Chapter Five
“There he is!” Irene said with a jolt as Wilfred stepped into the drawing room. “And about time!”
There was a lazy grin on the man’s face as he bowed to her parents. “The invitation said eight o’clock.”
“‘Invitation’?” Michael, the only Pernrith Chance brother and the only blond, guffawed. “Don’t be daft—I imagine Reeny shot off a quick note and demanded your presence, am I right?”
Irene attempted not to be irritated, but with brothers it was very difficult. “It was a handwritten card!”
“But it was more of a summons than an invitation, yes.” Wilfred grinned as he clapped Irene’s brother on the back. “Better safe than sorry, I thought.”
The whole Pernrith family laughed—all of them, that was, except Jessica, who was still on her honeymoon, and Irene, who scowled.
“I don’t see why I should have to write any sort of fancy invitation for drinks and cards,” she said smartly, throwing down her hand as her sister Gwen sighed with disappointment. “It’s only Wilfred.”
She had meant it as a term of endearment. That was how Wilfred understood it, Irene was sure, as he bowed over the hand of her mother and complimented her on the new curtains over the bay windows.
Which was impressive. Irene herself had not noticed there were new curtains. There were new curtains?
It was just the drawing room. True, their London home was far more impressive—it was the primary residence of the Viscount Pernrith since they had to let out their country estate, Wickacre Hall, and so her mother’s attentions when it came to decorating had been far more focused on their Mayfair home rather than their Queen’s Square one.
But really—were the curtains new?
Irene fixed her gaze on them suspiciously and her attention was distracted, so she missed what Wilfred had said. Whatever it was, it had clearly been very funny, for the whole room roared with laughter and her father nodded happily.
“That is precisely what I thought,” the viscount said, his tall frame and warm presence filling the room. “Come, Aynor. Let me pour you a drink. Whiskey?”
Strange, Irene thought to herself as she shuffled the deck of cards and her sister Gwen muttered something about an unfair advantage.
She never thought of Wilfred as ‘Aynor.’ He did, on occasion—though he rarely was around other men for such occasions to occur—have other men call him that in lieu of ‘Your Grace.’ It was his title—he was a duke—but he never felt like a duke.
Not that she had much of an idea what being around a duke felt like. Her Uncle William was a duke, and he was just…Uncle William. A little stiff and pompous at times, but one of the best-hearted gentlemen she had ever encountered.
And that could not be a ducal trait, could it?
“I was delighted to receive your invitation for after-dinner cards,” Wilfred was saying to Irene’s mother. “Your charming company is sorely needed after a long day battling the paperwork with my steward.”
“Oh, goodness, I can’t imagine,” said the viscountess with a pretty smile as her husband handed their guest his drink. “I am delighted to offer you some diversion after such a day.”
Irene continued to shuffle the cards, her attention entirely focused on the conversation on the other side of the room, by the pianoforte.
“Irene,” her sister Gwen said peevishly, brushing her curls ineffectively out of her green eyes. “Are you ever going to deal those cards?”
She blinked. At the card table opposite her was Gwen, and to her right, Teddy. Theodora. Michael had been seated on her left, but he had—
Irene sighed. He had disappeared.
It was starting to become a habit of her brother, and not one which was particularly endearing to the rest of his family.
Whatever he was up to, and Irene had to presume it was illicit—otherwise, why bother sneaking out while they were distracted—Michael was eventually going to have to take a mite more responsibility.
He was the future Viscount Pernrith, after all.
“Come, join us, Wilfred,” Irene called out, a tug of something strange at the corners of her heart as she watched him converse happily with her parents.
It was a strange emotion, whatever it was. It was bitter, not joyful, and slightly like…
Well, it couldn’t have been jealousy. What was there to be jealous of?
“What are you playing?” Wilfred asked jovially as he stepped across the drawing room, whiskey in hand, and sat beside her.
Heat spread slowly across Irene’s body. It was like sinking into a warm bath, utterly relaxing and somehow managing to loosen all the tension in her shoulders.
Precisely why there was tension in her shoulders, she was not sure.
“We were playing whist,” said Gwen darkly, “but someone was cheating.”
As predicted, a chorus of cries and outrage immediately followed.
“I was not cheating!” Irene said hotly.
Teddy grinned, her elegant wrist hanging with a pearl bracelet that matched her necklace. “Just because you always lose.”
“Now, now,” began Wilfred. “Cheating is a fairly serious accusation.”
