Unlike what his grandmother thought, Leland was not over-worried that St. John would get anywhere in attempting to press his ridiculous suit. No, it was that St. John was the author of all this trouble, he was sure of it. St. John, for selfish and venal reasons, had damaged a blameless lady’s reputation and then would have the unmitigated gall to pretend to rescue her from it.
As if marriage to that man would be a rescue of any sort. St. John was too concerned with his own wellbeing to have a care for a wife. His wants and needs took precedence above all else. Whoever he eventually talked into it would end up miserable. St. John would forever chase the money, whether at cards or the stupid idea he had of mining precious stones.
Perhaps Leland ought to pay him off? He would not like to do it, but his cousin must be got rid of in some manner. First, though, he would ensure that St. John knew he’d been exposed in all his villainy.
He dismounted his horse, handed the reins to a groom, and banged on the door. He was admitted by St. John’s rather startled butler who claimed St. John was not at home.
Leland did not have to guess if that were true of not, as St. John had just appeared at the top of the stairs. It seemed he was dressed as an old king. Henry the VIII, no doubt. Very fitting.
“What do you do here, Manderbey?” he asked in a suspicious tone.
“I would have a private word,” Leland said.
St. John seemed to debate his response, then he said, “Very well, go into the drawing room. I will attend you after my valet puts the finishing touches on my costume, which is clearly more elaborate than your own.”
With that, St. John disappeared down a corridor. Leland supposed he did not have much choice but to wait, as he would get this matter settled.
The butler led him into the drawing room and closed the door. Leland looked around, noting the signs everywhere of a man in financial straits. He’d even sold some paintings, as evidenced by the darker squares of wallpaper that had not had the same exposure to sunlight.
As he stood in the silence, he began to think he heard whispering in the hall. He walked to the window to be certain St. John was not attempting to slip out of the house.
A few minutes later, the butler came back into the room with a tray and a glass of brandy. “My lord, Lord St. John’s valet is struggling the smallest bit with Lord St. John’s crown. It is too big and he is making adjustments. Lord St. John begs your patience.”
His crown, indeed. His cousin was a puffed-up idiot. At least he could be counted on to have decent brandy. St. John’s pockets might be empty but his tastes had remained rich.
Leland took the glass and downed it in one gulp. Then he coughed. There was a bitterness underneath the brandy that came as an aftertaste. It was revolting.
He stared at the butler, who stared at him back. “What is in this?” Leland said.
Rather than answer, the butler backed out of the room and closed the door.
As the bitterness settled on his tongue, he understood what it was. Laudanum, and quite a lot of it. If he sipped it, he might have been all right, but he hadn’t. He swallowed it all.
He had to get on his horse and get home before the worst effects overwhelmed him. He could take an emetic when he got to his house and might still be all right.
Leland made his way to the door. It was locked. The devil. He could already feel the effects beginning to steal over him. He did not have much time.
He staggered to the window. It was a long drop down topavement. What were the chances of coming out of that sort of fall without a broken leg or broken head? And where was his horse? The groom had taken his horse somewhere. It would leave him to walk home and he’d never make it.
His head was clouding over rapidly. He staggered to the sofa and the room began to dim.
*
Winsome was everso cheered. She and her sisters had been very merry. The six of them had squeezed into one carriage, leaving the duke to take the other. Valor had made a great show of waving them off in what Winsome supposed was meant to be a dignified manner, though there was nothing much dignified going on inside the carriage.
They had giggled and poked each other and whispered as if they were children again. It was so comforting to be all together!
Felicity said Stratton was terrified of encountering the feminine horde coming in force. He claimed he did not know what it was all about, but it was bound to be something hair-raising.
Grace claimed Dashlend had said nothing about it, but gave himself away. He had a habit of scrunching his brows whenever he was concerned.
Patience explained that Stanford had inquired if the other husbands knew about it. She’d said she thought so and he clearly wished to know more but she’d changed the subject.
Verity said that Wembly had whispered, “Oh, I see.”
Serenity mentioned that Thorpe did not give it too much thought, as he was too caught up on whether or not Winsome had actually gone to Kent. In any case, he got a note from Lord Wembly that they were all to meet at White’s and then would travel together to meet their wives at the masque.
Patience speculated that their dear husbands were to have somesort of meeting of solidarity at White’s, to better withstand whatever their wives were up to.
