They make the most wonderful pastries and confections there.” She smiled happily. “And it’s close to the haberdashery I’m going to.”
“Excellent,” Henry said. “I’ll come and meet you there then. What time?”
She thought about that. “Two o’clock? I shouldn’t keep you waiting much beyond that and if I’m delayed at the haberdashers, the carriage will be outside for you to wait in.”
“I’m not so old that I can’t stand outside a shop for a few minutes!” Henry protested, only half-pretending to be offended.
She laughed. “I’m only judging you by my own standards, Papa. These days I get very cross when I have to stand around.”
“Hmmm,” Henry said. “Well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time—and look forward to our visit to Mercier’s.” In truth, he was very much looking forward to getting her to himself for a little while.
Just then, the door opened and Freddy entered the breakfast room. He gave a sort of grunt which Henry supposed was intended as a greeting and went straight to the sideboard.
“Good morning, Frederick,” Henry said pointedly when Freddy joined them at the table. “Did you sleep well?”
Freddy nodded, but his expression was pained and he looked distinctly green about the gills. Plainly, he was suffering from the effects of the previous evening. He looked down at the plate he had just filled and paled.
“Perhaps,” Henry said, “You should have stayed in bed a while. You do not seem quite ready for breakfast.”
“I’m meeting Percy at ten,” Freddy mumbled. “We’re going to Tattersalls.”
“Who is Percy?” Henry asked.
Marianne made a face. “Percy Bartlett. He and Freddy have become bosom friends.”
“Sir Algernon Bartlett’s son?” Henry asked, frowning. Algie Bartlett had been two years above Henry at school and a perfectly nasty piece of work.
“That’s him,” Freddy said. “He’s a jolly good fellow, actually. Been showing me around town.”
“Been showing you around all the gambling hells, you mean,” Marianne muttered disgustedly.
“Will you stop being so bloody interfering?” Freddy snapped. “It’s no business of yours what I do.”
“Freddy!” Henry said sharply.
Freddy’s gaze swivelled to him. “Well, she started it!”
“And you’re the one who’s being insulting,” Henry said. “Apologise for your rude behaviour.”
Freddy had been worrying him for a while. He’d shown no interest in university and in the last year or so had been getting through his quarterly allowance within a fortnight of receiving it. Henry suspected he was gambling—so many young men did, falling into towering debt and ruining themselves. Two months ago, Henry had given Freddy a stern lecture about the need to live within his means, but the young man had only sat in sullen silence, saying nothing.
Just as he was doing now.
Henry opened his mouth to speak again, but Marianne beat him to it.
“Do you know, Freddy,” she said. “Ever since you became friends with Percy Bartlett, all you do is talk about how gentlemen ought to behave, thinking yourself so wise. Well if this how a gentleman behaves, I should rather invite a pig to my table!”
Freddy glared at her. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion on my conduct.”
Marianne’s eyes flashed with temper. “And I don’t recall asking for your permission to give my opinion in my own house.”
Freddy stood up so abruptly his chair rocked. “Christ almighty, Mari! For once in your life, can you just stay out of my business?”
“Watch you drink and gamble yourself to ruin, you mean?” Marianne snapped. “Because that’s all you seem to do these days!”
“God in heaven, do you ever shut up, you harridan—”
Henry slammed his fist on the table and roared, “Freddy!”
Freddy startled and turned to face Henry, a flash of remorse touching his angry expression before he rallied and cried, “Well, she called me a pig, and a wastrel!”
“I did not,” Marianne protested. “I merely said that I should prefer to invite a pig to my table, and pointed out that you’ve been drinking and gambling incessantly. Both of which are perfectly true!”
Freddy spluttered.
“And you might care to consider,” Marianne continued implacably, “that I am your elder sister. A gentleman should treat both his elders and his sisters with the utmost respect, don’t you agree, Jeremy?”
Marianne’s husband, who had continued eating his breakfast with perfect equanimity throughout the spat, looked up and smiled at his wife. “Quite so, dearest.”
“Well of course Jeremy agrees with you!” Freddy howled.
“Not so,” Jeremy protested. “I only agree with Marianne when she’s right. It’s just that she’s generally right about everything.” He glanced Henry. “Vastly sensible woman, your daughter,” he said in the manner