dinner,” Mrs. Wilson started, “and then annoys everyone with his bodily noises. My husband insists it is a compliment, but I would prefer even a poorly worded thank-you letter.”
Beatrice was not sure how he managed it, but Lord Crenshaw turned from the other ladies and took her arm, and in a moment they had escaped the group and were seated on the sofa on the other side of the room.
“How did you do that?” Beatrice asked.
“Do what, my dear?” he answered with a half smile.
“Manage to remove us from Mrs. Wilson so deftly and without insult? I must learn such tactics before we go to London.”
“I could teach you that and so much more if you would like.”
Beatrice answered with a cautious nod, suddenly feeling discomfited by his tone if not his words.
Crenshaw laughed and patted her hand. “Lord Jess is the rake, Miss Beatrice. Not I. I mean to instruct you in any number of social niceties that can spare you boredom and embarrassment during your time among the ton.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Beatrice said, relaxing more, though now she was distracted. The mere mention of Lord Jess’s name made her wonder where he was. “I am sure there is more to learn than dance steps before we are ready for the London social world.”
The marquis came into the room and Beatrice watched as he approached Mrs. Wilson, her daughter, and Cecilia.
CECILIA WAS ACTUALLY happy to see Lord Destry. The truth was she would have been happy to see anyone who would rescue her from Mrs. Wilson’s pointless chatter. Mrs. Wilson stepped back to make room for the newcomer but did not break off her story.
Destry smiled and nodded in all the right places, and Cecilia wondered if he was registering a word the woman was saying. Was that the secret to enduring this inanity?
“My husband insists that some estate emergency is keeping him away from the house party.”
“I can completely understand your husband’s wish to stay home, alone,” Destry answered, proving that he was listening after all. Cecilia had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“I wish you would tell me why, my lord,” Mrs. Wilson said, her aggrieved air even more pronounced.
Destry glanced at Cecilia and she added, “Please do, sir,” as though she were desperate for an explanation of the inner workings of the masculine mind.
His words were addressed to Mrs. Wilson, but he did not look away from Cecilia as he said them.
“Because the quiet of nature is so appealing after the chaos of family life.”
Cecilia smiled at the private joke and decided the man liked to tease everyone and not just her. It was a peculiar sort of relief to know she had not been singled out.
The word “chaos” was all the invitation Mrs. Wilson needed to launch into a discussion of the various illnesses and inconveniences of her household staff. Really, it was enough to put one off marriage entirely.
“Good evening, Miss Brent. Destry.” Lord Jess appeared beside her, dressed all in black. The small pearl-and-diamond stickpin that decorated his cravat was the only relief from the effect of midnight.
“I imagine that your valet must have discovered the theme for this evening as well,” Cecilia said by way of welcome.
“Something to do with night or darkness?” Destry guessed, then added, “Why wasn’t my valet given the information?”
“I have no idea, but Darwell was insistent that we wear these particular gowns.”
“Leonie Darwell is your lady’s maid?” Lord Jess asked. His surprise was tinged with something else she could not name.
He knew Darwell well enough to know her Christian name, Cecilia noticed. She took a step back, wondering if she had stumbled onto an ill-advised topic of conversation. “Yes, she is,” she began, then paused and began again. “That is, the countess arranged for her to care for us for the Season.”
It struck Cecilia that this was the perfect opening to find out how well Darwell knew Lord Jess’s valet. “Darwell seems to know your valet very well. His name is Callan?”
“Yes, Callan.” He considered the statement and then laughed and addressed Lord Destry. “That explains how he knew what the theme was. Darwell passed it on to him.”
He looked down at his coat as though noticing it for the first time. “He has been excessively meticulous with my appearance the last day or two. I accused him of trying to impress someone. If it is Darwell then I congratulate his good taste.”
That wasn’t much help. The tendre was news to Lord Jess. There