“Gracious,” Lord Ledderbey said. “We are so isolated in Cornwall that we’ve not kept up with London games. Is it cards?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the duke said.
“No it isn’t,” Mr. Stratton said. “It’s diabolical.”
“They invented it,” Lord Stanford said.
“Drink a lot of port and keep your head down, that’s my strategy,” Lord Wembly said.
Lord Manderbey nodded. “The port is essential.”
“What my rascally sons-in-laws are getting at,” the duke said, “is that I don’t go in for the men sitting here with their port and the ladies relegated to tea in the drawing room. I’ll bring in the bottles.” The duke looked round the table. “Unless anybody opposes the schemebecause they wish to bore me about a horse they’re thinking of buying. Or worse, politics.”
“My brother considers all of our fine traditions to be primed for upset. If a thing is done, he must undo it,” Lady Marchfield said austerely. “If it is accepted, it must be rejected. Furthermore, Roland, that game is a deplorable scheme to embarrass people.”
“Maybe, but it’s also fun,” the duke said. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Lady Misery over there likes to stomp on fun wherever she finds it. Fun is against her religion.”
Valor gave Felicity a glance, as Lady Marchfield was getting very heated. Things never went well when their aunt got heated.
“It is just a harmless little game, Aunt,” Felicity said soothingly.
“It is the devil’s work, in my view,” Lady Marchfield said.
At mention of the devil, Mr. Huberville dropped the cheese and fruit he’d been just moments from setting down on the table. In his scramble to pick up an array of cheeses, rolling grapes, and candied cherries scattering on the floor, Sir Galahad made an appearance from under the table. Valor had been well aware that he’d been there patiently waiting for something to drop and now a whole tray had. He wasted no time in hurrying there to investigate. The pug got under Mr. Huberville’s feet, he staggered back and stepped on a generous wedge of stilton. That particular leg went flying toward the ceiling and he landed on the floor like a pile of bricks.
Sir Galahad glanced over at the sound but speedily put his attention back on what was to be had from the spilled tray.
The duke peered down at his butler. Then he said to Lady Marchfield, “That right there, on my floor, is the real devil’s work, in my opinion.”
“Just say it!” Mr. Huberville cried, rolling over and kneeling on the ground with a handful of Stilton in one hand and a wedge of cheddar in the other. “Pack your bags, Huberville! It always comes to that. But nobody stops to think—I had to choose, step on the dog or the cheese!Stilton is slippery!”
Sir Galahad took that moment to relieve Mr. Huberville of the cheddar wedge in his hand and trotted out of the room.
The duke gave a look to Charlie. The footman nodded. He helped Mr. Huberville to his feet and whispered some soothing words in his ear, leading him out of the dining room.
“Thomas,” the duke said, “you’ll bring the bottles into the drawing room. After that, see if Cook can be convinced to compose another cheese tray and send that in too. And send that lunatic to his bed.”
They all rose and gingerly stepped round the cornucopia of cheeses and fruit on the floor.
Though Valor was always eager to play Fact or Fib, especially now that she was older and did not need to excuse herself on account of feeling tired, she did experience some hesitation. She hoped she was not the subject of any embarrassing inquiries. She had always been the inquisitor; nobody had ever asked her anything of note. Would things be different now that she was grown? She did not see how it could be so, she had just arrived and not been anywhere yet—what was there to ask? However, with Fact or Fib anything could happen.
“If you are bound and determined to play that ridiculous game, I will depart,” Lady Marchfield said.
“You know where the door is,” the duke said, laughing.
She turned to Lord Ledderbey and said, “I would advise you to do the same.”
The lord shrugged. “I do find my interest piqued, though, Lady Marchfield.”
Lady Marchfield sniffed. Thomas hurried over to her with her pelisse. In a low tone, she said, “Remind Mr. Huberville of our conversation. He is a barnacle on a boat, regardless of what happens. No need to fetch my coachman, he will be outside at the ready, as he knows very well that I might find the need to leave at any moment when I come to my brother’s house.”
Valor was surprised to see the look of astonishment on Lord Tramondeley’s expression, until she remembered that while Lady Marchfield’s departure had been done in a very usual fashion for that lady, it was perhaps surprising to an outsider.
He did not seem to see anything alarming in floating around in a dinghy in the dark, looking for French frigates, and yet he seemed alarmed at Lady Marchfield’s stomping off. Very odd.
*
Weston was notat all clear on what this game was. Only that it was so offensive to Lady Marchfield’s sensibilities that she’d departed.
