“We are quite in the midst of it,” Lord Harraby said, looking pleased. “It is our raison d’être these days. It’s put a real spring in our step.”
“To get Dashlend settled?” Montclave asked, in a tone as innocent as he could muster. Why? Why should that be of concern to these two old bats?
“Oh yes, we said, and I think quite rightly, that we must look about us. We must not conclude it is Lady Grace without looking about us,” Lady Margaret said.
“Only sensible to my mind,” Harraby said.
“Lord Harraby is full of good sense. So, wehavelooked about. It seems it is to be Lady Grace after all. We can see for ourselves that our Lord Dashlend will not be turned from her and we quite approve.”
“We are hoping something is said at Lady Montague’s ball this evening,” Harraby said, “and we plan to be on hand.”
“Naturally, I do hope I may be permitted to stay on in Dashlend’s house after the wedding. I do enjoy the company and I believe it has done me good,” Lady Margaret said.
“Lady Margaret, I again point out that Dashlend’s house is not theonlyplace you might have company,” Harraby said with a ridiculous gleam in his eye.
Good God. What was he suggesting?
Lady Margaret tapped him with her fan. “Be off with that nonsense, Lord Harraby,” she said. “I am far too old for those sorts of bold hints.”
“Not in my eyes, you are not. You are a spring flower.”
Really, this was rather sickening. These two decrepit people were flirting with each other. If anything were to come of it, at least one of them would be dead before the wedding night was through. Maybe both of them.
Of course, there was every hope the lady had left something for him in her will, so perhaps a speedy trip into the ground was not an unwelcome idea.
“Spring flower, indeed. I will not countenance that with an answer, you old devil!” Lady Margaret said, blushing up to her ears.
Mr. Twining returned with a neat package wrapped in printed paper and tied with a silk ribbon. “Your special blend, Lady Margaret.”
“You are a dear man, Mr. Twining. The king of teas, to my mind,” Lady Margaret said.
Mr. Twining seemed to appreciate the sentiment and delivered an elegant bow.
Montclave said, “So you think Dashlend is to propose at Lady Montague’s ball?”
“I have every expectation of it,” Lady Margaret said. “I applaud the efforts that I and Lord Harraby made to ensure Lord Dashlend is happily settled. I suppose he is most grateful to us.”
“Let us be off, spring flower,” Lord Harraby said jocularly. “I must get you home before Dashlend begins to think I’ve made off with you to Gretna Green.”
Montclave did feel the bile rise in his throat over that picture. He bowed. “A pleasure to see you again, Lady Margaret. Lord Harraby, well met.”
Lady Margaret nodded vaguely in his direction and they made their way out of the shop. Before the door closed behind her, Lady Margaret looked over her shoulder and said, “I saw you take the silver salver, by the by.”
The door closed and he was left alone with Mr. Twining, who looked at him with brows raised.
Montclave shrugged. “Old age,” he said. “It does make a person nonsensical. Hopefully Harraby remembers where she lives, as I doubt she can recall addresses anymore.”
Mr. Twining did not reply to that idea. Montclave handed over his note. “I’m to get this for Mrs. Featherby, on Lord Doanellen’s account.”
Mr. Twining, though he did not travel in elevated circles, seemed to be all too aware of Mrs. Featherby and her paramour. He took the note with a look of distaste and went off to fulfill the order.
Montclave stared at the walls full of cabinets, filled with different sorts of tea. It looked like Viscount Petersham’s room for collecting snuff boxes, but it was all filled with tedious tea leaves.
What was he to do at Lady Montague’s ball? His flowers would have been delivered—had they been a deadly blow to Lady Grace’s feelings?
Perhaps she would decline to even attend?
That would be the best outcome he could think of.
