Page 59 of How to Ruin a Duke
Jeremiah patted her arm.“The cook tippled, meaning she claimed to use much more of the wine in her recipes than was necessary.Rather than expose her own pilfering, she overlooked yours.At public school, the errand of purloining libation from the wine cellar is assigned to the newest boys.They feel daring and bold and provide a needed service.”
He yawned, the weather making him drowsy.Then too, he’d been up late the previous evening.
“Well, I can promise you no public school boy ever stole his papa’s cigars and smoked them in the orchard.”
“Antigone, dearest, if a boy—any boy, from the royal princes to the drover’s pride and joy—has a father who indulges in tobacco, that boy eventually steals from the humidor and coughs himself silly trying to learn to smoke.He ends up light-headed and sick to his stomach, and his dear father ignores the lad’s reeking clothing.Some traditions cut across all classes.”
Antigone stabbed her needle through the fabric and set aside her hoop.“You are being awful.”
“I’m being honest.Why have you prepared this list of follies?”
“So I can attribute each one of them to somebody I dislike and write a wildly popular novel.I will be famous and have lots of money and everybody will wish they’d thought of it first.”
Oh, dear.Jeremiah was torn between laughter and terror, for Antigone was stubborn beyond belief.“You do know that Lady Caroline’s reputation never recovered from penningGlenarvon?She was never allowed back into Almack’s, and many fashionable doors remained closed to her.Is that what you want?”
“Nobody ever liked Lady Caroline; besides, I’ll write as if I’m a man recounting my sister’s mistakes.”
An interesting ploy.“And if your identity should be revealed?”
Uncle Frederick thumped away at the pianoforte, taking a repeat that Jeremiah was sure the composer hadn’t included in the score.
“Nobody will find out who the author is,” Antigone said, leaning near.“Emory has been trying to determine who wroteHow to Ruin a Duke, and ifhecan’t unearth that information, with all his resources, then no anonymous author need worry for her privacy.”
Valid point, damn the luck.“How will you manage the vast sums that come pouring into your coffers in exchange for penning this disaster?You aren’t yet even permitted your own pin money that I know of.”
Antigone turned innocent blue eyes on him.“I was hoping I could count onyoufor that sort of assistance.I know you can be discreet when necessary, and I’d be willing to share a bit of the proceeds with you.”
“Do you know what Emory would do to me if I in any way aided you?Do you know what he’d do to you?”Though, thundering choruses on high, what if Antigone enlisted the aid of one of her throng of admirers?
“His Grace can’t stop me.Do you know, I’m glad somebody wrote that awful book.Emory is a plague on my freedom.When he’s preoccupied with his literary troubles, he hasn’t as much time to interfere with my life.”She paused to look around the parlor.“I got a letter from Sir Prendergast.”
Real alarm replaced Jeremiah’s amusement.“I do not want to hear this.”
“He’s a very resourceful fellow.I’m sure the footmen thought the letter was from a former schoolmate.The penmanship was all flourish-y and the paper was scented with lemon verbena.”
Uncle’s sonata transitioned into the slow movement, thank the merciful angels.
“Sir Prendergast is a very married fellow, Antigone.He ought not to be sending you anything, ever.”
She fluffed her skirts.“He’s unhappy.He wrote to apologize to me for all the trouble and disappointment he caused.I thought that quite gallant.”
If Jeremiah scolded her, she’d sulk as only Antigone could sulk.The next time Sir Prancing Ninny wrote to her, she’d tell no one, until some daft elopement was in train—or worse.
“Antigone, do you recall the incident inHow to Ruin a Dukewhere His Grace planted some fellow a facer behind Carlton House?”
“Very unsporting of the duke, but who will tell the likes of Emory that brawling nearly on the street isn’t the done thing?”
Carlton House’s grounds were not ‘nearly on the street,’ which was beside the point.“Emory drew the other fellow’s cork because that man was making ungentlemanly comments about a lady.The lady is of good birth, and this bounder presumed to announce that he could lift her skirts on the way to Gretna Green, and the woman’s family would have to accept him as her husband.”
“What has that tale to do with me, Jere?”Murmured over the rippling chords of the adagio.
“The idiot announcing his perfidy was Sir Prendergast.Emory could not call him out, because they are of such different stations.I suspect that’s all that saved Sir Prendergast’s life.Prendergast was boasting about a young woman’s ruin, all but on the street, as you say.Now you tell me he’s writing to you, probably pilfering his wife’s perfume to disguise his letter.Burn that letter, Antigone, and I will inform the gallant knight that you see his wicked lures for the selfish schemes they are.”
“You are making this up.Sir Prendergast would never say such things about a proper lady.Maybe she wasn’t quite proper.Did you or Emory ever think of that?Not every woman has the scruples I’ve been raised with.”
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.“I was there, Antigone.Prendergast didn’t realize he would be overheard by your cousins.He clearly mentioned the lady’s name when he bragged to his cronies.”
The sonata shifted into a minor key, appropriate for the rainy day and this hopeless conversation.
