Page 63 of The Secret of Flirting
“Butlordscan marry actresses, can’t they?” Lady Ursula put in. “I have heard of it. Wasn’t Lord Derby’s late wife a former actress?”
Gregory tore his gaze from Monique. “His second wife, yes. Which was why they weren’t much accepted in society. It’s considered beyond the pale.”
“I don’t know,” his mother mused aloud. “The Duke of Bolton married an actress, and the Earl of Peterborough married an opera singer, which is practically the same.”
“Both were second wives,” Gregory pointed out.
“What about Louisa Brunton? She was the Earl of Craven’sfirstwife.”
Damn it, why must his mother press this? “Certainly it’s been done, but when you can count the number of such marriages on one hand, it clearly isn’t common. Most lords are too conscious of their position to risk such a union.”
“Which is precisely why British lords are so very dull, sir,” Monique said with forced lightness. “They follow rules rather than their passions.” When he shot her a black look, she added, “Present company excepted, of course.”
“No, no, you’re right,” his mother had the audacity to say, “at least about my son, anyway. While I would not call Gregory dull, he can sometimes be overly a slave to rules. Although he wasn’t always like that.”
Mischief leapt into Monique’s eyes. “Do tell,” she crooned.
“Well...” his mother began.
“Mother,” he said in a warning tone, “our guests have no desire to hear about my youthful peccadilloes.”
“On the contrary,” Danworth said, a certain glee in his face, “I would thoroughly enjoy such tales.”
The thought of Danworth spreading Mother’s stories at St. George’s made Gregory scowl at him. Besides, he was still annoyed with the man for preventing him and Monique from continuing their delightful, though unwise, encounter.
“I, too, would find it entertaining,” the count said, with a bit of a smirk. “Wouldn’t you, Pontalba?”
“Most assuredly,” the damned Frenchman drawled.
“You see, Gregory?” his mother said. “They all think you too rigid and serious, and I mean to show them that youcanbreak the rules sometimes. That even you have a reckless side.”
Oh, God.
“Anyway,” she went on, “even as a small boy my son was quite a pistol. Seven months after his brother was born, he got jealous of the baby getting so much of my attention, so he hid poor John under his bed. When I came to the nursery, Gregory met me at the door and announced very loftily that the fairies had flown off with John, and there was naught we could do about it.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Then, even as Gregory was spinning his sad tale, John crawled out giggling from beneath the bed. Apparently, he found the whole thing a fine game. Seeing that his plan had gone awry, Gregory burst out with, ‘Ooh, look, they must have flown him back! They’re quick, those fairies.’ ”
As the room erupted in laughter, Gregory grumbled, “For God’s sake, I was four years old.”
“Almost five,” she corrected him. “And as willful a lad as I ever saw, even when your father—”
She caught herself before she could say “disciplined you.” Which had been Father’s euphemism for knocking him about.
Gregory took a long swig of his wine, wishing it were something stronger. He rarely drank spirits, but tonight he might have to make an exception.
“Then there was Gregory’s first year at Eton, when he was ten,” Mother went on. “He attended at a younger age than some gentlemen’s sons, because his father felt it would be good for him. As did I.”
Actually, Mother had talked Father into sending him away, trying to protect her son from the man’s worst abuses. And Gregory had always been grateful to her for that. No punishment for minor offenses at Eton had ever been as terrifying—or painful—as Father in a drunken rage.
“Slowly I began hearing reports of him,” Mother went on. “A polite letter from the headmaster, a not-so-polite letter from another boy’s mother... even a note from a local rector. And they all said the same thing. Apparently, my son had become quite the prankster.”
“You?” Monique said to him, half-incredulous. “A prankster?”
Gregory shrugged. “School was too easy. I had to entertain myself somehow.”
Mother rolled her eyes heavenward. “He sent a fake note to one of the older boys, supposedly from a maid the lad fancied, stating that she would love to kiss him in the arbor. So this poor fellow did what he thought she’d asked and got himself slapped for it.”
