Chapter 8
T he next morning, Theo was shown into the Tolliver drawing room with a degree of solemnity more fitting a condemned man on his way to the gallows than a gentleman of his standing.
His head throbbed fiercely, a punishment from the night’s indulgences, yet he had awoken with no small measure of guilt and clarity borne of sober reflection: a certainty that Hetty would be none too pleased at his blundering interference in her carefully wrought scheme for ruin.
He knew he must set matters aright without delay.
Still, beneath his resolve stirred a foolish delight: he rather enjoyed when Hetty was vexed, a remnant of their youth when provoking her sharp tongue and fiery temper was his favourite sport. It was a childish game, no doubt, but one he still took perverse pleasure in.
“Ah, Lord Langley,” Lady Tolliver purred from her seat by the fire, her embroidery needle flashing like a dagger. “How very good of you to call. Pray, do be seated. The weather is remarkably fine, is it not? Quite the day for… confessions, I should say.”
“It is indeed, my lady,” said Theo. He looked momentarily to Hetty, who remained unmoved, neither rising, nor smiling, nor even deigning to blink. She sat poised, a folded newspaper resting in her lap.
“May I offer you some tea, Lord Langley?” Lady Tolliver inquired in the chipper tones of a woman laying down a winning card at whist. “We have lapsang, or perhaps something of a stronger persuasion to fortify you this morning?”
“No. Thank you,” Theo replied, his eyes never leaving Hetty. “Miss Tolliver. I trust you are in good health?”
“Oh, quite splendidly, thank you,” said Hetty unfolding the newspaper with exquisite care.
“Though you will be pleased to know that you, my lord, are positively glowing with health, virtue and chivalry in the estimable eyes of the ton .” She cleared her throat before beginning to read, each word dripping with venomous sweetness:
“‘Lord Langley’s display of gallantry at Lady Braithwaite’s ball was nothing short of heroic.
In a scene worthy of Mrs Radcliffe, he defended the honour of a certain Diamond with one well-placed blow, restoring our faith that true gentlemen still walk among us.
The earl’s devotion was as unmistakable as it was inspiring. ’”
She snapped the paper closed, and Theo opened his mouth.
Hetty raised a single hand. “No, sir. I am far from finished.” She plucked another sheet from the stack beside her. “ The Morning Observer ,” she announced.
“Miss H.T., already a celebrated wit and beauty, is now the most sought-after lady of the Season. For what woman, gentle reader, would not wish to inspire such fiery devotion in a man of Lord L’s notorious coolness?
Lord L, long thought immune to both romance and reason, was seen to strike a gentleman across the jaw in defence of Miss H.T.
’s name, sending the scoundrel sprawling into a potted palm with a flourish worthy of the stage.
Witnesses described the scene as ‘positively Byronic’and I, for once, can think of nothing more romantic.
Let it be known: Miss H.T. may possess beauty, breeding, and a laugh sharp enough to draw blood, but it is her ability to bring Lord L to his knees that has truly captured Society’s imagination.
If this is not love, dear reader, then I shall eat my bonnet. ”
She stopped, folded the sheet in half, and bestowed upon Theo a look that might have made Napoleon reconsider his ambitions.
Theo remained standing with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, the very picture of a gentleman preparing to meet his execution with dignity. She was angry, to be sure, but her veneer of sweetness was more terrifying by far.
“Mama,” Hetty said politely. “Might we have a moment, if you please?”
Lady Tolliver blinked, pausing her embroidery mid-stitch.
“A moment? Oh! Yes, yes, of course. I believe I have… a most urgent letter that simply must be attended to at once. Terribly pressing. Positively dire.” She offered a vague, fluttering gesture, which might have signified anything from “curtsy prettily” to “accept his proposal wi thout delay,” and promptly swept from the room. The door clicked shut behind her.
Hetty gave a long sigh. “God help us all.”
Indeed. Theo’s thoughts were churning. He knew he ought to apologise or offer some earnest explanation, but such candour felt dreadfully dull – far less entertaining than risking her temper or her wit. It was far better to provoke a laugh or coax a shout.
Hetty turned back to Theo. “Well, my lord, it appears you have succeeded in making me the heroine of every marriage-minded mother’s most cherished parlour tale.”
“Ah,” he said lightly. “Then I presume the parade of eligible suitors begins at noon?”
Hetty narrowed her eyes.
He tilted his head. “Should I have brought flowers? A poem? A ring, perhaps?”
