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A twinkle appeared in the other man’s eye. “The circumstances of your departure don’t encourage forgetfulness, I’m afraid. Lord Grafton is still quite wroth with you.”
“His anger has cooled enough to make him sensible. Now, tell me,” Lucas prompted, knowing his friend could no more resist the compulsion to spill the tea than he could the urge to gamble.
A grim smirk twisted Westing’s mouth as he capitulated. “Harrow is, as you’ve just observed, particularly fond of his mistress. Let a man speak ill of her, and Harrow will soon give him cause to regret it. He’s already fought and won several duels on her account.”
“Looks like he has another appointment in the morning,” Lucas muttered. “She must possess incredible skill to elicit such devotion.”
“Legendary,” sighed Westing. “Or so I’ve been given to understand.”
Lucas couldn’t help laughing at his wistful tone. “If you’re keen on having her, why not make her patron an offer? I’ve done it on occasion. As long as you have his blessing, her agreement, and make it profitable for them both…” He shrugged.
The look on Westing’s face changed from one of regret to one of wariness. “That would be the height of foolishness, however tempting the prize. The man is exceedingly jealous of her favor. It’s all but a certaint
y Lady Diana Haversham will become the next Lady Harrow the instant his current wife is in the ground.”
“A man should never marry his mistress,” Lucas drawled. “Or is he fool enough to have fallen in love with her?” That was an error he’d vowed never to make—with any woman.
“One can only surmise so,” said Westing. “Heaven knows there is no romance between him and his wife. They live at separate residences. It’s common knowledge she’s not shared his bed since giving him his heir. Told everyone she’d fulfilled her obligation and that there would be ‘no more nonsense’. That was several years ago.”
“Not a love match, I gather?”
“Cradle arrangement, or so I heard,” confirmed Westing, laughing a little. “When news of her husband’s philandering reached her, it’s rumored she told her friends she was quite pleased he’d finally taken a mistress upon whom to vent his bothersome lust.”
Lucas snorted. “I imagine she might feel differently if she knew he was planning to eventually marry the wench.”
A devilish grin spread across the other man’s face. “In truth, the current Lady Harrow and the prospective one are quite friendly with each other. They take tea together every other Tuesday and have been seen together about Town on several occasions. It’s one of London’s biggest scandals.”
Silence fell for several heartbeats before Lucas huffed out the breath he’d been holding and laughed. “You nearly had me, Westie. For a moment I thought you were serious.” But the laughter died on his lips as Westing stared back at him soberly. “Good Lord, man. Surely you’re joking?”
“Upon my honor, I swear it’s the truth,” said the other man. His voice lowered to a whisper. “The ladies’ private tête-à-têtes have inspired some to speculate that the countess likes Lady Diana’s company better than she does that of her husband—or indeed that of any man.”
He felt his brows rise. “And how does Harrow feel about their…association?”
Impossibly, Westing’s grin stretched even further. “Someone told me the man said he was glad his wife had finally found a confidante.” He lowered his voice a bit more and winked. “Can you imagine having a mistress your wife loved equally as well as you did?”
“And here I thought I’d seen everything during my travels abroad,” muttered Lucas, shaking his head.
“Yes, well you ought to see the three of them together,” said Westing with relish. “Oh, yes. They can be seen every other week or so in Harrow’s box at the Theatre Royale. The story goes that in the early days of their affair Harrow brought her to see a performance under the mistaken notion that his wife had decided not to attend that night. Naturally, everyone thought there would be a nasty confrontation, but instead of causing a scene and departing in a huff, Lady Harrow invited them to stay—and called for an additional chair to be brought for their ‘guest’!” His chuckle was one of pure delight. “What a wife!”
Lucas realized his mouth was hanging open. “The woman’s clearly an eccentric.”
“I’d die to know the man’s secret,” said Westing as if he hadn’t heard him.
Haversham… “Is this the same Lady Diana Haversham that was disgraced just before I left?”
“One and the same,” confirmed his friend. “You met her once, remember? We both did. I was there with you that night.”
The memory that had been nagging at him at last surfaced fully. It had been several Seasons ago. When they were introduced, the girl’s voice had been hardly more than a whisper when she’d greeted him with bowed head and blushing cheeks, hands gripping her fan as if for dear life. She’d been red to the tips of her ears and had never even raised her eyes. In the throes of a torrid affair with Lady Atherby at the time, he’d been too preoccupied to give her more than a passing thought. She’d been a pretty little thing, but no more interesting than any of the other debutantes flocking him at every turn.
Now, however… “Thrown over, was she not?”
The other man nodded. “As I understand it, Grenville eloped with her closest friend. Harrow, sly devil that he is, wasted no time in snapping her up. Lucky bastard. I’d give my inheritance to have her for just one night.”
Lucas laughed again. “I take it this paragon of moral abandon must be a veritable Helen of Troy.”
“Having met her, I can attest to it.” His friend’s look turned wry. “I’d be willing to wager most of the married men attending tonight will go home with tired ears, if not sore cheeks, thanks to wifely rancor over her presence.”
“What—she’s here with him now?”
