Chapter Thirty-Six #2
“Father is to be tortured, then?” He likely should have felt more sorry for his sire than he did.
“Subtly tortured,” Daphne said.
The lieutenant, who had been watching at the door, leaned back inside the room. “He has just been let inside by the butler.”
The duke turned to his family. “You all know your parts.”
James’s was, apparently, to follow the lead of everyone else. He wondered just how difficult that might prove to be.
Miss Artemis crossed the room and stood with James and Daphne. She quite deliberately arranged herself in a pose of utter innocence, turning her face up toward him with a look of sweet adoration—not unlike a very young girl might give an idolized older brother.
“That is doing it a bit brown, Artemis,” Daphne said, something of a laugh underlying her words. “You are only supposed to make it clear that you like Lord Tilburn. Looking at him as though you were his ever-loyal puppy pushes the display nearly past believing.”
Artemis sighed, a sound filled with martyrdom and suffering. “You know nothing of theatricality. If one is to play a role, one must do so entirely.” Her posturing never slipped for a moment.
She rather did remind James of the looks he often received from Scamp. He was hard-pressed to keep from laughing. Maintaining his countenance with the whole family undertaking such overblown performances might very well prove impossible.
“Lord Techney,” the butler announced.
James stepped toward the door, intending to greet his father and make any introductions. A swift look from Lieutenant Lancaster, however, kept him in his place. For some unspoken reason, James was meant to keep back.
For a moment, Father hovered in the doorway, obviously thrown off by the lack of notice his entrance had created. Even the butler had already disappeared.
Almost as if it were an afterthought, the duke turned toward the new arrival. “Ah, Lord Techney.”
That was the extent of Father’s welcome.
Not a single “Pleased to see you” or “Good of you to join us” seemed forthcoming.
James held back the confusion he felt, knowing his one assignment was to appear entirely composed during the evening’s performance.
Father looked confused enough for the both of them.
The duchess took pity on him, going so far as to invite him to step into the room and informing him that dinner would be served soon.
Father made his way inside, though with obvious uncertainty. James could not recall a time when his father had looked anything but utterly confident. The sight proved both disconcerting and oddly enjoyable.
“So you are James’s father,” Lieutenant Lancaster said when Father came near where he stood.
The lieutenant had never referred to James by his Christian name—the young gentleman likely thought of him by several names unfit for company.
“I am.” Still, Father appeared unsure of himself. How had they upended him so quickly? No one had been outright rude, nor insulting. They simply appeared to not particularly care for what consequence he might be in a position to claim.
“You must be very proud,” the lieutenant said. “He is quite well thought of.”
“Is he?” The genuine surprise on Father’s face was particularly lowering. “I have heard any number of unflattering things about him lately.”
The lieutenant appeared momentarily taken aback, though something of a twinkle passed quickly through his eyes.
He spoke next in a tone of conciliatory explanation, as though he’d hit upon the reason for Father’s ignorance.
“I can only assume such unfounded gossip is circulating exclusively in less exalted circles than those in which this family walks.”
A direct hit, to be sure. Father had quite neatly been reminded that though he might lord it over his family and toadying admirers, his current company held positions decidedly above his touch.
“Is this truly your father, Lord Tilburn?” Miss Artemis asked with an air of absolute believable ignorance. Were such a thing not entirely beyond the pale, she might very well have made a name for herself on the stage. “I have wished to make his acquaintance.”
“Shall I make you known to him?” James hoped his acting abilities were sufficient to disguise the question as a mere social nicety when he’d actually asked for the sake of determining what was expected of him.
“Yes, please.”
James undertook the introduction, then figuratively stepped back to watch what would unfold.
“Our father is a scholar,” Miss Artemis told James’s father. “He has many times been quite in demand by the dons of Oxford and Cambridge, and many of his papers on ancient Greece have been published to accolades and widespread acclaim. What do you study, Lord Techney?”
Father? Study? James managed to keep his expression neutral, but only just.
“I have never really been of an academic bent,” Father answered, his tone clearly indicating his disapproval of those who were.
Miss Artemis gave him a look of utter commiseration. “We had a neighbor who said that a lot.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He was terribly slow and not at all bright.”
To say Father looked startled would be a gross understatement. If not for the look of sweet innocence on Miss Artemis’s face, he likely would have taken immediate umbrage at the insinuation that he was himself unintelligent.
“If you do not tend toward academics, you must have some other accomplishments. Do you travel? My brother”—she glanced briefly at Lieutenant Lancaster—“has seen nearly all the world. He has stepped foot on five continents. To how many continents have you traveled?”
“I had my Grand Tour as a youth.” Father had always been quite proud of having undertaken that rite of passage.
“Oh, pish.” Miss Artemis waved off this tidbit as though it held no weight whatsoever. “Europe hardly counts. We have tenants who have been to Europe. Surely you’ve seen other parts of the world.”
“I am not a traveler.”
She instantly looked sympathetic. “Linus did say some of their very young sailors do not travel well either. They haven’t the constitution for it, poor things.”
Father had been compared to a lackwit, a tenant, and a lower-class cabin boy.
One thing James would say for the evening’s entertainment: it was thorough.
A beat of silence just long enough to grow quite uncomfortable passed.
Father actually tugged at his cravat. James had never seen his father so thoroughly bested, and by a fifteen-year-old girl, nonetheless.
What else did this formidable family have planned?
Into the thick silence, the Falstone House butler announced dinner. The duke entered with his wife, their air of aristocratic superiority one the prince himself would have struggled to emulate. Humble pie seemed the menu item of the evening.
Lieutenant Lancaster accompanied Daphne, and James walked into the dining room with Miss Artemis on his arm. She kept up her role nearly flawlessly, only once betraying herself by grinning up at James. He kept his own smile in check by clenching his jaw.
The dinner conversation passed in much the same vein as the premeal discussion.
James sat near enough the duchess to overhear her ask Father about individuals who stood so far above him in consequence that he could not possibly have any personal acquaintance with them.
The lieutenant, seated on Father’s other side, brought up matters of state only to interrupt himself and apologize for having forgotten that Lord Techney had not been embracing his Parliamentary duties.
Miss Artemis continually glanced at their guest with a look of mingled pity and disappointment.
His Grace more or less ignored him. Daphne kept her eyes on her plate, though James could not say if this came about because of her timidity or because of a need to hide her amusement.
Father looked thoroughly relieved when the ladies rose and left the gentlemen. James thought the reaction terribly precipitous. As for himself, he had no doubt the evening was far from over.