Christmas With The Duchess. Tamara LejeuneЧитать онлайн книгу.
mollified by his wife’s flattery. “I daresay, Nicholas has made some friends among the officers. I daresay we will find him in the drawing room.”
Julia jumped to her feet. “I’m so hungry I could eat the whole croquenbouche.”
The door opened and Lady Susan sailed into the room. “Well, here’s a to-do!” she said, her small eyes glinting. “Lord Camford and Lord Ian Monteith have been fighting—I should say brawling—in a most unsavory contest for the favors of a certain…er-hum!…lady.”
Lady Anne jumped to her feet. “Oh, no! Was my nephew very badly injured?”
“He had to be carried back to the house,” Lady Susan said ominously, freely embroidering on the truth.
Lady Anne fell back in her chair. Lord Hugh shook his fist at her. “This would not have happened, madam, if you had taken better care of him.”
Julia was confused. “But I do not know Lord Ian Monteith,” she said. “Why should he be fighting for my favors? He must have seen me in the window as I was dressing.”
“It is the duchess, I mean,” Lady Susan said irritably. “The Whore of Babylon herself!”
“But Nicholas doesn’t even know the duchess!”
“You should have been more careful with him,” Lord Hugh accused his wife. “The harlot will turn his head, and he will never think of marrying any of the girls.”
Lady Anne clutched her chest. “Oh, Husband! Surely she would not marry him herself?”
“She’s far too old for him,” Julia sniffed.
Lord Hugh looked at his wife with contempt. “Marry him! And give up her dower portion? Not bloody likely! That’s twenty thousand pounds a year she gets from the estate. Would you give that up? Of course you wouldn’t, you imbecile.”
Lady Anne crumpled before his contempt.
“In any case, the boy is still a minor. He cannot marry without my permission, not until he comes of age. I’m not likely to let him marry her, am I? But she may very well distract him.”
“You mean seduce him!” Julia whispered eagerly.
“Oh, dear! We should not have let him out of our sight, Husband,” Lady Anne wailed.
“We, madam?” he said coldly. “Are you suggesting that I follow your nephew about like a Bow Street Runner? That is your duty, madam, and you have failed.”
Octavia’s voice cut through the air. “Is Cousin Nicholas badly hurt, Aunt Bellamy? Has the surgeon seen him?”
Lady Susan took her time answering. “He will live,” she said finally. “But I understand it was very near thing, very near. He was unconscious for several hours.”
“But why did no one tell us?” cried Lady Anne.
“I’ve only just heard of it myself from Mrs. Camperdine,” said Lady Susan.
“Well, don’t just sit there like a bunch of wallflowers,” Lord Hugh shouted, turning on his wife and daughters. “Go to him quickly before he recovers. He will be in a vulnerable state. Nurse him back to health, and he may reward one of you with his hand in marriage. Hurry! Must I think of everything?”
Chapter Five
By established custom, the Greys always met in Emma’s sitting room before going down to dinner together. Dressed in gold satin, Lady Scarlingford looked slightly less rumpled than usual as she joined her sister-in-law there that evening. “Oh, Emma!” she cried. “How perfectly splendid you look.”
Seated at the pianoforte, Emma was idly playing Mozart. Her gown was of blue-violet watered silk. Wrapped around her slim neck was a strand of pearls the size of hazelnuts. Huge pearl drops hung from her ears. Her ash-brown hair was pulled back from her face, emphasizing her delicate features. She smiled at her sister-in-law. “You sound surprised, my dear Cecily.”
“No!” Cecily protested. “You always look lovely, of course. But I wonder you would go to so much trouble if you are just going to eat your dinner on a tray in your room.”
“But I am not going to eat my dinner on a tray in my room,” Emma replied. “I’ve decided to break mourning a few days early.”
Cecily looked troubled, but she did not dare criticize Emma. She sat down to wait for the gentlemen to arrive. “Men are always complaining about how long we women take to get ready,” she said presently. “But, it seems to me, that we are always waiting for them.”
Emma laughed. “That is because men live under the delusion that they can get dressed in under a minute. We women are wise enough to begin the undertaking in good time. It takes me precisely seventy-five minutes to get ready for dinner. I have it down to a science.”
Of the gentlemen, Colin and Monty arrived first, Colin in correct black and white evening dress and Monty in his uniform. Apart from a slight swelling at the bridge of his nose, Monty looked none the worse for wear, thanks to the ministrations of his valet.
“You owe Monty a new pair of trousers,” Colin told his twin sister. “How dare you have one of your boys rough him up! His nose is not broken, thank God. But there was so much blood, I nearly fainted.”
“How dare you tell him he could kiss me?” Emma returned angrily. “In front of half the army, too!”
“You’ve done it for me before,” said Colin, “on countless occasions.”
“Countless!” Monty echoed indignantly.
“Well,” said Colin, “I never counted, anyway.”
“This time, it was not convenient,” said Emma. “I was just setting up a new flirt. Your Scottish friend is fortunate that Lord Camford didn’t break more than just his nose.”
Colin frowned. “Who is this Camford brute, anyway? I thought I knew all your lovers.”
“He is not my lover. He is Hugh’s nephew. I’m just using him,” Emma explained.
“Oh, Emma!” Cecily said in dismay.
Colin was more pragmatic. “Using him for what, may one ask?”
Quickly, Emma explained the situation to him.
“Emma! That is beastly cruel! Devious! Machiavellian! However did you think of it?”
“I asked myself, ‘What would Colin do?’” she retorted.
Colin grimaced. “And this is what you came up with?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have nothing more to teach you,” he said loftily. “Now, apologize to Monty, and we’ll say no more about it.”
“Apologize? I explained to Monty that I was busy, but he persisted. He deserved a punch in the nose. I do not apologize.”
Colin sighed. “When a gentleman has a grievance with another gentleman, he shoots him at ten paces with one of Mr. Manton’s lovely little pistols. Now that is what I call gentlemanlike behavior! He does not plant him a facer, not outside of Mr. Jackson’s saloon, anyway.”
“I am not sorry he did so,” said Emma. “The way he came roaring to my defense was most encouraging. It shows that I am on the right track.”
Lord Scarlingford came into the room. “Emma,” he said unpleasantly, “if you are going to lend my valet to your badly dressed friends, I would appreciate it very much if you would inform me first. I was obliged to dress myself this evening!”
“I’m sorry, Otto,” said Emma. “I can’t imagine what is taking so long.”
“I can,” he retorted. “You lent him to Camford, didn’t you? Making that boy presentable could take days, if not weeks.”