“No, it wasn’t,” said Lark. “He showed up for that year’s Rutherford ball in a gown. I saw it with my own eyes. He was a hideous woman.”
“Oh,” said Fletcher. “But the Canbury rumors are false?”
“This is only conjecture, but the rumor has two possible sources,” said Lark. “A spurned lover looking for revenge or one of his political rivals who wishes to discredit him so that he does not get a position in His Majesty’s government.”
Hugh had stayed thoughtfully quiet through this conversation. He glanced at Lark as he reached for his whisky. “It is these rumors that make Lady Adele unmarriable, aren’t they?”
“In your mother’s eyes, certainly,” said Lark.
“Lady Adele believes it is because she spent her best years betrothed to a man who died and that she is too old now.”
“Stranger things have happened,” said Fletcher. “Wakefield’s wife was nearly thirty when they married.”
“Well,” said Owen, “she spent a few years in Paris doing God only knows what before returning to England to marryWakefield. You can’t say that wedding did not raise some eyebrows.”
“But Wakefield is too important to snub,” said Hugh. “As I would be if I married Lady Adele.”
“Hugh, don’t get foolish ideas in your head,” said Owen. “She’s a pretty girl, I agree, and your mother is most eager for a grandchild, but being associated with Canbury will certainly ruin your reputation.”
“To what end?” asked Hugh.
Hugh’s post-amnesia naïveté was only charming to a point. The old Hugh would have understood what his friends were trying to tell him.
“Well,” said Fletcher, “it could limit the number of people willing to do business with you.”
“It would certainly limit the number of social invitations you receive,” said Owen.
“That might be a blessing,” said Hugh. “She is a good woman. Morally upright. Very clever. Her only flaw seems to be that society does not like her father.”
“Your mother wouldneverapprove,” said Lark.
Hugh sat back. He’d been back home long enough to learn what a force of nature the Dowager Duchess of Swynford was, even if he could not remember on his own. No one in her orbit did anything without her permission.
“Best to forget all about her, mate,” said Owen.
Hugh did not look convinced.
Chapter Fourteen
Mary, the Sweeneyresidence’s lady’s maid, slid the last pin into place and admired her handiwork.
“You look lovely, Lady Adele,” said Mary.
Adele stood and walked to the mirror on the other side of the room. She did look… better than usual. Mary had taken a hot iron to Adele’s hair to help it curl in the fashionable way and had pinned it up in artfully, with a few loose tendrils framing Adele’s face. Adele’s formal gown was perhaps a year or two out of fashion, but it was one of the few things she’d saved from her wedding trousseau. It was a gorgeous gown of pale-yellow silk with lace trim around the sleeves and neckline. Adele had always loved this dress. And, indeed, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked the most beautiful she ever had.
Wilton came to the door. “Your father is here, my lady. He is waiting for you at the base of the stairs.”
“Let us not keep him waiting much longer,” said Adele. “How do I look?”
“Splendid, my lady.”
Adele smiled to herself, feeling giddy. It had been a long time since she’d gone to a ball. She often told herself she did not miss these sorts of events, but in all honesty, she had quite enjoyed prettying herself up to mingle with her social betters with the hopes a handsome man would ask her to dance. She doubted anything like that would happen this evening, but perhaps herfather would ask her to dance and he’d inspire one of the men there to take his place.
She descended the staircase. Her father was waiting there with a smile on his face. His clothes were a bit over the top; he’d dressed as a dandy but was perhaps too old to pull it off. He wore formal breeches with crisp white stockings, though the breeches had buttons at the hem covered in red-and-white striped fabric. His jacket was bright red and he wore a ruffled shirt with a high collar that masked the sides of his face. The proportions were exaggerated, although the jacket seemed well-fitted.
“Papa, is this the latest fashion?” She flicked a finger at one of the ruffles near his neck.
“The Prince Regent was dressed just like this the last time I saw him at a formal event, although his jacket was, naturally, in the military style. He had gold buttons and epaulets.” The earl gestured at his shoulders. “You look quite pretty, my dear.”
