my money you wagered, it’s hardly a loss for you,” muttered Killarney. “Damn and blast it, William. We all know you and Amelia are a perfect match. If you can’t make it work, then what chance do I have when my marriage was arranged for me in childhood?”

“Or for me, who loves a woman who thinks me a worthless fool,” added Conway, looking morose.

“I’ve yet to meet a woman who sees me before the title,” sighed Dook. “They love the idea of being a duchess, not of being my wife.”

“And who would marry a penniless aristo whose entire family was beheaded by his own countrymen?” asked Louis.

The hum of conversation in the Subscription room concealed the approach of Lord Fellowes and his companion until it was too late for the friends to avoid them.

“Oh, look, it’s Dick Turpin and his gang of never-do-wells,” sneered the baron as he approached. He looked them all up and down and then turned his attention to Roehampton. “A word in your ear, Your Grace, the company you keep will impact your standing in society.”

“Actually, we’re—” began Killarney, but Dook silenced him with a slight movement of his hand. Experience had long taught the group that the older members of the Ton wanted nothing more than to separate the duke from his friends, and likely his fortune to boot.

“Mr. Haddington, how delightful to see you,” said Fellowes, accepting that Roehampton would not respond as though it were of no matter. “You left the masquerade before I had a chance to converse with you.”

William