The Notorious Lord Havergal Read Online Free PDF

can outpace a racehorse.”
    “How long does a pig remain race-worthy, Lord Havergal?” Lettie snipped. “I am thinking, of course, of your Hamlet.”
    “I’m afraid I can’t enlighten you, ma’am. The pig-racing business is new to me. Perhaps our eminent authority can inform us?” he said, turning to Norton.
    Norton lifted his head from his plate long enough to say, “You ought to get ten years out of a healthy trotter.”
    Somehow or other the talk turned to Tom. “Miss Beddoes’s brother, Tom, wants to take up politics when he comes down from university this spring,” Violet mentioned.
    “Indeed?” Havergal asked. “What university is he attending?”
    “Christ Church, Oxford,” Lettie replied.
    Havergal, alert to her moods, noticed this was a subject dear to her heart. “Excellent! It is my own college. But you must not fear all the graduates are so worthless as I,” be added with one of his infamous smiles.
    It was a smile no woman under ninety years old could be entirely immune to. “At least he isn’t reading pig racing,” she allowed with a little unsteadiness of the lips that might be interpreted as a stillborn smile.
    “He will not return to Laurel Hall when he graduates, then?” Havergal said.
    “No, he has expressed interest in a political career.”
    “Will he stand for Parliament?”
    “His plans are not firm yet, except that he means to go up to London and look for a position.”
    “I will be happy to arrange introductions for him, if that would help.” He was rewarded with a definite smile. “Will you remain in Kent to look after the estate?” he asked.
    “For the present,” she said vaguely.
    There was some softening of attitudes over the rest of dinner. As long as Havergal didn’t mention money, he was safe, but he had come here to get his money, and the prickly topic could not be ignored forever. As he was staying in the vicinity for a day or two, however, there was no need to rush into it immediately.
    “We shall leave you and Mr. Norton to your port,” Lettie announced when dinner was over. The bread pudding did not detain anyone but Mr. Norton for long. Cook had not seen fit to oblige her mistress with a cake.
    “Horn-and-hoof management, that is the way to do it,” Norton said approvingly when the unappetizing dish was set before him. “No need to waste stale bread and crusts when a handful of raisins and a sprinkle of cinnamon make them entirely edible.” Lettie turned a deaf ear on his compliment.
    “We’ll take our port in the saloon as usual,” Norton said, inferring he ran quite tame at Laurel Hall. “A man would be a fool to deny himself the pleasure of such lovely ladies’ company. Lord Havergal will second me on that, eh laddie?”
    Lord Havergal’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. When they came back down he said, “Just as you wish,” and rose to leave.
    They had no sooner entered the saloon than there was a gentle tap at the front door. As the usual evening caller, Norton, was already with them, Lettie could not think who it might be.
    The soft, sibilant sounds of a gentleman’s voice were audible, but no words could be distinguished. Within seconds, Siddons appeared at the door and announced with great pomp, “His Grace, the Duke of Crymont.”
    A duke? No such person lived within a day’s driving distance of Laurel Hall. An earl was the highest nobility in the parish, and old Lord Devere had never called on them in his life. Lettie was glad she hadn’t yet taken a seat, for she was uncertain whether a lady was expected to rise for a duke. Violet looked ready to faint, and Norton stood with his mouth hanging open in astonishment. All three looked to the doorway with the liveliest curiosity. Lettie had not expected a duke to be so small, but in all other details he fulfilled every expectation of ducal grandeur.
    His Grace wore proper evening attire. He was a perfect model of noble elegance, from the gloss of his chestnut curls to the sheen of