“If the four of you can’t play nicely,” called over Irene’s mother, “do end the game.”
Irene did the only sensible thing she could do and kicked Gwen hard under the table.
“Ouch! That hurt!”
“I am not a cheat, and it is rude of you to say so, and you know how Mama gets. She’ll be coming over here and deciding that we aren’t old enough to entertain ourselves,” Irene hissed. “And here I am, three and twenty, and you already seventeen.”
Gwen glowered. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s only just past—”
“I don’t care,” said her sister with just as much ferocity as Irene. Sometimes she forgot how similar they were. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you.”
She stormed out of the drawing room without a second glance, an awkward and rather stilted silence falling on them all.
Irene glanced at Wilfred, who winked. A smile crept across her face. No matter what, she could always rely on her best friend to support her.
“Well, I suppose whist is out since four players needed—unless you wish to join us, my lady? My lord?”
“Oh, no, we’ll let you young things play cards.
Pick a different game, that’s all,” called over Irene’s mother, who had deposited herself in a snug armchair and had a book in her hands.
“Your father gets too competitive—and,” she added at a glance from her husband, “he’s far too good at cards.
It wouldn’t be fair on the rest of you.”
Irene grinned as Teddy laughed. “Yes, something like that.”
“I am very good at cards!” protested their father.
“I didn’t say you weren’t, Papa,” Irene shot back over to him, shuffling the cards again. “But in deference to Mama…”
“I’m going to cut out too, you know,” Teddy said suddenly.
“Oh, are you sure, Theodora?” Wilfred asked politely.
Irene rolled her eyes. How long had he known Teddy—and still he refused to call her by the family nickname! It was ridiculous, really.
“Yes, I wish to play the pianoforte and I so rarely have an audience this kind,” her sister said shyly. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Pushing her chair back, Teddy walked over to the pianoforte and, after spreading her fingers happily across the keys, started to play a delicate minuet. Irene had to admit, she was getting better.
“It’s just you and I, then, Reeny,” said Wilfred, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.
Irene frowned. “Irene.”
“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” said her best friend, laughing now. “So what is it to be?”
As he spoke, Wilfred reached out to take the cards from her hands, but she wasn’t going to allow that.
“Excuse you, I’m dealing,” she said smartly, her lips curling into a smile.
“And excuse you, you were the dealer last time and so it is my turn now,” Wilfred threw back, taking the cards from her hands.
“Wilfred!”
“Let go, Irene. I’m the guest. You should offer this to me!”
“Wilfred!”
The pair of them collapsed into fits of giggles as the deck of cards exploded out of their hands, shooting cards all over them and across the drawing room carpet.
Their laughter was accompanied by a rueful smile from Irene’s mother, a shake of her father’s head, and absolutely no notice at all from her pianoforte-playing sister.
“You dolt, look at what you’ve done!” Irene giggled, pushing back her chair to start picking up the cards.
“Me? Look at what I’ve done? You’re the one who wouldn’t let go!” Wilfred rejoined, chuckling in turn and mirroring her.
Soon they were both on their hands and knees, grabbing for the cards and laughing as one of them took a card from under the nose of the other.
“That’s mine!”
“Too slow, that’s what I say—”
“The two of you, honestly,” muttered Irene’s mother from the comfort of her armchair. “You haven’t changed a bit in ten years, have you?”
“Coming up to twenty now, can you believe it?” said Wilfred with bright eyes as he straightened up and nodded at the older woman. “And yet you don’t look any different at all.”
Irene’s father scoffed and she laughed. “You charmer.”
“It’s the truth!”
“And that is why you are my favorite child, Wilfred,” the viscountess said fondly.
Irene grinned and expected her best friend to do likewise, but for some reason, there was a dark shadow across his face.
At least, she thought there had been. Now that she looked at him again, the shadow had gone. If it had ever been there in the first place.
“Come on, let’s play poker,” Wilfred said, rising to his feet and stepping back over to the table. “And I’ll deal.”
Two happy hours followed, filled with laughter, slight cheating on Irene’s part—well, she couldn’t let him win every time, could she?
—and the elegant playing of Teddy on the pianoforte.
When silence filled the room, however, and Irene looked away from Wilfred, it was to see to her great surprise that not only had her sister disappeared, but her mother had too.
“Where’s Mama?” she asked her father, who was stoking the fire with tired eyes.
“It’s near midnight, my dear. She went to bed half an hour ago,” the viscount said cheerfully. “And I am going up too.”