He knew no end of older gentlemen who would be the right age to be the culprit. Did they know they’d thrown her over? Or had they not noticed her favor and just chosen some other lady? If they did know of her preference and that she would take it hard, what must they think when they encounteredhim?
They were probably grateful to see they had escaped having a son with red hair.
“I expect you to do your duty, Baderston. I expect you to engage yourself to Lady Clara this coming season. I expect it, her father expects it, and the lady herself expects it.”
Roland did not answer. He had no intention of engaging himself to Lady Clara, nor did he think she particularly wished for it. Though, she was likely to do her parents’ bidding, as she had several seasons to her credit.
What hedidhave every intention of doing was to seek out Lady Viola at the earliest possible moment.
After all, should things proceed the way he hoped, he was certain his mother would approve of the lady. What was there running against Lady Viola? Absolutely nothing!
There had, of course, been certain stories about the Bennington family gone round. If one wished to be nitpicky about it.
There had been talk that Lady Beatrice had entertained a slew of suitors and then threw them all over for Lord Van Doren. But was it to be that lady’s fault that she’d had so many gentlemen circling round?
Then, the rather more alarming bit of gossip that Lady Rosalind had somehow managed to get herself kidnapped by design. But, she’d married Conbatten and he was a duke, so those whispers came to an end rather quick.
And of course, people did whisper about Miss Mayton—the lady in widow’s weeds who’d never married and who told bizarre stories from her years on the continent. It seemed that anybody falling in love with Miss Mayton was swiftly prompted to kill themselves. None of the stories made sense, but then Miss Mayton was getting up in years and sometimes an older person did go a little funny in the head.
Was Miss Mayton to be condemned simply for falling prey to the ravages of age?
Other than those trifles, there was nothing that could be pointed to. Lady Viola was of good family and by all reports her dowry was more than sufficient to please his mother.
“Remember, Baderston,” the dowager said, “the most important thing is to keep our family name as it has always been. Absolutely unsullied. I refuse to countenance ever hearing a whisper of gossip about a Trewellian. Lady Clara and her family are a known commodity and therefore a safe choice.”
Roland did not answer. He felt as if safety were the last thing on his mind just now. He would leave for London on the morrow, though he had a great urge to jump on his horse this very night and highwaymen be damned.
Lady Viola Bennington might be there even now.
*
Tattleton really couldnot understand how the family had managed to find a parrot between Taunton and London.
The Bennington caravan had been going along quite nicely, if not slow as molasses, when one morning the ladies strolled out from the inn with a parrot in a cage. He was promptly informed the bird was called Chester.
As if he cared what the bird was called! Was a butler to be expected to engage with such a creature?
He was the smallest bit mollified to understand that this newfound avian wouldnotbe making its way to the servants’ hall, as had a certain pregnant dog and four unruly cats in previous seasons.
This Chester was to take up residence in the drawing room.
He must suppose this would be more work for the maids. They already had a job of it scrubbing paint splatters from the floor after Lady Viola began painting portraits in that location.
Or whatever it was she painted.
He’d seen the alleged portrait of Lady Rosalind and the Duke of Conbatten, given them as a wedding gift. Was it a portrait, or had she just tripped with a paint bucket?
Now, there would be who knew what else ending up on the floor. Lady Juliet had already informed him that they would need a large supply of biscuits, almonds, a variety of seeds and, if at all possible, worms and snails.
Was he to start digging the garden for worms and snails now?
And then, this Chester had the audacity to speak!
It was very disconcerting to walk by its cage and hear a nasally voice say, “Bad man.”
Where did the cheeky thing find the nerve to pronounce him a bad man?
Mrs. Huffson hurried into the kitchens. “Well, Mr. Tattleton, here we are again in Town. I suppose we hold on to our hats and see what happens this time.”