Her glare sharpened, and so he continued. “No doubt your dear Mama is even now selecting wallpaper for the breakfast parlour at my country estate.”
“Do you want to be expelled from yet another townhouse?” she asked, folding her arms tightly.
Theo smiled. “Only if you would be so obliging as to strike the blow yourself.”
“I have half a mind to, Theo Winslow!” she hissed.
“We had a plan! Or did it not lodge itself in your pea-brained skull? I intended to be a scandal! Not some darling romantic heroine the ton might fawn over. Do you have the slightest notion of what you’ve done?
Every eligible bachelor from here to Yorkshire is likely composing verse as we speak!
The Dowager Countess of Carroway sent round a note of congratulations, Theo.
She says your display reminded her of a duel once fought on her behalf in Naples! ”
“Naples, you say?” he mused, taking a seat beside her on the settee. “Gracious. Well, I do hope the Countess wasn’t terribly disappointed I failed to draw pistols. The fern was quite enough carnage, I thought.”
Hetty let out a sound of exasperation. “Do not jest. I am being pursued, Theo. Hunted like a prize filly! As though I were some sort of soft-eyed debutante waiting for her first proposal. I received eight calling cards before breakfast. Eight. One of them included a poem – rhymed, no less – and Mama has already begun consulting the pattern books for my wedding china! Do you comprehend the severity of this development?”
He nodded gravely. “It means, I suppose, that you ought to begin pretending you care for tea.”
“It means,” she snapped, “that we have veered entirely from the agreed course. This was not the plan!”
Theo wondered, fleetingly, whether he might be pressing her too far, but the mischief was already in motion. “Not entirely off course. You remain unwed.”
“For now, but at this pace, I shall be engaged by Thursday and immortalised in The Times by Saturday.”
“A precipitous fall, indeed. Do keep me informed – I should like to attend the wedding. I imagine the poets will weep into their gloves.”
“You find this amusing, do you not? ”
“Entirely. Why else, pray, would I have agreed to your preposterous little scheme? You wished to be ruined, Hetty. And ruined you are – though not, perhaps, in the fashion either of us anticipated.”
“Oh yes,” she said, throwing up her hands. “A romantic icon! A symbol of timeless honour and irresistible virtue! Utterly ruined.”
Theo could not help but stifle a wry smile at her vexation; she was positively incandescent with indignation. “With so many admirers clamouring at your feet, do you find yourself yearning for the blessed state of matrimony?”
Hetty’s nostrils flared. “Oh, do be silent, you insufferable wretch. And why is it that you may go about sleeping with whomsoever you please and striking gentlemen about the face with nary a consequence?”
“Well, I was most unceremoniously ejected from the ball last night.”
“Oh, how very tragic,” Hetty scoffed. “Whilst I was condemned to endure the company of that insufferable Marchmont, endure his endless prattle and the most dreadful of dances. Pray, tell me, which fate do you suppose is worse?”
“I had thought you rather liked Lord Marchmont.”
“I accepted his dance out of sheer good-breeding, and to vex you, since your countenance plainly betrayed your distaste for the man. You must one day divulge the true cause of your antipathy. But enough of that tiresome bore. Tell me what compelled you to strike a man during a ball! It could not have been for the sake of my honour, particularly when the very aim of my design is to bring it low. ”
Theo huffed. “Believe me, Hetty, I could not abide the man’s licentious tongue. The fellow spoke with a vulgarity so base that to suffer it in silence would have been a far greater ruin than any you might devise. You cannot possibly understand the wickedness that festers in the minds of some men.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly well how wicked some men can be,” Hetty said with an arched brow and a pointed look.
“Now, pray tell me exactly what that scoundrel said. I beg you – do not leave me to imagine.” When Theo folded his arms and tightened his lips, she went on.
“Do not treat me like an innocent child who cannot hear such things, Theo Winslow. I am quite capable of handling vulgarity!”
Theo leant back with mock severity. “And yet, I suspect that your innocence is precisely why you are so eager to know.”
She very nearly growled at him. “Did he liken me to an actress? Oh, or did he say something worse?”
“Worse? Oh, infinitely worse.”
“Worse? Do tell! What in God’s name could be worse than that?”
Theo bit the side of his cheek, savouring the moment before he said, “No, I couldn’t possibly say it aloud, Hetty.”
“Tell me, or I shall step upon your foot so hard you’ll yelp like a whipped cur.”