Chapter Five
As Weston held out his arm to help Lady Valor over the cushion wall, he wondered if he’d really just heard the duke refer to his sister, a countess and respected matron, as Lady Misery.
Lady Valor had not blinked over it. Noting Lady Marchfield’s expression, though, he rather thought he had heard that correctly.
They proceeded into the dining room and the duke steered him to his location.
Lady Valor was to his left and Lady Marchfield to his right at the top of the table.
He’d been warned by both Lord Ledderbey and Stockton that the duke might have a matchmaking plan up his sleeve.
He’d laughed off the idea, imagining he would encounter a version of Lady Letitia.
Now he wondered if it really was such an outlandish idea.
After all, a lady like this coming to Town for her first season was not likely to require a second season.
“You see how it is, Misery,” the duke said. “I’ve given you the head of the table, else I’d have to seat you next to me. This way, you are as far away as possible, which will suit us both.”
Lord Ledderbey, who was to Lady Marchfield’s right, seemed very shaken over these sentiments.
Lady Marchfield had thoroughly warned them of the duke’s rudeness and taunts, but it was another thing to see it in person.
Especially for Lord Ledderbey, who never put a foot out of place when it came to manners.
When they’d dined at Lady Marchfield’s house, she’d outlined all of the duke’s crimes, which Lord Ledderbey had found almost hard to believe.
Lord Marchfield, on the other hand, had all sorts of conciliatory things to say.
According to the lord, one could develop a fondness for the duke if one did not take him seriously and hardly ever saw him.
These seemed to be two things beyond Lady Marchfield’s reach.
She was still burning over the time, some years ago, that the duke had left her at a cyprian’s party.
Apparently, the diabolical housekeeper on the premises had arranged it all.
Everyone had been seated and the two footmen, who seemed far more on the ball than the butler, brought round the wine.
Mr. Huberville watched them as if it were the first time he’d seen it done.
Weston watched the butler reach for a crystal decanter and then pull his hand away from it as if he was afraid of it.
The duke said, “All my girls together again. Well! We’ve had some jolly times in this room.”
“Val used to give some terrific speeches to start us off,” Lady Felicity said.
“Ah yes,” Mr. Stratton said, “Lady Valor engaged in a spirited and endless war to keep her sisters at home and unmarried.”
“Perhaps those speeches are best forgotten,” Lady Marchfield said through pursed lips. “Among other things.”
Weston turned to Lady Valor. “I do not have brothers and sisters, so I do not know what it is to have them leave the house.”
“It was devastating,” Lady Valor said. “We all were so happy together in the Dales and then we came to London that first time and Felicity left. I was so young I did not even realize it was permanent.”
“That must have come as a shock.”
Lady Valor nodded. “Once I found it out, I became determined to keep the rest of my sisters at home.”
“How though?” Weston asked, rather interested to hear it.
“Oh, I would make a speech pointing out certain things. If that did not work, I might send a letter of some sort. The last was sent to Lord Manderbey. I pretended to be Winsome and broke it off with him. It was not the first time I tried it, either.”
Weston laughed. There was a certain amount of daring to such a scheme. “I presume Lord Manderbey figured it out.”
She nodded. “I made the mistake of signing as Winny instead of Winsome. He’d already heard me call her by her nickname.”
“Undone by a nickname. That is bad luck.”
“What do you do all day in Cornwall? Do you collect anything?”
He was momentarily put on the back foot. Lady Letitia had not asked him a single thing outside of if he was staring at her again. “Collect? No, not really. I buy books for Lord Ledderbey for his library when I get the chance.”
“You do not read them yourself, though?”
“Not many of them,” Weston admitted. “I have other things that take up my time.”
As soon as the idea that they must leave for Town had been broached, he’d wondered how much he should say about his nighttime activities.
But then, he reasoned that he would be away from Cornwall and the French would no longer be looking for the Mosquito as they were no longer bothered by him.
He’d had the boat moved and he’d already decided that when he took up the operation again he would relocate himself well away from Lord Ledderbey’s house.
In any case, the last place one would run into a Frenchman was London.
