Page 63 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
“Out there with another chap, is he?”Lyndon sneered, slurring his words.“Sharing the night air?”
“My balconies are not accessible to guests this evening,” the Earl of Horton informed him stiffly.“I do not wish disaster to befall this house.”
He looked longingly back at the dining room tables, laden with food, and at the dowager marchioness, seated in splendid isolation at the far end, staring straight ahead.“I daresay he will be along shortly.”
Lyndon swigged from his glass.“Doesn’t take one long, does it?”
A dribble of amber liquid ran down his chin.He carelessly wiped at it with his sleeve.“I’d wager one of your footmen is missing too.One of the comely lads.”
“Oooh,” commented Angel, “that’s thrown the cat amongst the pigeons.”
Sure enough, like wind sweeping through a pile of autumn leaves, a murmur susurrated along the queue.Silk fans materialised from within the folds of skirts, faces were madly flapped.
“Lord Fitzsimmons.”The Earl of Horton drew himself up to his not very impressive full height.“I’m not entirely sure I know what you are insinuating.”His gaze flicked to Rossingley for support, who nodded gravely, managing to look both haughty and as if thoroughly enjoying himself.
“May I remind you,” Lord Horton lisped.“This is a private ball, not the back room at Bootle’s.Please note there are virtuous ladies present.”
Lord Lyndon took another gulp before lobbing his empty glass into the only pot within range still standing vertical.“I assure you, my lord, they have nothing to be worried about.”
Lord Horton banged his cane on the floor.“So where the devil is he?Where’s Lord Francis?Does he know?Is the duke unwell?Has he departed early, without a by your leave?”
“His carriage is still outside, my lord,” offered a butler.“At the head of the line.”
“Precisely where its owner should be!”thundered Lord Horton.
Never one to be excluded, Lady Wardholme pushed her way to the front.“He was with me not half an hour gone!Complimenting my choice of neckline.”
“I very much doubt that,” scoffed Lyndon.“Hate to break it to you, my lady, but you are not quite his cup of ratafia, if you catch my drift.Too…” He made a lewd gesture with his hands as if weighing grapefruit.Tommy stifled a snort.
Lord Francis bounded up.“Lyndon.For God’s sake!Control yourself, man.Do you want to be thrown out?”
Rossingley laid a delicate hand on Francis’s arm before bowing to the Countess of Horton.“As amusing as this speculation is, and an endless source of gossip for the coming dull months in the country, all that dancing has made me quite peckish.At the risk of rewriting centuries of decorum, shall we begin dining without him?”
“No!”The countess stamped her foot.“I’m unhappy that the duke has vanished, and his brother is causing a rumpus!I want it resolved immediately.”
“He’s on the balcony,” said a clear, cool voice, floating over everyone’s heads.“Rossingley was right the first time.”
As though pulled by strings, every single guest turned to where Mr Angel stood next to Tommy, lolling against a pillar.
“You knew all the time?”hissed Tommy.“And you didn’t tell me?”
Angel shrugged.An indolent, disreputable smile played at his mouth.Two ladies craning their necks to get a good look at him fanned even harder.“I overheard him demanding one of the footmen escort him to the balcony, as he sought some air,” he added.“One of theyoungerfootmen, I believe.As to the chap’s comeliness, I cannot comment.”
Tommy turned away, covering his mouth with a hand.The bugger.He and Rossingley had been in on the ladies’ plan all along.Everyone was playing their part beautifully, even those with no clue they were on stage, such as the irate Earl of Horton.
As Mr Angel’s words sank in, all eyes returned to Lyndon before swivelling to the dark balcony and then back to Lyndon again, drinking in his smug expression.If he listened carefully, Tommy fancied he could hear shiny pearls clacking against shiny pearls as they were clutched to bosoms.One could power a cotton mill with the collectivewhooshof flapping fans.
The Earl of Horton was the first to find his tongue.“Jackson!”He flung a finger at his head butler, standing guard at the doors leading to the dining room, patiently awaiting the guests to be seated.“Open up the balcony.At once!Let us settle this farce once and for all.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“THE DINNER GONGcan’t be too far off,” observed Benedict as he leaned on the railing, looking out across the dim garden.Blessedly cool now, he was mostly recovered, and his belly rumbled.Beatrice had stopped rabbiting about the flora and fauna ages ago.Now that the light had completely gone, there was naught to see but dark, gloomy trees.
He checked his pocket watch.“I should probably get myself back in there, shouldn’t I?There’s nothing more annoying at one of these shindigs than hanging around, famished, because one arrogant duke or marquis decides he’s not quite ready to dine yet.”
He spoke from years of experience.His father had been a past master.On taking up his title, Benedict resolved never to become that person.
“In a few minutes hence, Your Grace,” remarked a totally different voice to the one belonging to the woman he’d escorted out here, “I doubt anyone will be giving their hungry stomachs a second thought.”
