Chapter Fifteen
Winsome had spent the past two days waiting for Lord Manderbey to come to the house.
He had not come though. She supposed she understood why.
First the rumor that she’d been compromised by Lord Landry, that gentleman just now injured and unable to dispute the idea.
Then the banns supposedly being read for a wedding between Lord Manderbey and Lady Edith.
He must be very out of sorts. He might even believe that she’d been compromised. And even if he did not, he would not like the gossip. He was to be a duke and would take that seriously. She had learned through observation that other gentlemen were not as freewheeling and freethinking as her father.
It was likely Lord Manderbey would not wish to be associated with such talk.
She supposed she would have her final answer at the masque.
Perhaps he would not come. Or worse, he would come and cut her, as if he’d never known her.
She did not know if she could bear that.
She’d end up in the ladies’ retiring room again, wiping her tears and not much caring if somebody locked her in.
Valor lounged on the sofa with Sir Galahad. “I guess you hate him now, so you can’t get married,” she said, clearly working to keep the glee from her voice.
“I very much doubt I will wed this season,” Winsome said morosely.
“Don’t worry about it. I bet Lord Manderbey never bothers you again. I bet he just goes away. When he realizes how you feel, he’ll just go away.”
“Valor, nothing has been said between us. He can have no notion of how I feel.”
Valor shrugged. “Maybe he does.”
Winsome sat up straighter in her chair. “How?”
Valor put her attention on Sir Galahad and said softly, “I’m knitting my dog a blanket.”
“Valor. How would Lord Manderbey know how I feel?”
Her sister looked off into the distance as if she were divining the question. “Well you were mad. At least, it seemed like you were.”
“Did you write another letter?” Winsome asked aghast. Valor’s letters were atrocious and always caused their own particular trouble.
“Maybe,” she muttered.
“But how? Charlie and Thomas have been told not to deliver any more of your letters.”
“I disguised my handwriting and put it in the post. I doubt they even looked at it, but if they did I used Papa’s seal so they would think it was from him.” This was said with a certain amount of pride.
“What did it say? You must tell me exactly what it said. Oh Valor, I already have enough problems, I really did not need this on top of everything else!”
Her sister’s eyes welled. She cried, “Well, I can’t talk about it now that you’re so mad!” She leapt from the sofa and fled the room, Sir Galahad trotting out behind her.
Winsome sat back. The problems were just piling up with no end in sight and Lord Manderbey had not come to the house. Now he was in receipt of a letter from her sister and heaven only knew what Valor had written.
She’d been very much perplexed when her older sisters had run into one thing after another during their own seasons. She was a lot less perplexed now.
*
Leland was entirely fed up with the slow passage of time. He’d sent one of his footmen over to Landry’s house several times, but the news was always the same—the fellow remained unconscious, the physician was with him night and day, and his condition was very much touch and go.
He could hardly believe that the fellow had managed to injure himself so severely.
What had he done? Thrown himself down headfirst?
For all that, he wished Landry a speedy recovery.
Or at least to wake up for an hour so he could explain what had gone on at the scavenger hunt.
Leland was all but convinced that Landry could clear it all up in a moment. If only he were awake.
There had been no news of Lady Winsome returning to Town and he could not be entirely certain if she would return for Lady Darlington’s masque.
He rather thought she would. The duke was not one to run from a rumor and the best thing a lady who was talked about could do was stare down the talkers.
Staying away would seem a confirmation of the tale more than anything.
The masque was in two days’ time and it could not come too soon. He would go. If Lady Winsome were there, he would speak to her in private as soon as he saw her. If she were not, he’d have to figure out where in Kent she went and follow her there.
Richards came in with a letter. “This just arrived, my lord. It was sent through the penny post and I believe the seal is from the Duke of Pelham, so I thought you’d want it right away.”
She was back. He thought it would be so, though he was surprised she would have written him. He took the letter, and Richards closed the doors behind him.
As he read through it, he felt alarm run through him. She hated him? He was a rogue?
But then he got to the signature and clarity swept in to wash the alarm away.
The only person who he’d heard call Lady Winsome “Winny” was her younger sister, Valor.
That little lady was also strongly opposed to her sister leaving the house.
According to St. John, that young miss was currently away from the supervision of the duke and staying with a sister.
Furthermore, it seemed a bit odd for a lady as sophisticated as Lady Winsome to write such a badly composed letter.
Especially with every sentence punctuated with an exclamation as if she was shouting it.
Sir—
You probably already know that I have decided to hate you forever! You know I am right! You are a rogue, Sir, and I have found it out! Do not approach me for any reason! As a gentleman, you have to honor my wishes so do not say anything to me ever again! Stay away!
Lady Winny Nicolet
No, certainly this was some ridiculous gambit of Lady Valor’s. She was a bold creature. He pulled a sheet of paper out of the desk and wrote her back.
Lady Winny Nicolet—
I received your recent missive! I do not believe you hate me forever! I do not know you are right! I am not a rogue, madam, and you have not found it out! I will approach you for any and all reasons! As a gentleman, I only have to honor the wishes that I actually believe! I will not stay away!
Manderbey
PS. Very entertaining, Lady Valor
He snorted as he read it through, answering each of her sentences with one of his own, equally hysterical. He would address the letter to Lady Valor and she could read it at her leisure when she returned to her house. He expected it would put some starch into her.
In the meantime, he would see Lady Winsome soon enough, one way or the other. Whatever confusion might be between them, it would be sorted out, they would face the ton, and with any luck they would face each other and plan a future.
The dowager bustled in with a newspaper in her hands. “I do not understand how you managed it so quickly, but I am delighted. Hips, that’s the ticket.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Leland asked.
“The banns, what else. Lord, you must have hired a fast messenger.” The dowager paused. “Unless this was what you planned all along and I have been somehow hoodwinked. And then, why not a special license?”
“What banns?” Leland asked, truly mystified now.
“Do not bother trying to keep it a secret now, it’s in the papers.” The dowager handed him the newspaper and pointed out a passage.
We hear that Leland Dunmore, Marquess of Manderbey and eldest son of the Duke of Albany is out of the marriage mart for any unmarried ladies interested. The banns between that future duke and Lady Edith Cullington have been read in his home county.
Leland laid the paper down. “What is this nonsense? Who is stirring up such trouble?”
“Trouble? It’s just the thing. Mark me, she will produce a goodly amount of children and some of them are bound to be boys. She might not be a stunner, but her reputation is unblemished and she’s got the hips for it. Just what is needed.”
“Grandmama, this is all nonsense. I have not engaged myself to Lady Edith! And for God’s sake, stop talking about that lady’s hips.”
The dowager pointed at the newspaper laying on the desk. “Says here, you did engage yourself, and I can hardly be blamed for noticing the woman’s hips—they are very wide.”
As if he did not have enough problems just now. What was Lady Winsome to think of this? Was she to imagine she’d left Town for a few days and he’d engaged himself elsewhere? Then there was Lady Edith to think of. And Landry too, whenever he woke up.
*
Landry was growing used to living as an invalid.
There was something comfortable in it. Trays came in on the regular with all sorts of things to distract him—eggs and rashers of bacon, rolls and butter, toast, coffee, tea, biscuits, an array of small sandwiches, and then always a very nicely composed dinner of several courses, accompanied by some of his best wines.
He was surrounded by books his valet could read to him and Marley brought him the newspapers each morning.
As he was in his repose, Marley was downstairs barring the door against all comers.
Manderbey’s footman had turned up several times to inquire into his condition.
The duke himself had come, which was a terrifying prospect.
However, as far as they would know it, Landry was hanging onto life by a thin thread.