“Other things take up your time? What things?” Lady Valor asked. “You live near the sea, I understand. I suppose you go looking for shells?”
Shells. He could not say he did. He was not certain if Lady Valor would be all that approving of what he did get up to.
Though, he did not suppose that once she asked a question she could be easily brushed off.
There was a certain intensity to her. “Well, mostly, me and my valet, Stockton, take out my sloop at night and harass any French frigates we are able to find. It is well to know their locations and our turning up unsettles their crews.”
“Sailing at night? In the sea? Away from land?”
Weston nodded. “Yes, we really can only do it at night so that we can get away into the darkness without being run down.”
Lady Valor looked alarmed to hear it. “I see,” she said softly.
He thought it might be well to change the subject of the conversation. “You mentioned collections—do you collect anything?”
She shook her head. “I have my dog,” she said. “He’s a pug and really is tremendous. His name is Sir Galahad and I’ve been told he has exceptional form by a Sardinian count who seems to know the breed.”
Weston was mystified. “I see, so you have been to Sardinia? I suppose it was long ago, as it is impossible to safely travel there just now.”
“Oh no, I’ve never been. Count di Compressio is here in England. We met him on the road, at an inn, where he generously gave over his private dining room. He stays with Lady Tallifer in Town.”
A Sardinian count? What was he doing in England? One might have thought he’d be either in Napoleon’s custody or hiding from him. Perhaps he’d decided to hide in England? The other explanation was that Napoleon was using the count for his own purposes.
That was probably unlikely though. He did not know Lady Tallifer, but it seemed a stretch to believe an English noblewoman would be involved in any sort of espionage.
“What do you suppose brings him here?” Weston asked.
“The count? He has an estate in Hertfordshire. He’s thinking of settling there as he likes the peace and quiet of it. He’s a very gentle individual and it would suit him.”
A gentle individual? Weston supposed he was a dandy down to his shoes, waving a handkerchief and requiring a vinaigrette at the slightest upset. Or if not that, perhaps he just posed as one. Nobody would expect a dandy to get up to anything, good or bad.
A Sardinian count that suddenly turns up and claims he would like to emigrate and live in Hertfordshire? He supposed it was possible, considering the state of the count’s own homeland at this moment.
Weston realized that all his chasing the French around had made him far more suspicious than might be right.
He did not suppose he would discover the truth from Lady Valor.
And he must admit, her seeming admiration of this Sardinian dandy rankled him a bit.
He would put his wondering on a shelf for the time being, he was bound to encounter the fellow somewhere and would make his judgments then.
“How else do you occupy your time?” he asked.
“I keep my dear papa company and act as his hostess at home. We have a terrific time. Sometimes we invent things to say to the vicar that will send him into a fit.”
Weston laughed. He could not say he minded anybody harassing a vicar.
Their own neighborhood was in possession of a very sour individual who disapproved of everybody who did not fawn over him.
Or attend him every Sunday, which he and Lord Ledderbey were often remiss about.
The fellow did not dare scold them over it, so he relied on his frown to send the message.
“I hope you will tell me some of what you’ve said to your vicar,” Weston said, “as I have my own vicar to tease. I had not thought of it, but I think I’d be happy to do it.”
“Oh well if that is the case, the easiest thing in the world is to claim the Ten Commandments are too strict. I have made the case that sometimes stealing is necessary and have never bothered to clarify that I spoke of biscuits from the kitchens. Every time I am anywhere near the altar he looks nervous and keeps checking that he’s still got everything on it. It’s very amusing.”
And so they went on, speculating on what could be said to drive a vicar mad.
She was so animated and pretty. There was nothing stiff about her.
He would have assumed a duke’s daughter would be circumspect regarding her vicar but that clearly was not the case.
It seemed she’d also accused that vicar of being involved in a plot to murder women in the middle of the night, even though she now knew those screams she sometimes heard at night were from a fox.
He was further enlightened that the duke had a white domino with painted flames on the bottom of it that appeared to be a vicar going to the devil that they all found terribly amusing.
However eccentric this family might be, they were not stiff. Weston did not know what he expected, but Lady Valor had not been it.
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