Lady Grace blushed furiously. Lady Verity said, “Grace is really a very good dancer. Except sometimes she’s not. A very common condition.”
Was it a common condition? What did it even mean, except when she’s not? What condition?
“I suppose you attend Almack’s?” Lady Grace asked.
Miles nodded. “I will miss the season’s opening ball due to my current circumstances, but will likely attend the second Wednesday. I will admit, it is not my favorite place. However, one does not like to offend the matrons of society, so I do my duty.”
“It’s the supper, isn’t it?” the duke asked. “I would like to know what those blasted women are thinking about. Do not give me lemonade at midnight, thank you!”
Miles attempted to suppress his laughter over the duke’s outrage but was only partially successful. “It is rather dreadful.”
“Our sister, Felicity,” Lady Patience said, “found Almack’s supper very terrible.”
“Very, very terrible,” Lady Serenity confirmed.
“Our aunt thinks it’s marvelous,” Lady Winsome said.
“Lady Misery thinks everything dull is marvelous,” the duke said.
“Her real name is Lady Marchfield,” Lady Valor said, clutching her rabbit. “In case you’re wondering.”
“She’s very…proper,” Lady Grace said.
“Ah yes,” Miles said. “Lady Marchfield. A very formidable matron.”
“Formidable? Well, that’s one word for her,” the duke said. “Not one I would use, but most of the words Iwoulduse are not for young ears.”
“Papa is very put out, on account of our aunt installing a butler in his house on Grosvenor Square,” Lady Grace said.
“His name is Mr. Button,” Lady Patience said with a certain hint of disgust.
“We do not require Mr. Button,” the housekeeper said in a dark tone that sent another chill down Miles’ spine.
“Maybe I’ll leave Lady Misery at another cyprian’s party,” the duke said, laughing and taking a rather large gulp of wine.
Lady Valor collapsed in giggles. “That was so funny. Even though we don’t know what a cyprian is.”
“Not all of us know, in any case,” Lady Grace said.
Three waiters streamed in with a variety of dishes. Miles supposed Moreau would feel very vindicated to hear there was a beef platter. However, since they were so close to the sea, there were two different fish dishes too. No dolphin or dove, though.
“Where are we on the brocabbage pie?” the duke asked the waiters.
Both of those fellows looked abashed. Miles could not imagine what brocabbage pie was, but it did not sound very appealing.
The innkeeper himself hurried in and the waiters looked at him with some relief. One of the waiters said, “His Grace inquires into the brocabbage pie.”
“Ah yes, as to that, Your Grace, our cook does not have that recipe.”
The duke wrinkled his brow. “Acookdoes not know how to make brocabbage pie? Acookcannot make what is an esteemed and beloved Yorkshire staple?”
The innkeeper shook his head sadly.
“Tell him, Papa!” Lady Valor said, before burying her head in her stuffed rabbit and giggling hysterically.
The duke nodded at his youngest daughter. “You may tell your cook I would consider him mad as a spring hare if he made a run at making that particular pie. You see? It does not exist! I made it up!”
Miles stared at the duke. The duke’s daughters all laughed heartily at the ruse. Lady Patience said, “Well done, Papa.”
