Page 62 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
“I suppose we’ll have to ask his lordship,” Lizzie said helplessly. Whenever it was he planned to be home. Over Christmas, perhaps. She reached for her wine glass, hoping to lift herself from her strange, maudlin mood.
“Ask me what?”
Lizzie narrowly avoided spilling a great deal of wine across the surface of the table. Her head wrenched to the left, startled to see Luke standing there in the doorway, adjusting his cuffs. Hadn’t he said he did not plan to come to dinner—ever?
“We didn’t expect you,” she blurted out. “There is no place set for you.”
Something of a smile ghosted across his face. “A simple enough problem to solve,” he said, and gave a short gesture to a footman waiting in the wings. “I see we are diningen famillethis evening,” he said as he took a seat, and Jo stuck her tongue out at him, which elicited a chuckle. Within moments, a place setting had been arranged before him. He waved away the wine, but accepted a serving of chicken. “Ask me what?” he repeated.
“Well—it is just that Imogen will need a wedding gown—”
“Anda trousseau,” Imogen hastily put in.
Not so much as a flicker of concern marred Luke’s face. “Of course. Naturally, you’ll all be needing new wardrobes.”
Imogen released a squeal of glee. “Oh,thank you! I have always wished to visit Bond Street.”
“Ihaven’t,” Georgie said sullenly, poking at the roasted potatoes upon his plate with the tines of his fork.
Luke smothered a snicker in his hand. “Nevertheless, you’ll need a new wardrobe or else you’ll look like a street urchin amongst your peers at Eton. You’ll have a new wardrobe as well, Jo—though I doubt you’ll find a Latin tutor on Bond Street, however. I’ll have to place an advertisement for one.”
“AndGreek,” Jo said, with a pugnacious tilt of her chin. “It’s very important, sir.”
“Cheeky,” Luke muttered. “All right, I suppose Ididpromise as much.”
He had? When? “And Willie,” Lizzie found herself saying, since it seemed Luke was inclined to be generous. “It’s been years since he’d had anything to wear that wasn’t repurposed from Papa’s old things.”
Again, not even a twitch. “Fair enough. I suppose responsibility for the Talbots includes even honorary ones. WhereisWillie this evening?”
“He doesn’t like your fancy plates,” Jo said. “Says he feels like he’s dining at court. So he’s eating in the kitchen.”
“Aremy plates fancy?” Clearly bemused, Luke gazed down at his place setting. “I never considered.”
Of course he hadn’t. He had never had to protect what little crockery he owned because he could not afford to replace it. Probably only one of his brilliant white plates painted with delicate silver filigree would have cost more than their entire collection of mismatched dinnerware.
“Buy new if it pleases you,” he said to Lizzie with a shrug. “And there is always the informal dining room, should this one not suit your purposes. Possibly Willie will feel more comfortable there.”
Possibly pigs would spontaneously sprout wings and fly.How anyone could feel comfortable in this mausoleum was beyond her. “I’m sure we’ll manage,” she said, ducking her head to avoid meeting his eyes.
“I’ll send a note round to Susan this evening,” Luke said. “No doubt she’ll be happy to take you shopping tomorrow.”
Imogen gave a giddy wiggle in her chair even as Georgie and Jo exchanged matching groans.
“We wouldn’t wish to impose—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Susan’s a notorious busybody. She’d bedelighted, I assure you.” He gave a careless gesture with the point of his knife. “This is your home now,” he said. “If there’s anything you’d care to change, do as you like. Just have the bills sent round to me. It’s been years since the house was last redecorated.”
Probably, Lizzie supposed, and surrendered her fork as her appetite fled,Celiahad been the last one to do it.
Chapter Twenty Four
Three dinners out of seven Luke had attended. It wasn’t so very many, but it was still more than Lizzie had dared hope for. They had gotten more convivial once she had moved them to the informal dining room, with its smaller table, in a room that did not permit the row of footmen silently awaiting orders.
Notquitewhat they had been accustomed to in Hatfield—but similar enough that even Willie had joined, though still he had lamented of the precious china upon which they were all served.
In the week that they had been in London, a great number of things had transpired. Susan, Lady Sudley, had, in point of fact, been delighted to take both Lizzie and Imogen beneath her wing and thrust them into the thick of high society. She’d had an announcement of Lizzie’s marriage run in all the papers, and guided Lizzie through the subsequent dizzying blur of morning calls that had followed in the wake of that surprising news. Several of those callers had been ladies whom Lizzie suspected had been Luke’s previous paramours. One—the stunningly beautiful Lady Glendale, a widow who had, according to the whispers that had reached her ears, been the woman who had most recently secured Luke’s attentions—had been catty to the point that even Susan had taken offense, and had brought the call to an abrupt end.
There had been visits to modistes and milliners, and even a subscription to a ladies’ club, which Susan had insisted was an absolute necessity to beanyonein London society. Lizzie had been content enough to be a nobody in Hatfield, but since there seemed to be no other option, she had bowed to Susan’s greater wisdom.
