“Since my mother passed to the hereafter some four years ago, I fear contact would prove difficult, even for you. Go to bed, Dambler. But you know, my mother was quite a bold wench in her heyday, all flash and good sport. Blood will tell, thank the good Lord.”
He heard a low buzzing sound from Dambler and closed his eyes. He found himself wondering what his valet would say if he were to see Martine in all her natural glory. Apoplexy, he thought, very probably it would result in apoplexy.
Dambler said from the door of the bedchamber, “Do you have any activities planned for the evening, my lord?”
“I have just finished the evening, thank you. Go to bed.”
“The next evening, my lord.”
Phillip suddenly cursed. “Yes, I forgot. It’s off to that sacred boring Almack’s, to play St. George again, not that it will do any good.”
“A noble gentleman, St. George, my lord.”
“If he was anything like me, then he was a bloody fool.”
Miss Teresa Elliott, her arm placed gracefully upon her brother Wilfred’s sleeve, glided toward the patronesses across the main hall at Almack’s, where they were sitting on a dais, holding court.
“Old besoms,” Wilfred said in his sister’s ear as his myopic gaze took in the three ladies seated close together in their stiff-backed gilded chairs. “I’d rather face a hanging judge. If you hadn’t worn Mama out with all those balls of yours and whatever else it is you do—”
“Be quiet, Wilfred. It won’t hurt you to be away from your wretched books for one evening, and I must have an escort, you know that.”
“Find yourself a husband, Teresa. Maybe you will snag some poor wretch who will be willing to let you diddle him about.”
She gave him a loathsome, self-satisfied smile that made her brother want to smack her.
“For your information, I’ve decided upon one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”
“And just who might the poor devil be?” Wilfred looked down at her classic profile and didn’t appreciate it one bit.
“It’s highly unlikely that he will attend this evening, for it’s known he finds Almack’s a bore. However, I expect he will come about, once we’re married.”
“Who is this weak-willed ass?”
She pinched his arm, no more, because the Duchess of Wigan was smiling toward her.
“You’ve smiled quite enough, Teresa. Now, who is this paragon you’ve set your sights on?”
“I doubt he would even give you a nod. He is too magnificent, too sporting—”
“Please stop. He’s one of those useless men who do nothing except drink brandy, visit their mistresses, and race their horses.”
“I’ll have you know, you dunce, that it’s Viscount Derencourt.”
“Phillip Mercerault?”
“Yes,” she said, ignoring the incredulity in his voice. “If you ever bothered to pull your nose from your infernal studies, you would know that I have ridden in the park with him and, indeed, was at Moreland with him before Christmas.” That visit, however, hadn’t lived up to her expectations. “If it hadn’t been for that stupid girl who interfered, I know, I just know he would have—”
“I thought you said Phillip Mercerault never came to Almack’s.”
“He doesn’t, more’s the pity, for I look very fine tonight and—” She followed his pointed stare. She felt herself flush. “Good heavens, he must have found out that I would be here this evening. How clever and romantic of him to surprise me.” She tugged at her brother’s sleeve. “You’ll be polite, Will, or I will make your tutor fall in love with me.”
He wanted to say something to put her in her place, but he imagined that she could make his tutor, the hapless Mr. James, fall so deeply in love that he wouldn’t be able to dig himself out. “I’ll be all that’s civil.”
“Oh, dear, we’ve got to greet Lady Jersey and the Countess Lieven, and that cold Mrs. Drummond Burrell first.”
“I’d rather go to Newgate.”
Delicate color suffused Teresa’s cheeks in her excitement as she greeted the patronesses. Wilfred, thank the Lord, was able to speak a civil sentence, which was all that was necessary from him.