Chapter 4 #2
Miranda’s cheeks darkened. Odd. Why would she find that question embarrassing? “Yes, I believe they’re acquainted.”
Bea’s spectacles slid down her nose, and she pushed them up again. “Are we agreed then that we cannot rule out Edgerton? Charlotte?”
“As long as he’s not the only one. Have we managed any more information on Lord Middlebury?”
“And what about Lydia?” Anne asked.
Juliana strolled into the room. “I’m sorry I’m late. Did I hear Lydia’s name mentioned?”
“Anne is still convinced Lydia is responsible for The Muckraker,” Charlotte said, her tone conveying her disbelief.
“She’s as likely a candidate as Middlebury,” Anne shot back, tiring of Charlotte’s confrontational attitude.
“Victor doesn’t believe it’s Lydia.” At least Juliana delivered her disagreement in a much kinder voice.
Bea intervened. “As I see it, the problem is that the change in The Muckraker has made it all the more difficult to narrow down the suspects. However, I firmly believe our most likely culprit is either Edgerton or Lord Felix Davies.”
Not one to give up without a fight, Charlotte said, “But what stake did either of them have in your scandal, Bea? Wasn’t it one of our criteria that the particularly vicious attacks were made against people with whom they had a personal vendetta?”
Bea brushed it off as if it were nothing. “Simple enough. Middlebury wished to seek revenge on me and Laurence, and considering he has Edgerton’s ear . . . well, perhaps Edgerton felt he owed Middlebury a favor.”
“My brother doesn’t give anyone favors, least of all his toady Middlebury.”
Ugh! Anne opened her mouth to protest. Why wouldn’t they listen to her about Lydia?
“Well, we’re certainly not going to solve anything by arguing,” Honoria said, effectively silencing them all. “Besides, it’s almost time for supper.”
And although Anne’s stomach rumbled a little at the mention of food, part of her dreaded going into the dining room.
Where Lord Grumpy-Trousers waited.
When Colin’s valet finished dressing him for supper, he headed to Burwood’s study, where a footman told him the men had gathered.
Masculine laughter and the clink of crystal drifted from the room as Colin entered. Apparently, Simon Beckham, Burwood’s man of business, had just finished one of his tall tales.
Colin recognized most of the men in the room. Burwood, of course, Beckham, the Duke of Ashton, Victor Pratt, and Lord Montgomery. A man Colin presumed was the Elfin Menace’s brother sat next to Ashton, and a giant of a fellow stood on Ashton’s other side, almost dwarfing the tall duke.
“Colin, come have a drink with us,” his brother-in-law said. “I don’t believe you’ve met Andrew Weatherby. Andrew, my brother-in-law, Viscount Manning.”
Ah, so he was correct in his presumption. Weatherby rose and extended his hand. “Lord Manning.”
“Mr. Weatherby. I met your charming daughters earlier. And your sister.”
As Colin grasped Weatherby’s hand in a firm grip, the man seemed to assess him as if he were purchasing a new horse. “And you’re still here. That’s promising.”
“And this,”—Burwood motioned toward the tower of a man—“is my cousin, Mr. Miles Grey.”
Unbidden, Colin found his gaze traveling upward to meet the man’s amber eyes.
Grey gave a bow, and his mouth twitched. “Before you ask, I’m six-foot-seven. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Burwood speaks highly of you.”
“Now, now,” Drake said. “Let’s not stand on formality. I’m trying, really, to grow accustomed to using titles, but, Miles, you and I are family.”
As much as he liked Burwood—that is Drake—Colin had difficulty addressing even his peers with such familiarity. Unlike his brother-in-law, proper comportment had been drilled into him from an early age. Titles and formality came second nature.
That was except for one petite hoyden. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to think of her as Miss Weatherby.
Drake handed him a snifter of brandy. Grateful, Colin took a sip, the amber liquid traveling down his throat in a satisfying burn. He would need the fortification before supper, where the Nymph of Nuisance would no doubt spill a tureen of soup all over him.
A brilliant idea popped into his head. One that might help him avoid the petite redhead. “Montgomery, is your sister, Lady Miranda, in attendance?”
Montgomery’s brows hitched. “She is, sir. Currently gathered with my wife and the other ladies in the library. Why do you ask?”
“With your permission, may I escort her to supper this evening? I presume she’s unwed, and there is no husband present to object.”
Mr. Weatherby’s smile disappeared, his mouth forming a moue of disappointment.
In contrast, from the grin on Montgomery’s face, one would have thought a host of angels had come down from the heavens and announced the birth of the savior right there and then.
“You presume correctly. And since our father isn’t present, I can safely say that, acting in his stead, you have not only my permission but my blessing. ”
Mr. Grey refilled his brandy snifter and downed it in one gulp. Colin hoped the man didn’t have a drinking problem. As his cousin, he put Drake at risk of scandal. And goodness knew, Drake and Honoria didn’t need any more spurious gossip.
Colin had never followed the scandal sheets, although Margery enjoyed them. But when The Muckraker besmirched Honoria’s name, Colin had made a point to keep up with the rag. Thankfully, the scurrilous paper’s vitriol had lessened over the last few years.
The men enjoyed their brandy, only exchanging snippets of conversation about the session in Parliament, expansion plans for Ashton’s clinic, Montgomery’s latest invention, and Pratt’s latest purchase at Tattersall’s for his wife’s horse breeding venture.
Yet another thing the gossip sheets typically would have latched onto with greedy fingers, and another thing Drake should have been concerned about considering Juliana, although now married to Pratt, was still his sister.
However, the so-called paper had been ominously silent over Juliana’s endeavors.
Small blessings for his sister and brother-in-law.
At least Colin wouldn’t provide any fodder for the scandal sheets.
Colin was still nursing his brandy when Frampton, the butler, announced supper.
Drake set down his snifter, rose, and extended his arm toward the door. “Shall we venture into the library and retrieve the ladies?”
As Colin rose, Montgomery sidled up to him and leaned in to whisper. “If it matters to you, my father has increased Miranda’s dowry. Any encouragement I may offer, say the word.”
Colin rethought his brilliant idea. “It’s supper, Montgomery, not a proposal of marriage. To be honest”—he craned his neck to ensure Weatherby wasn’t nearby—“I wish to avoid Miss Weatherby. I have a suspicion my sister is matchmaking again.”
Montgomery’s smile vanished, much like Weatherby’s had earlier. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed. Miranda is well past a marriageable age. And forgive me for saying so, but you still need an heir.”
Don’t remind me.
Montgomery patted his shoulder. “Promise you’ll give Miranda a chance. She’s not so bad when you get to know her.”
A cough from behind drew both Colin’s and Montgomery’s attention as they met Mr. Grey’s somber expression. “I find your sister quite lovely, Lord Montgomery.” Grey’s gaze jerked toward Colin. “As is Miss Weatherby.”
If he weren’t a gentleman, Colin would have retorted, “Then you court her.” As it was, he merely nodded.
And yet, when they entered the library and Grey offered the Elfin Menace his arm, something in Colin’s chest thudded and a sour taste rose to his mouth.
The sprite’s gaze met his, and the termagant had the nerve to smirk.