Chapter Six #2
“A letter from your brother,” the countess said vaguely, putting a pause on any conversation about his own as she perused a letter of her own—refusing to wear the spectacles, Bernard noted, that she so clearly loathed. “He wants to see you.”
“Excellent,” said the earl brightly. “I haven’t seen Cothrom or Aylesbury in ages. When will they—”
“It’s from Pernrith, dear,” came the quiet reply.
Bernard did not need to be watching the earl to feel the sudden change in the air of the room. The very atmosphere changed, the knives and forks halting, the way that Lady Lucy looked up at her father with instant curiosity.
Pernrith? Another brother, presumably, but then why all the fuss?
“Oh,” said the earl much less brightly. “I see.”
Bernard did not, and his natural nosiness grew as he watched Lady Lucy and Lord Percy exchange glances. This was none of his business, obviously, but he would be no spy of any real talent if he did not want to understand precisely what it was that was happening around him.
What was happening around him?
“And we have been invited to a carp party,” the countess continued, her voice slightly tight as she clearly sought a way to fill the silence.
Lucy blinked. “A—A what?”
“A carp party,” repeated her mother, blinking as she held the paper before her. “A cart party?”
“You really should wear your spectacles, Mama,” said her daughter fondly.
As expected, the countess bristled. “I don’t need the blasted things, I just need—a card party. We’re invited to a card party!”
“Good,” said her husband quietly.
“From Lady Romeril.”
“Oh, no!” The cries echoed around the table from all three other Chances, and Bernard could not help but grin to watch them.
It was pleasing, in a way, to see that nothing had changed since he had been a part of Society. Lady Romeril clearly still struck fear in the hearts of men—or at the very least a distaste for her company, which in polite Society was essentially the same thing.
“You do not like Lady Romeril?” he asked innocently, reaching out and putting a pair of kippers on his plate.
When he looked up, it was to see Lord Percy making a face, his mother glaring at him in the clear hope it would make him desist, the Earl of Lindow sighing, and Lady Lucy pressing her lips together to prevent laughter.
Bernard could not help but grin. Oh, I like this family.
“I am not saying that Lady Romeril is a tiresome woman who does her best to make everyone feel inferior,” said the earl slowly.
Bernard, along with the rest of the table, waited for the rest of the sentence. It did not come. The earl instead took a bite of toast and honey, chewing slowly and methodically as though he were in no rush.
Which, Bernard supposed, he wasn’t.
“Papa!” Lady Lucy said sternly, though still plainly attempting to stifle her giggles. “You cannot say such things! Is there a letter for me? I’m expecting one from Zander.”
“I think you will find that I did not say such a thing,” said her father with a smirk. “Now, we’ve received an invitation and there’s nothing we can do about it. Percy—where the devil did that boy go?”
Bernard looked around. Where had the man gone?
Lord Percy’s mother was sighing. “He’s been doing that more and more lately.”
But Bernard’s attention was immediately distracted by the beautiful woman who shifted seats around the table to be closer to him.
“You will attend, won’t you?” asked Lady Lucy with a brief smile.
It was on the tip of Bernard’s tongue to say he would do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it, but he managed to restrain himself and instead utter the far more incomprehensible, “Wh-What?”
“Lady Romeril’s card party. You will attend with us, won’t you?” Lady Lucy repeated patiently, as though she frequently had to invite known criminals twice to famous women’s parties.
Oh, hell no. “I would not dare intrude on your family,” Bernard said smoothly.
But as it turned out, not smoothly enough. “Oh, you are included on in the invitation too,” the countess said helpfully, handing him the piece of card that appeared to be edged with so much gold, Bernard was a tad surprised it had not been delivered in the parcel post instead of with the letters.
The Lady Romeril invites you,
the Earl of Lindow, the Countess of Lindow, the Lord Percy and the Lady Lucy,
and their guests
to a card party with drinks and generalized entertainment
May 13, 1841
RSVP
Bernard swallowed. This was a bad idea—and thankfully, he had the perfect reason to decline.
“It only says ‘and guests,’” he pointed out as relief roared through him. “I am not actually invited; it is a formality—in case you have guests staying with you from Town.”
