someone like that. Roger is too
serious
,” Lady Sarah was saying. “But think of all Roger’s
beautiful
money. And I shall enjoy being a Countess. Married ladies have such freedom…”
The Earl had covered his hurt and shock very well. He had quietly lied to Sarah’s father that he had lost all his money on “Change” and felt it would be unfair to subject Sarah to an impoverished marriage. Sarah’s father had heartily agreed. Sarah, too, had agreed with a pretty show of sighs and tears. By the time the Devanes had discovered his lie, Sarah was married to her Bertram. Since then the Earl had preferred to keep mistresses and flirt idly with several hopeful debutantes. And now, he mused as he looked at Penelope from under drooping lids, I am considering entangling myself with a young lady who has an aunt who is as common as a barber’s chair.
Charles had begun to talk to Augusta in a high, nervous way about England’s recent war with France and how marvellous it was that that monster Bonaparte was safely installed on Elba. He said all this with an almost pleading note in his voice, the Earl noted, and thought it was sad that young Charles so obviously did care quite a bit for Augusta’s opinion.
Their mother had died when both the Earl and the Viscount were small boys. The Earl had not missed his mother much since he had seen little of her, having been brought up by a nanny and then a tutor before going to Eton. But perhaps, he reflected as Charles chattered on, his brother had felt the loss more than he, Roger, had ever imagined and was finding in the horrible Augusta a weird substitute.
Dinner was announced, and the Earl conducted Augusta into the dining room while Penelope and the Viscount trailed behind.
Unless one was a member of the Holland House set and accustomed to witty, garrulous, political dinner parties, one usually ate one’s food at the tables of the best houses in a morbid silence. This dinner party was no exception. The Earl ate sparingly and seemed immersed in his thoughts, Charles was drinking steadily, Penelope was too overawed by the numerous footmen, the gold plate, and the formidable Earl to open her mouth, and only Augusta enlivened the silence by the steady chomping of her great jaws.
By the end of the meal the fact that Charles did not wish to remain alone with his brother became all too obvious when the port wine and walnuts were brought in. He started to rise to follow Augusta and Penelope, making some feeble joke about the ladies being too attractive to be neglected even for a moment.
“Sit down, Charles,” said the Earl in a deceptively mild voice. “I am sure the ladies will forgive us for a few minutes.”
Charles looked longingly after the retreating backs of Augusta and Penelope and slumped down sulkily in his chair.
“Now, Charles,” said the Earl. “I must ask you again what all this is about. I tell you now I will not have that infuriating woman across my threshold again. Tell me plain—does she hope I will offer her niece a
carte blanche
?”
“No!” said Charles. “Nothing like that.” His sulkiness changed to petulant bad temper. “You’re always twitting me about something, Roger. You’re always so demned toplofty. So Miss Harvey is perhaps a bit of a rough diamond, but her niece is all that is proper.”
“A proper niece would not be seen in the company of a woman like that,” said the Earl coldly. “Pass the port, Charles, before you drink it all. Now tell me for once and for all—what do you see in a woman like Augusta Harvey?”
“She’s kind to me, dammit,” burst out Charles. “You always said this was my home as much as yours. Can’t I invite my friends? You’re always prosing on about something. It’s like living with a demned Methodist preacher, that it is. I’ll not stand for it.”
“Very well,” said the Earl, looking enigmatically at his brother from under his drooping lids. “You may entertain whom you will. But pray
serious
,” Lady Sarah was saying. “But think of all Roger’s
beautiful
money. And I shall enjoy being a Countess. Married ladies have such freedom…”
The Earl had covered his hurt and shock very well. He had quietly lied to Sarah’s father that he had lost all his money on “Change” and felt it would be unfair to subject Sarah to an impoverished marriage. Sarah’s father had heartily agreed. Sarah, too, had agreed with a pretty show of sighs and tears. By the time the Devanes had discovered his lie, Sarah was married to her Bertram. Since then the Earl had preferred to keep mistresses and flirt idly with several hopeful debutantes. And now, he mused as he looked at Penelope from under drooping lids, I am considering entangling myself with a young lady who has an aunt who is as common as a barber’s chair.
Charles had begun to talk to Augusta in a high, nervous way about England’s recent war with France and how marvellous it was that that monster Bonaparte was safely installed on Elba. He said all this with an almost pleading note in his voice, the Earl noted, and thought it was sad that young Charles so obviously did care quite a bit for Augusta’s opinion.
Their mother had died when both the Earl and the Viscount were small boys. The Earl had not missed his mother much since he had seen little of her, having been brought up by a nanny and then a tutor before going to Eton. But perhaps, he reflected as Charles chattered on, his brother had felt the loss more than he, Roger, had ever imagined and was finding in the horrible Augusta a weird substitute.
Dinner was announced, and the Earl conducted Augusta into the dining room while Penelope and the Viscount trailed behind.
Unless one was a member of the Holland House set and accustomed to witty, garrulous, political dinner parties, one usually ate one’s food at the tables of the best houses in a morbid silence. This dinner party was no exception. The Earl ate sparingly and seemed immersed in his thoughts, Charles was drinking steadily, Penelope was too overawed by the numerous footmen, the gold plate, and the formidable Earl to open her mouth, and only Augusta enlivened the silence by the steady chomping of her great jaws.
By the end of the meal the fact that Charles did not wish to remain alone with his brother became all too obvious when the port wine and walnuts were brought in. He started to rise to follow Augusta and Penelope, making some feeble joke about the ladies being too attractive to be neglected even for a moment.
“Sit down, Charles,” said the Earl in a deceptively mild voice. “I am sure the ladies will forgive us for a few minutes.”
Charles looked longingly after the retreating backs of Augusta and Penelope and slumped down sulkily in his chair.
“Now, Charles,” said the Earl. “I must ask you again what all this is about. I tell you now I will not have that infuriating woman across my threshold again. Tell me plain—does she hope I will offer her niece a
carte blanche
?”
“No!” said Charles. “Nothing like that.” His sulkiness changed to petulant bad temper. “You’re always twitting me about something, Roger. You’re always so demned toplofty. So Miss Harvey is perhaps a bit of a rough diamond, but her niece is all that is proper.”
“A proper niece would not be seen in the company of a woman like that,” said the Earl coldly. “Pass the port, Charles, before you drink it all. Now tell me for once and for all—what do you see in a woman like Augusta Harvey?”
“She’s kind to me, dammit,” burst out Charles. “You always said this was my home as much as yours. Can’t I invite my friends? You’re always prosing on about something. It’s like living with a demned Methodist preacher, that it is. I’ll not stand for it.”
“Very well,” said the Earl, looking enigmatically at his brother from under his drooping lids. “You may entertain whom you will. But pray
Similar Books
Marked
Jenny Martin
King's Folly (Book 2)
Sabrina Flynn
The Neruda Case
Roberto Ampuero
Liberation
Christopher Isherwood
A Greater Evil
Natasha Cooper
The Betrayal
R.L. Stine
Honor Code
Cathy Perkins
Deadly Sins
Lora Leigh