The Wallflower Wager - Tessa Dare Page 0,40
kittens, Marigold and Angus, then Regan, Goneril, and Cordelia.”
Penny was touched. He knew them all by name? Be still her heart.
“Chase, Alexandra . . . I was hoping you might take Delilah,” Penny said. “Don’t Daisy and Rosamund still enjoy playing pirates? You can’t be a pirate without a parrot on your shoulder.”
“If it were any other parrot, I’d happily agree,” Chase said. “But that parrot? We’ll have a baby in the house soon enough, and the girls are terrors as it is.”
“I know, I know. Her vocabulary needs some reforming. I’m working on that. Will you consider it, assuming I succeed?”
“I’m certain the girls would be delighted,” Alex said. “Even if Chase isn’t.”
“Our summer estate is only some ten miles from Town.” Emma sent her husband a meaningful look. “It’s lovely country. Plenty of pasture.”
Ash grumbled. “Very well. I’ll take the cow.”
“He’s a steer,” Gabriel corrected. “And the goat goes with him.”
“Fine. I’ll take the goat, too.”
“As long as you’re doing that much, you may as well take the hens.”
“For the love of—”
“We’d be happy to take the hens,” Emma interjected.
“That leaves the kittens,” Penny said, “and I can find homes for them. Kittens are something I understand. Society, on the other hand? That’s the difficult part. I can’t go anywhere without a gown, can I?”
“I’ve already made the patterns,” Emma said. “But there’s still a great deal to be done. Selecting silks, lace, ribbons. New slippers and gloves.”
“Not to mention, I don’t receive many invitations.”
“Neither do we, I’m afraid,” Emma said.
“I don’t even bother to open the post,” Nicola put in.
“I’d be glad to offer my services as a chaperone,” said Chase. “But with Alexandra in her confinement . . .”
“You can’t,” Penny rushed to say. “You need to stay near home. I’d never ask it. We’ll think of something. Or someone.”
They turned to the only “someone” remaining in the room.
“Don’t look at me,” Gabriel said. “No one in Mayfair wants me at their parties, and Her Ladyship can’t be seen in public with the Duke of Ruin.”
“I might have an idea,” Chase said. “One of the clubs is sponsoring a fete tomorrow. It’s at a pleasure garden in Southwark. Dancing, supper, fireworks. It doesn’t require an invitation or a new gown, and with a bit of planning, even the Duke of Ruin can escort you without causing a scandal.”
“That sounds ideal,” Penny said.
“It sounds impossible,” Gabriel retorted. “There’s no event safe enough for that. Not one that would make the society column.”
“I assure you, there is.” A slow grin spread across Chase’s face. “But you’re not going to like it.”
Gabe hated to admit it, but Chase was right.
He didn’t like this one bit.
He stood with Penny at the edge of the garden, watching the throngs of masked lords and ladies float by, contemplating a subject that rarely occupied his mind: medieval history.
“How the devil did England win a single Crusade? I can’t even walk in this. Or see, or eat, or drink.” He fumbled with the visor of the helmet until it finally flipped up. “And this codpiece is much too small.”
“Do stop complaining. It’s not so bad.”
“Easy for you to say. Your ballocks aren’t dangling between two plates of metal.” The armor creaked as he shifted from one foot to another—carefully.
A liveried manservant strolled in their direction, bearing a tray of crystal flutes. “Champagne?”
Gabe eagerly accepted. So eagerly, in fact, that he forgot the restrictions of his current attire. With one swipe of his plate-metal gauntlet, he cleared the tray, sending the crystal flutes to the ground and drenching the servant in champagne.
Brilliant.
As the servant walked away, Gabe filled his stifling helmet with profanity.
“You insisted you needed a true disguise—one that covered your face. This was the best we could do on such short notice. Be grateful that Ash loaned it to you. He did us a favor.”
“Some favor,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose His Grace is going to do me the favor of holding my prick when I need to piss.”
After that incident with the champagne glasses, Gabe wouldn’t attempt it on his life. Perhaps a drink wasn’t a good idea.
She gave him a teasing look. “If it helps at all, you do look rather gallant.”
It helped a bit. A tiny bit.
“You may be uncomfortable now,” she said. “But I’m the one bound for an eternity in perdition. Wearing my mourning attire to a masquerade? The last time I wore this gown, it was for my Uncle Jeremiah’s funeral. He’ll probably haunt me. Hairy ears