Chapter Three
Henry had ledLady Pegatha into Almack’s and then awaited the inevitable. The patronesses would have various suggestions for him regarding who he ought to dance with. He had not come at all last year, which they had noticed if their frowns were anything to go by. Therefore, he would make himself very agreeable.
The Countess of Westmoreland had just said, “Is your supper open, Lord Wembly? I have someone particular in mind.”
“It remains free, Countess,” he said.
“Excellent, I will put you down for Lady Verity Nicolet, the Duke of Pelham’s daughter.”
Lady Pegatha had not been able to conceal her mirth over it. “When will that duke ever run out of daughters, I wonder? Hold on to your sense of humor, Wembly—the duke is an absolute rascal of a fellow. Though, I’ve not seen him in an age, so perhaps he’s settled.”
This caused the Countess of Westmoreland to laugh into her handkerchief, so Henry must presume the duke had not settled. He’d not supposed that was the case, at least if the stories he’d heard over the seasons were true.
On the other hand, the duke had a reputation for producing very comely daughters.
He scanned the ballroom and found a battalion of the duke’s family all gathered round a lady he had not yet met. She was positively lovely, with dark hair and dark eyes.
“Yes, that is her, she is pretty, is she not?” Rather than wait for Henry to answer, which would be in the affirmative, the countess went on. “Perhaps she would be just the thing to pull you away from your books.”
“Ah, yes,” Lady Pegatha said, “a pretty face is more pleasant to look at than dry words on a page.”
“Just so,” Lady Westmoreland said. She drifted away to locate her next victim.
“Goodness, that young lady really is very pretty,” Lady Pegatha said. “She looks like her mother, who was quite the stunner. I remember when the duke stole that lady from under the nose of another lord. Apparently, he told her she might do any strange thing she liked, and she took him up on it. I once heard she’d insisted on being called Tulip after she’d delivered twins. It was said it did not last but was only an aberration from her ordeal, but the duke happily complied while it did.”
“I suppose the duke and duchess must have got on well to have produced five daughters,” Henry said.
“Seven. There are two more not even out yet.”
Seven. What on earth did one do with seven daughters? “He does not seem too down at the mouth to have not produced a son, though. The title will go elsewhere, and he cannot be happy about that.”
“I believe you are wrong, there,” Lady Pegatha said. “The Duke of Pelham has the unique ability to be happy with whatever he’s faced with. You should have seen him twenty years ago, when he was roundly denounced over setting Lady Vanderwake’s curtains afire. He thought it all a good joke. Still does, I imagine. In any case, I do not believe he gives a toss fortitles. That is why it amuses the duke to act in a very un-duke like fashion.”
Henry was rather fascinated. Lady Verity, like Aunt Pegatha’s memory of her mother,wasa stunner. Her family, her father especially, were interesting.
He had, of course, heard some stories regarding the daughters over the years. The eldest had been involved in Lady Albright’s tiger getting loose and mauling Stratton, whom she’d married. Lady Grace had somehow set one of Lady Montague’s rooms on fire and then pulled Dashlend off the side of the house, injuring him severely. Then she married him. Lady Patience had some set-to at a masque that somehow led Lord Stanford to chase her across England. Then she married him. And the latest, Lady Serenity—nobody was really clear what happened there. Something about a three-legged dog being stolen that resulted in Thorpe punching his brother at The Albany. And then she married him.
He was most interested in discovering what Lady Verity would have to say for herself. Henry reminded himself to try to be interesting to the lady and not fall into talking about his research for The Royal Society. It had been so long since he’d immersed himself in polite society and he’d grown a bit too used to discussing all manner of things with his fellow society members that no lady could possibly have an interest in.
“Lord Wembly, Lady Pegatha,” a lady’s voice said.
He turned to find Lady Lilith. She was looking just the same as last year. He was certain she wore a new dress, not because he would remember any particular dress but because she would have insisted upon it. New or not, they all were similar and not really to his taste. They were too…something. His aunt called the style dazzle and dumbfound, and it was composed of too many accoutrements, as if the wearer wished to take attention away from their person. He did not know why Lady Lilith went forit, she was comely enough, but he suspected it was the ladder climber in her wishing to make an impression.
“Lady Lilith,” he said with a short bow.
“Ah, there you are, Lilith,” Lady Pegatha said. “I trust your trip into Town was pleasant?”
Lady Lilith sighed. “It never is, you know. My father likes to rush us in the most frightful manner.”
As she spoke, she dangled her card very obviously. There was no way round it. “Might I put myself down?” he asked out of obligatory courtesy.
“If you insist,” she said coquettishly.
As he was a man of science, he was a man of straightforward speech. He’d really like to point out that he did not “insist.” However, a gentleman must sometimes swallow his opinions. He took her card.
“My supper is still open, Lord Wembly.”
He got the hint, but happily, he could not agree to take the hint. “That is a disappointment on my side,” he said. “Lady Westmoreland has engaged me to escort Lady Verity Nicolet into supper.”
