Lady Valor emerged. “What are designs?” she asked.
This caused the duke to heave with laughter all over again. Lady Margaret said, “Apparently, Mrs. Right has accused Mr. Button of attempting to court her.”
Lady Valor collapsed in giggles. “That is so stupid, though. If she got married she would have to leave us—she would never do it!”
Miles supposed it was just as well that the accusations that had just flown around the dining room had gone over Lady Valor’s head.
The footmen took up the service again, looking exceedingly cheerful.
The table returned to some semblance of normality for a half hour, but Miles was beginning to think normality could not hold in the duke’s household.
Mr. Button’s departure, which he chose to daringly do through the front doors rather than the servants’ entrance, was capped off by the three-legged dog growling and biting at his pant leg. The dining room doors had been left open after his storming out of it and now everyone peered out to watch the butler struggle with the canine of the house.
Miles had no idea what was to come next, but Lady Winsome and Lady Patience had begun suggesting that when they were all gathered in the drawing room, they might play a game called Fact or Fib.
Stratton, who had been rather sanguine throughout the recent goings-on, began to look alarmed.
If Stratton was alarmed, Miles supposed he better be too.
He did not know what he’d been expecting from the Duke of Pelham’s dinner, but it was rather more lively than he’d imagined.
*
MONTCLAVE HAD FOUNDhimself at loose ends this particular night. He was received in some houses, but not every house. The high and mighty took little notice of a country baron and it was probably a further strike against him that he currently resided in Lord Doanellen’s house.
He might have wiled away the time drinking Doanellen’s brandy, but Mrs. Featherby was fluttering round the house, making things uncomfortable.
With no money in his pocket and no club to go to, he had contemplated walking the streets for a few hours. With any luck, he could return home to find Mrs. Featherby retired for the evening.
As he mulled over which direction to walk, he recalled it was the night of the Duke of Pelham’s dinner. Dashlend and Lady Grace would be in the same house together for an extended period of time. As long as he was walking somewhere, why did he not walk to Grosvenor Square and see what he could see?
He might see nothing at all, but then there were times when the servants forgot to pull the curtains at sunset or closed them but left a gap. Especially when the house was sent topsy-turvy over an entertainment to be hosted. If he understood servants at all, it was that they silently resented the extra work of it, and that brand of resentment showed itself in things being not exactly as precise as they should be.
Though, even if the duke’s servants were scrupulous and made no small mistakes to express their dissatisfaction, it gave him a direction that did not feel entirely pointless.
Montclave strode through the dark streets and arrived at the square not a quarter hour later. He slipped into the shadows as the duke’s door had just been flung open. Lady Marchfield came steaming out of it and got into her carriage.
She did not immediately depart though.
Why was she just sitting there? Had somebody said something to offend her and she’d made a dramatic exit and now waited for the duke to beg her pardon and lead her back into the house? If she planned to go, why did she not go? He wished she’d move on, as the drawing room curtains had been left open. There was nothing to see at the moment, as he supposed they were all still in the dining room, but there would be.
Montclave climbed the fence into the square, where he might be better hidden amongst the foliage. He would like to light a cigar, but that would give him away to the watchmen.
Over a half hour must have passed and Montclave was beginning to think this was how it would be for the rest of the evening. Lady Marchfield sitting in her carriage and himself hiding in bushes.
But then, the duke’s door flew open once more. A man who must certainly be the butler was attempting to shake off a dog who’d got hold of his pant leg. The three-legged dog he’d heard about from Lady Grace.
The fellow had a portmanteau in one hand. He finally did shake off the dog and shut the door behind him. Inexplicably, he got into Lady Marchfield’s carriage and they set off.
What in the world did he just witness? Was Lady Marchfield having some sort of assignation with a butler?
No, that could not be it. For one, it was Lady Marchfield. Montclave doubted she even tolerated assignations with her own husband. And two, if a butler were to slip away on account of a lady, he would hardly do it in the middle of a dinner and through the front doors.
It was mystifying. It was also interesting. He did not know if there was anything to be done with the information. However, hedidknow he would not have the information if he’d stayed at home to listen to Mrs. Featherby’s inane blathering. How long could that lady talk about the charming, enameled pin she’d seen at Rundell & Bridge before Doanellen went and bought it for her? If he had any money himself, he’d buy it for her just to shut her up about it.
Montclave made himself as comfortable as he could. Sooner or later, the duke’s guests would enter the drawing room. He did not know what he would see, but he could not have predicted Lady Marchfield making off with the duke’s butler, so anything was possible.
An hour later, the drawing room was lit up with candles and the ladies entered it. Inexplicably, one of the ladies was Lady Margaret.
