“I have no idea,” the lord said with a laugh. “We can try. Prepare yourself, Mr. Wiggins. If the duke sits down for you, he might threaten to set the curtains on fire. And then he might do it.”
Unlike most people, Mr. Wiggins did not look at all perturbed to be in receipt of this information. “Dukes,” he said, “where would they be without their eccentricities?”
Lord Tramondeley nodded approvingly, then held and arm out. He and Valor strolled across the ballroom.
Lady Letitia was still over the shoulder of her artist, directing him on what to correct. “We’ve almost got it, Tramondeley,” she said, “have a look if you will.”
Though Valor would rather not have a look, there was nothing for it.
She peered at the artist’s sketch and then worked very hard to put an approving expression on her face. The likeness was nothing like the lady. Lady Letitia was tall and thin with angular features. Her eyes were large and round, sticking out more than most. The sketch was of a lady with soft rounded cheeks and smaller eyes that were not round and bulgy. Even the hair was wrong, there was much more of it than she had in actuality.
The artist had his arms folded, clearly wishing to communicate that he took no responsibility for this alarming transformation.
“Finally,” Lady Letitia said, “we have got it right.”
Valor stole a look at Lord Tramondeley. There was an incredulous look that appeared and then was quickly covered. “Yes, excellent,” he said.
Lady Letitia grabbed the sketch from the artist and shoved it into Lord Tramondeley’s hand. “No, my lord, I will not make you beg for it,” she said. “Some coquettish ladies might do so, but I have a softer heart than that.”
“I see, yes, I will put it with the others for framing.” He handed the sketch to the footman. “Everyone will receive their sketches framed.”
Lady Letitia whipped her fan threateningly at Lord Tramondeley. “Do you hear him? Pretending he will return it to me when he will do no such thing?”
“Well now,” Lord Tramondeley said, looking vastly uncomfortable, “we are determined to see the duke and find out if he will agree to sit for a sketch.”
“Very well, I will accompany you,” Lady Letitia said. “My work here is quite done. Goodness, never have I had to direct an artist so closely!”
The artist in question looked as if he would shortly have steam coming from his ears. Lord Tramondeley gave him a sympathetic nod.
Valor did not wish to think very dark thoughts about Lady Letitia, but at the moment, her thoughts were rather dark. She really wished the lady would stop flirting with Lord Tramondeley in such a manner. It was really beginning to put her back up.
*
Damiano had rarelybeen as bored as he was at this moment. Precisely how many books had Lord Ledderbey read that he considered “well worth the time.” From theTheory of the Four Movements, which was in French and published anonymously though LordLedderbey detected Monsieur Fourier’s hand in it, to Scott’sMarmion, and everything in between.
As the old man droned on, Damiano found himself discomfited over this party. He’d not spent any time at all with Lady Valor, but for arriving and claiming his innocence. And then, what kind of party was this? Could anything be more tedious? People milled round the drawing room, being expected to eat small things arriving on trays. Could Tramondeley not even manage a dinner? Perhaps he would convince Lady Tallifer to have a dinner and then Tramondeley could see how it was done. Or at least, how it was done in England. There was no hope of hosting the sort of elegant dinner he was accustomed to at home with these stodgy English cooks on hand. Nevertheless, something far superior to this party could be accomplished.
And then this nonsense in the ballroom, where guests were expected to sit for sketches. It was absurd. How was a guest to be forced into an activity they did not care for? What sort of tradition was that? It confirmed in his mind his already low opinion of Cornwall people.
Was any of this expected to impress Lady Valor? Why would Tramondeley host such a party? Were Cornwall people really so backwards? Of those he’d met when he was in that location, he thought they must be so.
But even if they were, he was an heir presumptive to a duke, just now living in London. Lord Tramondeley was not one of them. He had entry into every good house in London. One might think he’d bring some elegance with him when he relocated to Town. He could not possibly think this shambles passed for a sophisticated London party…
Perhaps he did not. Perhaps he had reason to arrange this nonsense.
Perhaps he wished to see if Damiano would attempt to poke around. Perhaps it was a trap. The idea of a trap swirled around in his mind. He’d been dismissive of the idea, as he did not thinkTramondeley would try anything dangerous with Lady Valor present.
And then, what he had not seen, he suddenly saw. What a fool he was. The sketch artists were not there for entertainment. Tramondeley had reason to gather a sketch of him.
Tramondeley had all but forced him to sit for a sketch. How could he have been so stupid?
He leapt up. “Lord Ledderbey, you have given me more recommendations than I could possibly accomplish. I will go to Lackington & Allen on the morrow and see what I can collect for my father. My many thanks, my lord.”
“Oh but there are a few others—”
Damiano hurried away, not allowing Lord Ledderbey to launch into what the “few others” might be. He must get that sketch back. He’d use some excuse. He did not favor it perhaps. If it came to it, he’d rip it from the artist’s hands and shred it. Damiano did not know what Tramondeley wanted a likeness of him for, but it could not be anything favorable to himself. It would not surprise him if the lord were to distribute it to his network of spies and one fine day the Count di Compressio would find himself dragged into a dark alley, never to be seen again.
He passed Lord Tramondeley, Lady Valor, and Lady Letitia in the corridor, all looking annoyingly jolly.
