Page 32 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
The withdrawing room proved brighter with more modern windows that looked out onto a knot garden. Three couples sat scattered across the room in little groups.
“Lord Theodore and Lady Cordelia,” the footman announced. “Husband and wife.” Another snort, his words drawn out with all the suspicion he likely possessed in his entire body.
And all six of the room’s inhabitants looked up, including Pentshire, who stood and bowed. “Lord Theodore, welcome. With your arrival, our party is complete.” He crossed the room, bowed so low he almost kissed his knees, then popped up with puppy dog grin for Cordelia. “Quite lovely, aren’t you?”
“Don’t you have your own muse?” Theo drawled.
“Certainly. Come meet her.” He led them across the room, and the woman he’d been sitting with stood. She had yellow hair and delicate features and a low-cut bodice threatening to rip under pressure. Buxom was an understatement. “This is Miss Mires. Maria, my love, meet Lord Theodore and Lady Cordelia.”
Theo bowed, Cordelia curtsied, and Miss Mires giggled.
“She’s a farmer’s daughter.”
“I am.” Miss Mires frowned, regarded Lord Pentshire with narrowed eyes and downturned lips. “But I’mmorethan that, Tommy.”
Pentshire kissed the top of her head. “Indeed you are.” He turned to Theo. “Do you wish to meet the others?”
Introductions happened quickly. Baron Armquist and his mistress Mrs. Meredith Bexford, an actress. Mr. Trevor Castle and his wife. A merchant and a lover of oil paints.
“The other guests,” Pentshire said, “are about somewhere, and I am sure you will meet them in time.” Lines bracketed his mouth as if something displeased him. “Everyone has already begun to break into little groups. There’s one walking the grounds and another in the gallery above stairs.”
Mr. Castle bowed deeply when introduced. “I apologize for my rather tame circumstances. No mistress to speak of.” He took his wife’s hand and smiled softly at her. “I found it best to secure my inspiration by taking my muse as wife when the opportunity arose.”
Unless the man hid a deviant spirit behind a jovial façade, he seemed a trustworthy fellow. Theo would keep close to Mr. and Mrs. Castle, leave Cordelia in their care so he could rummage about the estate, spy a bit, keep his focus where it should be—on his work. And hopefully they would prove not only protection for Cordelia, but the sort of connection she’d need to fund her school quickly.
“Did Pentshire say your name is Bromley?” Mr. Castle sidled up to Theo, glass of wine in hand.
Theo stiffened. “He did.”
“And was the Marquess of Waneborough your father?” Theo nodded. “We attended his house party the last year of his life. He was a kind man. Brilliant too.”
“It is so good to hear someone else praise the marquess.” Cordelia finally stepped away from Theo’s side, close to Mr. Castle.
“Did you know him?” Mrs. Castle asked Cordelia.
Theo knew two things in that moment. His initial instinct about the couple had been true. And if he didn’t find a corner to hide in or a glass of wine to pour down his throat, the deluge of praise for his father would kill him. Absolutely not an exaggeration.
“Pardon me, Mr. Castle,” Theo said, “but where’s the wine?”
Mr. Castle gestured to a bottle on a long table at the side of the room, and Theo found it, poured a glass, and returned. Too soon, apparently.
“I’ve never met a kinder man,” Cordelia said. “So full of passion and generosity.”
“Full of something,” Theo mumbled into his wineglass.
Cordelia raised a copper brow, stole his wine, sipped some between her full pink lips, then handed it back with a wink.
The Castles and Cordelia ignored him.
And her wink muddled him, as it always did, so Theo sipped his drink, his lips touching the glass where hers had, and studied the others—Pentshire with his armful of a farm lass and Lord Armquist and his actress. Theo had read about her in the papers. Used to scandal, she was.
He wished the other guests were close to hand to see how likely it would be to gather usable gossip from them. But if Armquist and his actress were any indication, the other guests would prove just as scandalous. The house party itself would prove so beyond the pale he’d be able to live off the gossip gathered from it for years.
“Pentshire,” Theo called out, “what is this to be like, then? This little gathering?”
He smelled Cordelia before he heard her, felt her arm brush against his. “Be less obvious, Theo darling.” She spoke so low through gritted teeth he barely heard her.
Pentshire strolled over, his arm around Miss Mire’s waist, and the baron and his actress joined them.
