Chapter Eight #2
Damiano kept a smile on his face, but he was not in the best of spirits.
He’d come to London imagining he might have his choice of duke’s daughters, as there were just now three of them available.
As Lady Tallifer had predicted, Lady Elizabeth had just engaged herself.
Another was not at all what he was looking for.
Lady Letitia was a most unpleasant lady.
Why did she talk so loudly, as if everybody in her vicinity required an ear trumpet that they’d forgotten at home?
Why did she ask prying questions and then answer them herself?
He’d been quite offended when she’d inquired into his mother’s jewelry collection and then proceeded to speculate on its quality and that the next marchessa would inherit it all. She was already talking about his mother’s death! He was not sure he could bear Lady Letitia’s company for years on end.
That left Lady Valor, which he was perfectly agreeable to, but he sensed there was something between her and Lord Tramondeley.
It would make perfect sense; he was the duke’s heir.
She really was the only tolerable possibility though.
His father would approve of her, while the marquis would not know what to make of Lady Letitia.
Or worse, he might become entirely fed up with that loud lady and order poison for her drink.
The marquis had got impatient, intolerant, and reckless in his late years and Damiano already had his hands full trying to keep Monsieur Bernard alive.
His sisters would positively despise Lady Letitia, though those girls with their noses up in the air would likely be more satisfied with Lady Valor. They would still look down on her, but without the viciousness they would bestow on Lady Letitia.
Now, he led Lady Valor into this supper the duke had made some sort of joke about. He imagined the food was very bad, but then it was England and all the food was very bad. He did not suppose he’d notice a further drop in quality. Over his shoulder, he heard Tramondeley call out to Lady Valor.
“We can join you,” the lord said.
“I would positively refuse to share Tramondeley’s company,” Lady Letitia said, “but as it’s the count, I must make an exception. What say you, Lady Valor? Are we to be surrounded by handsome gentlemen?”
Lady Valor, to her credit, did not answer this tasteless question. Why was Tramondeley pushing in? It might be that he found Lady Letitia as tiresome as he did. Or it might be that he was particularly interested in Lady Valor. Or it might be both.
Whatever he was, Damiano was not interested in his company though there was no polite way to get rid of him.
They entered the supper room and he’d hoped there would not be four chairs together, forcing a necessary parting.
That was not to be.
“Right there,” Tramondeley said, “to the right. We can all sit together.”
“You see how masterful he is, Lady Valor,” Lady Letitia said.
“Indeed,” Lady Valor said softly.
They were seated with the two ladies between them. It was just as well that Tramondeley was not beside him as he did not have an interest in talking to that fellow. It was not as well that Tramondeley leaned forward to avoid being captured entirely by Lady Letitia.
A footman approached and asked them if they cared for lemonade or tea.
Damiano stared at the young man uncomprehendingly. “I would prefer to hear the wine list,” he said.
This set Lady Letitia into a roaring and unpleasant laughter. “Wine? Do you hear him? Count, there is no wine here!”
What could she mean? Why on earth would there be no wine? “What is available, then?” he asked the young man, presuming he would be forced to put up with a sherry.
That young man was beginning to look terrified. “Lemonade, tea, dry cake, and buttered bread, everybody knows it.”
Damiano had not known it. It seemed the sort of thing Lady Tallifer might have mentioned. What sort of place was this? The English really were so uncivilized, one never knew what they’d take it into their heads to do next.
“My sisters all advise the tea and dry cake,” Lady Valor said, “as the lesser of the evils.”
Damiano nodded. “We will bow to Lady Valor’s prior knowledge of the matter,” he said.
The young man hurried off, likely glad to be away from them. But really, he could not be the first person to be annoyed by this alleged supper. Why call it a supper when it was only a few crusts that any self-respecting servant would turn in their notice over?
“Now Tramondeley,” Lady Letitia said, “you must tell me all about your life in Cornwall. I long to visit that county once more. I was positively struck when I was there.”
As the lord gave the lady some nondescript answer of the weather being as expected, Damiano said, “Lady Valor, do you also long to visit Cornwall? I have not been there myself.”
“I hadn’t thought, I have not been there either,” Lady Valor said. “Lord Tramondeley lives with Lord Ledderbey by the sea.”
She said it in a very pensive manner. He said, “You do not prefer to locate yourself by the sea?”
“Not right now, no. There are French frigates, I understand. At least, nearby Cornwall there are.”
“I see,” Damiano said. What was Napoleon doing? Was he thinking of a landing? It really would be ill-advised. He was not well-acquainted with the Frenchman’s plans as his primary contact was Monsieur Bernard and that fellow either knew nothing or pretended to know nothing.
