Page 49 of Tamed By a Duke
"I do hope that Miss Drew picks you over the other lout who is trying to woo her with the blooms," Agnes had whispered, as she showed Hugh to the door. "Miss Drew deserves the best of men, not some silly-sausage who thinks her head can be turned with flowers."
"Er. Yes," Hugh had been unable to reply. In Agnes' eyes, he was the best of men, but unbeknown to her, he was also the fool with the flowers.
With a heavy heart, Hugh had made his way home, but after a morning of dealing with dull correspondence from his estates, he decided that he needed something stiff to brighten up his afternoon.
Thankfully, as he entered the morning room in White's, he saw that his friends had also sought heartening libations.
"I take it Miss Drew has not replied to you?" Orsino called in acknowledgement, as Hugh took a seat at the table by the bow window.
"What gave it away?" he asked, stifling a sigh.
"Well, your face is as long as Prinny's tailor's bill, and you seem to have missed three buttons on your waistcoat," Montague supplied helpfully.
Hugh glanced down at his waistcoat, only to find that it was buttoned correctly.
"And you're so out of sorts that you believed you might actually have presented yourself as less than fully dressed," his friend added, with a roguish smile.
"I should call you out for that," Hugh grumbled, as he slipped into his chair, "It's not sporting to kick a man whilst he's down."
"If you're down, then what on earth should we call Dubarry?" Orsino questioned, with a nod toward a table near the back of the room. Dubarry's blonde head was easily spotted, given that his hair resembled a toppled haystack. His appearance was even moreébourifféthan usual; his clothes were hideously mismatched, his lapels bore wine stains, and he was, Hugh realised, deep in his cups.
"The younger Miss Drew must have given him the cut," Orsino reckoned, "People speak fondly of the brotherhood of men, but heaven help any man who might upset the sisterhood."
Hugh, having grown up with four sisters, realised this was true. There was nothing more frightening—or effective—than women united by a cause. The two Drew sisters had obviously joined forces against Hugh and Dubarry, and it was clear that hope was lost for both men. They would do best to surrender to their sorrow, rather than attempt to do battle against the sisters.
"Should I call him over?" Montague wondered, as Dubarry gave a loud, mournful hiccough.
"Well, as things can't seem to get any worse," Hugh replied, "I don't see why not."
Dubarry was duly summoned, and Hugh winced as he watched his cousin weave his way on unsteady feet toward them.
"How goes it, cousin?" Hugh queried, as Dubarry sank into the chair beside him.
"I have been pricked by the thorns of love and the wound, I fear, might be fatal," Dubarry replied morosely, taking a sip from the glass of wine he had carried over.
"Er. I take it Miss Bianca is unimpressed with you?" Hugh queried, while Montague and Orsino fought valiantly to hide their smiles.
"That might be something of an understatement," Dubarry gave a sigh as long as a winter's night, "She thinks me reprehensible."
"But you were only trying to help her," Montague interjected, outraged on the young man's behalf.
"Yes, but my attempts at helping inadvertently hurt her beloved sister," Dubarry cast Hugh a withering glance, "Not to mention that she was upset that I had not told her of my plans."
Hugh squirmed in his seat; he was the reason that Dubarry had kept their plot a secret, and all because he had wished to lightly torture a bluestocking.
"She cannot hold it against you forever," Hugh said bracingly, wishing to offer the young man some hope.
"Never underestimate a woman's ability to hold onto a grudge. My mother still reminds my father about the time he described one of her cousins as 'comely', and that was twenty years ago."
Montague's face fell, as he realised that this was not an appropriate anecdote with which to regale Dubarry. The poor musician looked even more crestfallen after hearing the marquess' tale, which was worrying, for Hugh had not believed it possible that his cousin could look any sadder.
"Not that that has anything to do with anything," Montague mumbled, picking up his glass and placing it to his lips, perhaps in hope that if they were kept busy, he might not say anything else foolish.
"She will never forgive me," Dubarry gave a hopeless shrug, "And nor can I blame her. I have written umpteen letters, each one unanswered. What more is there that I can do?"
Montague, who had been busy sipping on his brandy, gave a splutter of indignation at Dubarry's words. The marquess looked askance at the young man, in obvious disapproval.
"What?" Dubarry questioned, impatiently.
