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Leticia scanned the crowded room now, ignoring the game for the moment. With all the others at her table agreeably engaged in their conversation and drinking far more wine than they should, she was free to busy her mind in other ways. She searched now for a footman named Matthew. She was not entirely certain how to locate such a man, but she still felt compelled to try. Her eyes flitted from one servant to the next as she sought out the Loery livery costume. At last, her gaze fell upon a footman dressed in a navy-blue jacket with cool blue accents. But, when she looked the man full in the face, she saw that he could not be the young man Miss Loery was so taken by as he was probably forty years of age.
Mrs. NeVille can’t have a son that old.
Once again, she cast her eyes about the room in search of the man who was to move into Braxton Manor and cuckold Richard, but then, instead of finding this Matthew fellow, her gaze landed upon the groom himself.
Wretched…absolutely dreadful. Just look at him—
For while Richard didn’t seem as dismal as he had yesterday during teatime, he did not appear taken at all with his present company. Even having Harry at his card table did not make a difference as Richard fidgeted and gave off a distracted air.
“The babe will either get his father’s devilish streak or—”
“Devilish streak?” Leticia repeated, struck by the path the conversation had taken. She turned toward Lady Millomford, who’d been the one speaking. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’ve never heard of His Grace behaving in a roguish manner,” Aunt Amelia chimed in. She was sitting beside her husband, and now, she shared a look of consternation with Leticia.
Lady Millomford, who was seated on the other side of the Dowager, took a long pull from her wine goblet. Her lips were tinged ruby when she spoke once more. “I’ve heard many a rumor about the Duke, if you will forgive me for saying so, Your Grace.” She politely inclined her head toward the Dowager, who brushed aside the comment regally.
“Boys will be boys,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. “While I’ve never heard such rumblings about my son, it does not mean he is exempt from behaving as other young men his age so often do.”
“But…” Leticia argued, knocking as it was her turn, and she was holding a winning hand, “His Grace is not like other men. Surely, whatever you think you’ve heard about him, Lady Millomford, is absolutely and unequivocally nothing other than a load of hogwash.”
The idle chatter around the table ceased then as everyone turned to stare at Leticia. She knew that her cheeks were reddening, but it was not because she was embarrassed by what she’d just said. She believed, fully, that Richard was nothing like the gossipy woman, Lady Millomford, was implying. Refusing to lower her gaze or apologize for her coarse language, Leticia tipped her head back and laughed haughtily then she threw her cards on the table, showing everyone that she had in fact bested them all in the game.
Uncle Sebastian joined her by letting loose his barking laugh, and soon the whole table had forgotten precisely what Leticia had said in Richard’s defense, and fueled by the potency of the wine, they began chortling as well. Unfortunately, while Uncle Sebastian had come to Leticia’s aid by breaking the tension with his own chuckle, he had not entirely given up on the topic at hand. “You know…” he began, his words creeping out of his mouth in a gentle slur, “I was once a bit of a rake myself when I was the Duke’s age.”
“Hush,” Aunt Amelia said, laying her gloved hand on his fingertips.
He held her hand tightly with his own, but otherwise completely ignored her intrusion. “No, Amelia…it’s true.”
“We know all about your history—” Lady Millomford said, sticking her nose straight up into the air and grabbing for the deck of cards as it was her turn to shuffle and deal next.
“I do not think that can be so as we never discuss it,” Uncle Sebastian said, sitting forward in his chair as he leaned toward Lady Millomford across the table. His chest bumped the edge of the tablecloth, but the gentle nudge was not enough to upset any of the wine goblets, including his own.
“And perhaps we shouldn’t talk of our love now,” Aunt Amelia commented, trying and failing to make eye contact with her husband.
“You know—” Uncle Sebastian began, heaving backward in his chair, and Leticia grit her teeth.
If he keeps swaying back and forth like that, he’s likely to fall over.
She shifted in her seat, so she sat more closely to her uncle’s side, casting a supportive look at her aunt which was reciprocated.
“Most people believe that I stole Amelia away from my older brother, Thomas, but that’s not the case.”
Aunt Amelia’s eyes widened in despair, and her free hand jerked forward so that she could lay both hands on her husband’s forearm. “No one wants to know about all this—”
“Of course, we do!” Lady Millomford and Miss Walch chorused. The pair were seated directly across from Uncle Sebastian, and as one, they leaned forward to him, eager to hear all the sordid details.
“Well…” Uncle Sebastian began, lifting his glass and sipping at his wine, “as it so happens, Amelia was supposed to marry Thomas, my older brother. After our father’s passing, he’d been named the Earl of Pearl.” He paused and hiccupped. “The Earl of Pearl…even though our family was given the title because our rivers produced the best freshwater mussel pearls in the land, I can’t help but laugh every time I say it. Huh…the Earl of Pearl.” Leticia shot Aunt Amelia a perplexed look then, but her aunt was looking away, her humiliation clearly defined by the blush on her cheeks.
“Anyway,” Uncle Sebastian continued, “our mother arranged matters with the Petraford family so that Amelia and Thomas could unite our two great families. But then, perhaps a week or so before the wedding, I took my leave from the Navy and returned to Pearl House. Amelia took one look at me, and she knew she just couldn’t marry my older brother.” He raised his goblet once more, but this time, he took a hearty swig.
Aunt Amelia shook her head furiously, using tiny movements. “That’s not exactly what happened, Darling. You’re giving these ladies the wrong impression.”
“Am I?” Uncle Sebastian asked as he finished off his drink and signaled for one of the footmen to bring him another. While the servant cleared away the empty glass, Uncle Sebastian pressed forward against the table once more. “There was no thievery involved, Ladies. I did have a reputation for being a rake, but what man didn’t in those days?” He tried to wink at Lady Millomford and Miss Walch, but it didn’t seem casual or playful as his movements were becoming a bit sloppy. He continued speaking as another nearly full goblet was set in front of him. “Amelia simply preferred me because I was valiant and had proven myself in battle. I regaled her with tales of my time at sea, and just days before the wedding, she came to me and said she couldn’t find it in her heart to marry Thomas when she was utterly and completely in love with me.”
Miss Walch sighed dramatically and fluttered her eyelashes, but it was at that moment that Leticia stopped listening to her uncle’s story. She knew he was leaving out a great many details. For while her aunt had fallen in love with him, her younger sister, Mary Anne, Leticia’s mother, had come to have very strong feelings for Thomas, Leticia’s father. At the end of their tale, Mary Anne married Thomas, the man she loved, and Amelia wed her beau, Sebastian. She’d heard the stories countless times before, and depending upon which person told the tales, the narrative changed slightly. But now, she chose to tune out her uncle because she wished, more than she had in a very long time, that her parents were both there with her. Not so much because she wanted to hear them tell their own love story and how they came to be married to one another, but because she missed them dreadfully.
I wish Mother was here now. She’d know exactly how I should go about handling things with Richard. She’d probably encourage me to march right up to him and tell him everything without fear of being overheard by everyone else here tonight.
