“Rosalind would never be struck with true love for a married man or a bounder, Darden,” Juliet said, looking very indignant.
“I am sure not,” Darden said in a conciliatory tone. “Well, I will be most interested to see who this fellow turns out to be. I must suppose he was dressed to indicate he is a gentleman, so thenot a married bounderis bound to turn up somewhere.”
“The fates, Darden,” Rosalind said. “The fates will make it so.”
“Perhaps he will be at Almack’s?” Cordelia said. “Darden, you will see that Rosalind gets a voucher from Lady Jersey? And then a ticket for Wednesday?”
“Done and done,” Darden said. “As busy as I am with my club, you do not think I would let down our Rosalind? I had to smooth Lady Jersey’s feathers a bit on account of Van Doren’s various missteps last season, and it was no easy feat, but she is very fond of Father and so it is all smoothed.”
The sisters all sighed contentedly over this, as Darden really was the best of brothers.
“Now, Son, tell us your news,” the earl said. “I presume by what you said just now that your club goes along swimmingly?”
“Indeed it does, Father,” Darden said. “We are up to twenty-two paying members. We have kept it very exclusive of course.”
Darden paused, then said, “We still have not decided what to do about Conbatten though. If we extend the invitation to put him forward, he might decline it. Or accept it. Both outcomes feel a bit…fraught.”
“Beatrice says you all ought not be so frightened of the duke,” Juliet said. “She says he is just a regular person.”
Darden seemed taken aback by that idea. “For one, it is not that we are frightened…exactly. We are more…concerned and undecided. But the idea that Conbatten is a regular person? There is nothingregularabout Conbatten!”
“He does have a terrific name,” Rosalind said. “I remember when Beatrice told us of meeting him. I thought, well, the Duchess of Conbatten sounded rather good.”
“Whoever Conbatten takes as a bride,” Darden said, “she is certain to be a paragon among women. It cannot be any other way.”
As Rosalind did not think herself entirely left out of theparagon among womencategory, she said, “Unfortunately, it cannot be me. My heart is already taken.”
“What I like about this, Rosalind,” Juliet said, “is how easily it is all happening. Beatrice’s season was so much confusion and then she goes and marries Van Doren.”
“Steady on, my girl,” the earl said, “Van Doren is your brother-in-law. He is family now and will be forevermore.”
Juliet appeared rather dejected to hear it.
“Do not despair, Juliet,” Miss Mayton said. “Lord Van Doren is bound to give up his lectures entirely when he has his own children. He will be far too busy trying to fillthemup with his ideas.”
“That’s very true,” Juliet said, brightening. “Think what a time our little cousins will have, dodging and weaving from his stare. I shall help them hide whenever they wish and fill them with sweets they aren’t meant to have and teach them all the little tricks on how to escape a governess.”
“Well, now,” the earl said, “that is something to look forward to, I suppose.”
*
Tattleton had girdedhimself for another season in Town. Lady Beatrice’s season had quite knocked it out of him, what with Lord Darden’s plot to bring his sister and Lord Van Doren together. It had seemed impossible and heading toward disaster until somehow it had not. He was still rather lost on how the whole thing had come about. One minute they had disdained one another and the next they were mauling each other with kisses in the front hall.
He supposed he must be satisfied with the idea that all parties to it seemed happy.
Then, of course, there had been the matter of four unruly cats who could not catch a mouse between them being brought into the house. Those wily felines were in Westmont House in Somerset now, no doubt shredding all the curtains as an army of mice strolled confidently toward the kitchens.
Despite the cats now forever underfoot, he had somewhat recovered from the last season amongst the soothing sounds and regular habits of the countryside.
Now they were returned to Portland Place. The staff were abed but for Mrs. Huffson and they had settled at table with welcome glasses of brandy.
The trip to Town had seemed a journey across China by foot, so long did it take. They did more stopping than starting.
Even so, he should perhaps be grateful that the only thing the young ladies had collected on the way was one dog. That canine was currently splayed out by the hearth in front of him. At least the thing was quiet, so he supposed he must content himself with knowing it could have been far worse.
The far worse that had hung in the balance was a French lady named Madame Tussaud. Apparently, they had urged the lady to come to stay at Portland Place. The young ladies found themselves dejected that it could not be so. The madame was staying with friends who would be devastated to lose her company.
Tattleton was not the least dejected. What on earth would they have done with a French woman in the house? Miss Mayton’s maid Fleur, whose real name was the very usual and English Flora, already threw round too many French phrases at the servants’ table. It drove the footmen mad. And then, he’d been informed that this Frenchwoman made wax figures as her employment. Did that not smack of witchcraft somehow?