“Lord Tramondeley goes out to sea in the night, which I really cannot like. He sails around in the dark to harass the French.”
The young waiter and another one arrived with a cart holding a large and heavy teapot and plates of dry cake.
Damiano was glad for the distraction as he did not wish to give himself away.
Tramondeley was in the habit of sailing out at night to harass the French.
My God, could he be the Mosquito? It seemed preposterous.
But on the other hand, the sloop was missing from the pier and he’d received a report that it had not been positively seen out at night for some time.
Tramondeley lived in Cornwall, by the sea.
There was still the odd unconfirmed report of a sailor seeing a flash of light here and there, but that was probably just a sailor’s active imagination.
Nobody had seen the boat itself. Could it possibly be true? Was Tramondeley the Mosquito?
If it were true, how was he to confirm it? If he confirmed it, what was he to do about it? It was one thing to dispose of a Cornwall fisherman, which he had presumed he was looking for. It was quite another to murder a lord. A duke’s heir, no less.
Could he murder the duke’s heir and marry his daughter? It seemed a bit much, even for him.
Lady Valor broke apart her dry cake with a fork.
She really did seem unhappy about Tramondeley getting up to such activity.
She would not be so unhappy if she were not interested in him.
After all, why should she care who the duke’s heir was?
If she were interested in somebody else, she would marry out of the family and it would not matter to her who was sitting in her father’s place in the Dales.
Her concern or disapproval was perhaps an angle he could work with. Now was not the time though, as that lord was within earshot.
Tramondeley had just leaned forward. “Lady Valor, I forgot to inquire, did you receive an invitation to the prince’s fête?”
Lady Valor nodded. “Yes, indeed we did.”
“Do we have to go?” Lord Tramondeley asked. “Is it the kind of thing that’s required?”
“I expect so,” Lady Valor said.
“Do you hear him?” Lady Letitia cried. “Does he have to go?”
Damiano wished to cut off the conversation before there was any mention of an idea of Tramondeley and Lady Valor going together. “Lady Valor, you did promise to allow me to escort you to the British Museum. Would tomorrow be convenient?”
“Oh yes, I suppose so,” she said.
“Excellent. I will come at one o’clock. I will ride my horse but can send my carriage.”
“I imagine my father will prefer me in his own carriage,” Lady Valor said.
“Ah, quite right. Or perhaps your own horse? Do you ride?”
Lady Valor seemed unsure of whether she rode or did not.
“I do, a little. It’s just that I really prefer to walk my horse and sometimes Tulip seems fed up with it and wants to go faster than I’d like. She’s a Dales pony and very much has her own mind.”
She rode a horse but only walked it. It was perhaps emblematic of what he understood of Lady Valor’s temperament. She was naturally cautious.
“I see,” Damiano said. “So horse and rider must be brought to an agreement. What I would do if I were to oversee such a horse would be to send a groom to gallop Tulip, and then when she has rid herself of pent-up energy she will be happy to walk.”
“That is a clever idea,” Lady Valor said. “Why argue with her when we can both have what we want?”
“Just so. That way, you may always feel safe when you mount her.”
Lady Valor nodded in hearty agreement.
“What say you, Val?”
The duke had appeared behind them.
“My flask is empty and my patience is empty too. Have you had enough of the place?”
Lady Valor smiled indulgently at her father.
The duke was strange, but his daughter seemed fond of him.
Perhaps that was well. His own father was strange.
It would be well for a bride of his to be prepared for some eccentricity.
His marquis had lately begun to believe he was untouchable and might do anything at all that sprang to mind, including poisoning Monsieur Bernard.
“We can go, Papa,” she said. “I know you have had to put up with this for six prior seasons so I am not surprised your patience has run out.”
She rose and Damiano rose too. The duke called to Tramondeley, who was looking like a cornered hare in the clutches of Lady Letitia. “Come by the house in the afternoon if you like, we can go for a drive in the park.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Oh no, Papa,” Lady Valor said. “I have just committed myself to going to the British Museum. You did say that I could if Mrs. Right would come with me.”
“I did say that,” the duke said, looking a bit resigned.
“Never fear, Tramondeley,” Lady Letitia said, “Lady Monroe and I would be delighted to take you to the park. Consider the matter settled. One o’clock.”
Damiano had been considering what to do about Tramondeley, but Lady Letitia was helping out quite a lot in that effort. Tramondeley had an expression that could only be described as deep sadness.
Too bad for Tramondeley.