For some reason, when he looked up, Bernard saw only blank stares from the three Chances still remaining in the room.
Surely, he did not have to explain the niceties of Society to an earl?
“It’s not actually inviting me. Lady Romeril, she doesn’t—I mean, it would include my name if I were actually invited,” he attempted to reason, discontent swirling in his stomach. “It is just this Lady Romeril being polite.”
Still the stares of evident confusion.
Eventually, Lady Lucy said, in the gentle, slow way a parent would speak to a child when trying to understand why it was neither a good nor a clever idea to run out in front of a cart, “Yes, and it is customary for honored guests to bring their own houseguests to an invitation such as this. And we are Chances.”
“That means we are honored guests by default.” Lady Lindow grinned. “In fact, given the average invitation list for such a card party, taking into account the variance of Lady Romeril’s typical guest list—”
“What my wife so eloquently is not saying,” interrupted the earl, mediating the potential for insult by kissing her briefly on the cheek, “is that you are our guest, and so you are included. I shall have to find a better suit for you, that’s all. My decades-old fashion will not do.”
Bernard looked down at his suit.
It was rather shabby and out of date, but then, he was not fastidious.
Bernard swallowed. “But… But this is too much.”
Far too much, he wanted to say, for a man you think is a criminal.
Far too much for a person who has moved into your home and has given no sign of leaving—mostly because your daughter has asked me not to leave and so I want to be respectful of her wishes, but also because when someone like your daughter asks you to do something, with those lips, and those eyes…
Clearing his throat did not entirely dislodge the outrageous thoughts pouring through Bernard’s mind, but they did so sufficiently for him to say, “You cannot—I am honored, my lord, but you cannot—”
“Nonsense. Man’s got to have a good suit when he goes to meet Lady Romeril,” the earl said bracingly. “He has to.”
Well, that sounded ominous.
“You could do with a new cravat yourself, Lindow,” said his wife tenderly, tugging at the slightly frayed silk currently adorning her husband’s neck. “Why, it’s been years since—”
“I don’t need a new cravat, woman! What do you mean?”
“They’re always like this,” murmured Lady Lucy, and Bernard shivered as her warm breath blossomed over his skin as she leaned close.
“Always… Always what?” he managed to say, utterly transfixed by her.
How was it possible that her hair should have been so dark, yet at the same time shimmer like that? It was almost as though gold had been woven through it, or steel, or iron, metallic shades that glinted as they caught the light.
“Always bickering.” Lady Lucy shook her head, but she was smirking. “I used to think all parents who truly loved one another were like that and worried for my uncles and aunts, who are more sedate in their worship of their spouses.”
“‘More sedate in their worship of their spouses’?” Bernard repeated.
It was not really a question, more a statement he did not understand. It was impossible to comprehend such a thing, such adoration between two people, and it lasting not only through the first flush of passion and past children but into the maturer, softer years of one’s life.
It was certainly not something he had ever seen.
Lady Lucy’s smile was friendly. “You will come to the card party, won’t you? It will be awfully dull, but… Well, it will be a sight the likes of which you have never seen, and I would love to introduce you to—I mean, there is so much to aim for, and now your criminal past is behind you…”
She is so earnest, Bernard could not help but think. So earnest, and so clumsy in her care of others. But she meant well—that could be seen from a mile off, and it was difficult to say no to a woman who so earnestly wanted the best for you.
And so Bernard hesitated.
Attending Lady Romeril’s card party would be a bad idea.
It was unlikely that there would be anyone there who would recognize him as Viscount Moray’s son, but there was the possibility…
and besides, it was not as though there could be anything gained from such a thing.
Hovell’s missions never sent him among the nobility, where there was the smallest risk that someone could spot him and know his true name.
He was fortunate his courtroom devotees did not seem to include anyone of the most well-regarded families.
Other than Lady Lucy, what woman of that rank would deign to set foot in such a place?
No, his approach was typically manacle first, in a prison.
Nothing to be gained…and yet, as Bernard looked into Lady Lucy’s eyes, he realized there was something to be gained. Something intensely precious.
Her company.
“Lady Romeril’s card party. A suit from your father. Right,” Bernard croaked, wishing to goodness he had not managed to get himself muddled into this family. “How difficult could it be?”