“Perhaps he should leave,” she continued coolly, meeting Richard’s eye and holding it, “in case any further accidents befall him.”
“Accidents!” Richard gasped. “You poured that on me!”
One of the serving women came scurrying forward.
“Oh, the good lady would never do that,” she babbled, grabbing Mr Grenville’s arm in an attempt to steer him away.
“Any manner of accidents might befall him,” Aunt Florence continued sweetly. “There are knives on this table.”
Lord Richard scowled, tugging his arm away from the bleating serving woman.
“This is not over,” he responded, voice a sibilant hiss. The chatter was gradually springing up around them again. “You should watch your back,Miss Fairfax.”
“And you should watch your lap,” Eleanor responded immediately. “It looks as though you’d had a rather childish accident.”
Richard went beet red, turned on his heel and stamped out of the door, never once looking back.
Eleanor sagged back in her seat, glancing over at Aunt Florence.
“Well,” she managed.
Aunt Florence sighed. “Now I need another cup of tea. What a waste.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Dowager Duchess of Dunleigh did not often organize social engagements, but when she did, they were select, genteel, and blindingly dull.
Her children were all, of course, expected to attend.
Henry took a hired carriage to his childhood home, fidgeting in his finest – and dullest – evening suit, and wondering how long it would be before he would be permitted to go to bed. His mother’s social events tended to last until the early hours, even if dancing was not part of the agenda.
Tonight’s engagement was just a dinner party, with music and card-tables for afterward. Henry did not particularly want to come, but it was not really an invitation, more like a command.
William was waiting at the door to greet guests.
“Evening,” he said bluntly, nodding at Henry. “Are you staying overnight?”
“Yes, I suppose so. How is Mother?”
“In good spirits. Alexander is not attending tonight. He isn’t well.”
Worry prickled down Henry’s spine, and he stepped closer to his brother, dropping his voice.
“When you say he isn’t well…”
“I mean that he got himself drunk this afternoon,” William said bitterly, “and collapsed. We got him upstairs and in his bed before Mother noticed and told her he has a megrim. Please, don’t tell her otherwise.”
“Of course not. Something must be done about Alexander. He’s getting worse and worse.”
“Alexanderwantsto be married,” William sighed, shaking his head, “but he’s a third son, and all the ladies chasing after him seem to have had a go at me and then you before him. One can’t blame him for wanting to be somebody’s first choice.”
Henry was truly worried. “No, I certainly cannot. What do you think we can do to help him?”
William shrugged. “I’ve thought it over, but nothing comes to mind. It’s not as if we can tell him to relax, that he’ll findsomebody sooner or later. If Alexander isn’t married soon, he’ll lose all of his money. We all know that. I believe this is how he’s dealing with his fears.”
“Drinking and gambling? I wish the man would just go horse riding and go for walks like everybody else,” Henry huffed, earning himself a small smile from William. “Shall I go up to see him?”
“No, let him sleep. I’ll check on him frequently.”
