draughts made from comfrey and peppermint?
“I made a gentleman’s wager with Lady Boadicea regarding Wilmslow, so there’s no going back now,” he said. “My father will undoubtedly need to rest from his journey, and he will enjoy spending time with my cousin, Mr. Bisset-Caron.”
That wasn’t true, as his father disliked Grégoire, the offspring of his younger brother’s lamentable marriage to a Frenchwoman. He also loathed the way his brother had adapted his wife’s family name as the requirement for inheriting a considerable estate.
“It’s true that you gave me your word of honor,” Betsy said.
The duchess wrinkled her nose. “I do not care for wagering.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Emily,” Lady Knowe said, “don’t be a prude. I still have that bunch of dried violets from when you dared me to approach the pastor and ask for his thoughts on dance.”
“We were children,” the duchess said dismissively, waving a pink-clad hand.
“So are these three,” Lady Knowe said. “A cheerful wager is a pleasure. Now, what did you wager, Betsy?”
“Lord Jeremy has promised to accompany me on a tour of Wilmslow. I shall be in disguise,” Betsy said, adding, “I had the idea in the middle of the fancy dress ball. He agreed to do so only if you accompany us, Aunt Knowe.”
“Why on earth—” the duchess began.
Thaddeus spoke at the same moment. “What disguise?”
Jeremy realized, not for the first time, he must be a very shallow person, because he was enjoying the shock in Thaddeus’s face.
“The disguise was chosen by the lady,” he said, giving Betsy time to change her mind about the breeches. “As for the ‘why,’ Your Grace, Lady Boadicea expressed the wish to visit an auction.”
“An auction?” the duchess asked wonderingly. “Do you mean the sort of thing where disgraceful men sell their wives?”
“Sell their wives? You surprise me, Mama,” Thaddeus said.
Jeremy thought about whether he would call his mother Mama if she were still alive. That was a firm no. Never. Not even if she had been a duchess rather than a marchioness.
“The auction in Wilmslow is an important affair,” Lady Knowe put in. “Works of art and the like. I sent the estate manager to secure that lovely Rembrandt that hangs in the back parlor.”
Jeremy thought that Betsy had better speak up soon if she wanted to preserve her illustrious future as a duchess. She was running the risk of setting Thaddeus’s mother against her.
“Lady Boadicea collects miniatures,” he said, making that up on the spot. “She would like to bid on a piece herself.”
Lady Knowe blinked at Betsy. “My dear, I thought I was the only person in the family interested in miniatures. If there is one for sale you fancy, Prism will send a factotum to bid for you.”
“I wish to bid in the auction myself,” Betsy stated. She straightened in the seat. Surely, she wouldn’t inform Thaddeus, let alone his mother—
Yes, she would.
“I plan to go to the auction disguised as a boy and bid on a work of art,” Betsy said, looking directly at the duchess. “I would have liked to play billiards, in an establishment where ladies were not allowed to pick up a cue, but Lord Jeremy does not think that advisable.”
There was dead silence in the carriage.
“Billiards while dressed in boy’s clothing,” Betsy clarified.
Because why put in just one coffin nail when two will do better?
More silence.
Just as Jeremy was trying to decide whether he wished to exacerbate the situation by inquiring whether Betsy planned to wear breeches or pantaloons, the duchess began laughing. Thaddeus’s brow had knit, likely thinking deeply about propriety, but he lifted his chin and stared at his mother.
“One of my friends told me to go to Lindow because Lady Boadicea would be a perfect duchess,” Her Grace said, fairly gasping with laughter. “Here you are. A perfect duchess indeed.”
She leaned forward and patted Betsy’s knee. “We don’t follow fashion or standards, my dear. We make them. If you decide to dress as a boy, you’ll be doing nothing that my relatives—my female relatives—haven’t done before.”
“I am surprised to hear that,” Thaddeus said.
To Jeremy’s mind, if Thaddeus wanted the “perfect duchess” he’d chosen, he’d better start defending Betsy’s ideas, no matter how unusual.
“My great-aunt was a plucky gal,” the duchess said. “Rumor has it that her father tried to marry her to an older man, and she didn’t agree. So she put on breeches and snuck out of the house, meaning to make her way to Italy or some such.”
“How romantic,” Lady Knowe said. “I gather