The lady held out her
glass. “You’ve a flask, young man? Why didn’t you say so?” She shook her empty glass at him. “I could use a nip.”
Lord Phineas reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small silver flask, glanced down the table toward where his mother sat, and poured some amber liquid into his grandmother’s glass. “Bottoms up, Grams,” he said with a chuckle.
Sophia leaned toward him. “Should she be drinking?” she hissed.
He shrugged. “The more she drinks, the better she hears,” he said beneath his breath. “She swears a little more, too, but people are used to that. It’s better than the yelling.”
Sophia bit back a snort. He motioned toward his pocket and arched a brow. “Would you like a nip?”
She definitely needed her wits about her. “No, thank you. I believe I’ll pass this time.”
“Afraid you’ll lose your inhibitions?” he taunted.
“You’re assuming I have some?” she retorted.
“I try not to assume anything where you’re concerned, Miss Thorne,” he said.
“Much safer that way,” she tossed back. This verbal sparring was jarring to the soul. She stiffened her spine and narrowed her eyes at him. “I do wish you’d tell me how you feel about me, my lord. All this fawning you do when you’re in my presence could give me the false impression that you like me.”
He grinned. Then he raised that big booming voice again and addressed his grandmother. “Have you met Miss Thorne, Grams?”
She raised the trumpet back up to her ear. “What are you mourning, dear boy?” she asked of Lord Phineas. “Not that mistress again?” She said the last very loudly, and a low hum began around the table. “She had horse teeth and a big nose. And couldn’t keep her legs closed if you paid her.”
“Mother,” the dowager duchess hissed from the end of the table.
“I knew her mother, if you must know. And her skirt was just as light.” She took a sip of the drink he’d sneaked to her. Something told Sophia he would regret that. “Find another one to flip on her back and you’ll be over her in no time.”
“Grams,” Lord Phineas said. “Must you be so loud?” His face was a bit flushed and he looked as though he’d had a nip too many, even though Sophia hadn’t seen him take a single drink.
“You’re the one who was talking about being in mourning. If you don’t want your dirty laundry to be aired, don’t hang it on the line.” She leaned toward Sophia. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Sophia,” she croaked. She was about to add her surname, but Sophia was afraid it would spark more conversations about the lightskirt.
The dowager duchess motioned toward Sophia with her thumb. “Why can’t you find a lady of quality like this one? Settle down and have a family. Between you and Robin, you’d think we’d have a house full of great-grandchildren by now.” She narrowed her eyes at Lord Phineas. “The illegitimate ones don’t count.”
Lord Phineas wiggled uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t have any children, Grams. I promise.”
“You should get to work on that. I’d like to see at least one boy child before I gasp my last breath. Girls are fine, but I prefer the ones with dangly parts.”
Sophia choked. She couldn’t help it. And Lord Phineas looked pleased by her reaction. “Something wrong, Miss Thorne?” he asked, his voice as sweet as syrup and just as smooth.
“Nothing,” she gasped as she reached for her water glass.
“Mother, would you please temper your comments?” the dowager duchess barked from her seat.
The old lady waved her fork wildly in the air. “You act like you don’t want to hear about dangly parts. Everyone’s got them. Or at least a receptacle for them.” She cackled loudly on the last.
Lady Hammersmith jumped to her feet, her lips pursed like she’d been sucking on a sour grape. She tossed her napkin onto her plate. “I don’t have to listen to such poor conversation.” She tapped her husband’s arm. “Come along, Harold,” she said. “Receptacles, indeed. I’ve never heard of such a vulgar thing.”
“She’s never heard of it?” the old lady cackled. “That must be why her husband always looks so irritated.” She laughed so loudly that it made Sophia want to laugh with her. She covered her mouth, instead. The dowager duchess buried her face in her hands and groaned.
“I’m certain you’re right,” Lord Phineas said with a smirk.
“Eh?” the woman asked, raising her trumpet again.
“Never mind,” the duke’s brother said loudly. “We can discuss it later, Grams.”