Robert straightened, examining his sister, and gently retrieved his silverware from her fingers. “I do not see why this should distress you. Horses are a fine topic for any meal.”
She dropped her hands into her lap and her shoulders drooped as her gaze turned distant. “So is sewing, or embroidery, or whatever else it is women are supposed to do, but you do not see us clattering on about it endlessly.”
As Michael exchanged a look with his brother, another voice joined the fray.
“What is it we are clattering on endlessly about?” Rose entered through the servant’s door, carrying a small tea service on a tray, which she set next to Beth.
Beth scowled at her. “Why are you bringing my tea?”
“Because I felt like it.” Rose sat in the chair next to Beth, turning slightly sideways to watch her sister-in-law. “I honestly did not expect to see you this morning.”
Beth’s eyes glistened but her scowl deepened. “I do not see why not. I am disgraced, not dead. And I still wake up hungry.”
Robert’s face tightened. “Beth—”
She reached out and gripped his arm. “Donotpity me. We knew it was coming. And for God’s sake, stop blaming yourself.”
“But it is my doing.”
“And if Aldermaston cannot withstand a bit of a family scandal, then we were not as well suited as I thought.”
When everyone remained silent, Beth looked at each of them in turn. “Is it not true? This family courts scandal on a regular basis. It was a scandal when our parents married, and they obviously set the standard—and survived it to become paragons of Society. Rose and Thomas created quite the stir, and”—she focused on Robert—“while you have certainly raised the bar, you are far from the only one. Now I have been overthrown by a duke’s son, which makes me nigh on to untouchable for at least the rest of the season if not forever.” She turned her gaze on Michael. “And your behavior last night will occupy the gossip sheets for at least two days.”
All eyes shifted to Michael, who tried to appear as innocent as he could. “I am sure I do not—”
“Michael?” Rose’s quiet voice had a bit of a growl to it. “Did this have anything to do with Lady Clara?”
Robert perked, straightening sharply. “What is this? Who, pray tell, is Lady Clara?”
“Lady Clara Durham,” Beth explained. Michael noted some of the bitterness left her voice as she found a new topic. “The daughter of the Earl of Beckcott. They have a house on the other side of Berkley Square—”
“And our neighbors in Berkshire. I remember.”
Beth nodded. “I believe she is in her, what”—she looked at Rose—“third season now?”
“Fourth.”
“And she is not yet married?” Robert asked.
Beth shook her head. “She is a bit odd—”
“I beg your pardon.” Michael felt that odd sense of protectiveness flaring again. “She most certainly is not odd. She is attractive and kind and remarkably intriguing.”
The room went silent as the three of them stared at him. Quite slowly, Robert grinned. “Tell us more, brother.”
Michael felt his face heat.
“She is somewhat clumsy,” Beth said.
“She is not—”
“And she hunts,” Rose interjected. “With a falcon. A peregrine.”
Robert’s eyebrows arched. “Which means she rides? As in horses?”
“She even makes her maid ride,” Rose continued, “so that she can accompany Lady Clara as a chaperone on her hunts.”
Beth tried to look aghast, but it was a poor effort. “Her maid? On a horse? Heaven forfend. And now we are back to horses.”
