Page 78 of Too Scot to Handle
“Lord Colin has asked to pay me his addresses.” Small words and not too many of them. Even considering how much punch Mr. Montague had consumed, their meaning should be within his grasp.
His expression turned pensive. “I’m so sorry. That must be terribly awkward for you, given the family connection. I could have a word with him, but you mustn’t blame Lord Colin too much. His brother did marry your sister, and subtleties such as lack of a ducal title might be beyond Lord Colin’s notice.”
What on earth to say to that? You’re a presuming dolt who’s not fit to polish his lordship’s boots?
“He’s put you in a very difficult position,” Mr. Montague went on, patting Anwen’s hand again. “As devoted as you are to the orphanage, you’ll encounter him there, even aside from family gatherings. I’ll simply tell him his overtures are a bit too late, shall I? And nobody will blame you if you take a repairing lease from the House of Urchins now that the coffers are in better health. I’ll explain to Lord Colin that my own interest in you predates his, and he’ll leave the lists as any gentleman should—any honorable gentleman.”
“You’d lie to him, pretend you and I had an understanding, and suggest I step away from the orphanage?”
Mr. Montague drew himself up, which coaxed forth a burp from his belly, though he stifled it, probably from long practice.
“For you, Miss Anwen, yes, I’d take a small liberty with the chronology of the factual details, as it were. I do esteem you greatly, so greatly I might not be entirely misrepresenting the situation, if you take my meaning.”
He peered down at her, one eyebrow arched in question.
“Your sacrifice is entirely unnecessary, Mr. Montague. Honesty is the best policy, provided it’s tempered with kindness. In that spirit, I must tell you that I have not rebuffed Lord Colin’s overtures. You’ll excuse me now. I’d like to invite Lady Rosalyn to join me at the orphanage tomorrow morning. She’ll doubtless be as eager as I am to tell the boys of the evening’s success.”
Anwen wiggled her hand free of Mr. Montague’s grasp and marched into the ballroom. She’d rather have stayed with him on the terrace, giving him the setdown of his presuming, arrogant, useless life.
This was the Windham charity card party, though, and standards must be maintained.
* * *
“At the risk of approaching vulgarity,” the Duke of Moreland said, as the clock struck twice, “that is a bloody lot of money, gentlemen. My duchess has much to be proud of.”
Colin let the old boy preen, because Moreland was right, not because he was a duke. “My thanks, Your Grace, for making the party possible. The evening has been in every way a success. A dozen children will benefit and possibly many more.”
“And I thank you as well,” Winthrop Montague said from opposite Colin at Moreland’s library table, “on behalf of the House of Urchins, and also on behalf of all who enjoyed themselves this evening thanks to your hospitality.”
Moreland ran a finger down a long list of figures. “Her Grace was getting bored with the same soirée, year after year, and frankly so was I. My brother claims soirée is the French word for standing around making idle chatter at the expense of one’s wits. This card party will be the talk of the town for the rest of the season, and one does like to do one’s part for the less fortunate.”
The difference in fortune between a child like Joe, and the card players who’d kept the Moreland staff busy into the small hours, was the difference between John O’Groats and Mayfair.
“If that’s all, then,” Montague said, reaching for the sack that held all of the cash and coins. “I’ll take this to the House of Urchins and stow it in the strongbox until the banks open on Monday.”
“We’ve yet to list the jewels,” Colin said. You never finish a job without counting the take. The boys’ advice seemed appropriate when Win Montague and a sum of money were involved.
“That will take another hour,” Montague protested. “It’s the middle of the damned night, MacHugh.”
The duke paused in his ciphering. “You’ll think me old-fashioned, Montague, but indulge me, please. In this house, we observe proper address when wearing our evening finery. Yonder Scot is Lord Colin until he’s back in his riding attire. Her Grace put that rule in place nearly thirty years ago, and it’s served us well.”
What a splendidly gentle rebuke. Montague’s ears turned an equally splendid shade of red.
Rosecroft spoke up for the first time. “We divide the jewels into four piles, each of us making a list of one pile, and each checking the work of the man to his right. We’ll be done in fifteen minutes.”
“Excellent notion,” the duke said, which settled the matter without Colin having to call Montague out for attempting to abscond with the jewelry.
The lists were an impressive display of the generosity polite society was capable of. Rings, necklaces, cravat pins, even the occasional pair of cufflinks or earrings sat in glittering heaps about the table.
“We shouldn’t sell all of this at once,” Colin said, when the lot had been inventoried. “We’ll get a better price if we parcel it out a little at a time.”
“How do you propose we keep it safe while we’re parceling it out?” Win retorted.
“The banks will keep it safe,” Colin said. “And until we can get the lot of it to the bank, we have a strongbox at the orphanage, to which only you and the headmaster have the combination.”
Colin did not, and wouldn’t ask for it, not while Win was playing dandy in the manger as chairman of the board.
“I don’t like having so many valuables stowed among those children,” Montague said, collecting the jewels into another sack. “But I suppose it will have to do. Now might I take this lot to the orphanage, Lord Colin?”
