Page 51 of The Tart's Final Noel
Patience rolled her eyes.Brydie’s uneasiness transferred to thinking about Damien and his reaction to her bosom and the bed they’d someday share.Lust only muddied her thinking.
“Am I supposed tocirculateas Damien is doing?”Brydie sipped her sherry and grimaced—not a taste she meant to acquire.
“Only if you wish to,” Patience said with a shrug that drew more eyes than just her husband’s.“But in emerald green, with all your dramatic auburn hair, you have been noticed.People will wish to be introduced.I believe all the men here are married except for Arnaud and those three young colts looking for fences to jump.Clare will have set you in the middle of them at the table to keep them from Lavender.”
Brydie knew she wasn’t beautiful.Her riotous hair had been tugged and crimped and pinned into momentarily behaving, so it looked respectable for a change.And she had a full, if not voluptuous, figure.But she was plain of face and knew it.As long as Damien accepted her as she was, she didn’t mind her short lashes and freckles.
“And here comes Viscount Chatham now,” Henri said with an ominous growl.“The title is newly acquired and he looks to burnish it with conquests.”
“Am I to be pleased to meet him or punch him in the nose?”Brydie tried not to watch the arrogant lord approaching.She gauged him to be about her age, her height, and not given to activity that led to muscle.Henri’s comment did lead her to hope he was a bibliophile, as were many of the manor’s guests.He had an excellent tailor.The tails of his coat were longer than any here, and his gold buttons gleamed against a waistcoat so exquisite, it might be made of gold thread to match his golden hair.
“I never recommend punching at first introduction,” Henri said solemnly.“But I have already met him.”
Brydie was uncertain if he meant that as a threat and didn’t have time to question.The young viscount was upon them.
Apparently having rejected sherry, he lifted his brandy snifter in salute.“You cannot occupy all the lovely ladies in the room, sir.I demand equal time.”He made a polished bow that allowed him to ogle thoroughly without spilling a drop.
Nose punching might be required, but Brydie had learned simpler tactics over the years.A young viscount wasn’t any more impressive than any other man who lacked respect for her person.And she was here to investigate, which gave her largess to act as needed.
After Henri performed the introductions, she smiled at the room past the viscount’s shoulder.“And who are your companions, my lord?Shouldn’t I be allowed introductions to all the interesting gentlemen?”
“I am far more interesting than they are.Shall we stroll around the room so I may prove my worth?”
He really was as shallow as Lavender had warned.A viscount, imagine that.Perhaps there was more to him than he wished the world to see, but she could find that out right here.“Decidedly not,” she told him.“I am a mere farmer’s daughter with no interest in titled gentlemen.Who are your companions?Are you all related to the late earl?”
Ignored by the suave gentleman, Henri and Patience stood guard in amusement.
“Both younger sons,” Chatham said dismissively.“You may forget them.We are here for the hunting and fishing.His Grace recommended us, said we might learn something.So far, we have learned the brandy is excellent and the unattached ladies are few.”
“Village life tends to be boring,” Henri said with false sympathy.“Everyone working to put food on the table...”
Displeased, the viscount dismissed the taunt.“Servants put food on the table.”
Apparently bored of each other’s company, the other two Town gentlemen approached.The viscount was forced to make introductions.They ogled too.Brydie considered going fishing.The river was swift this time of year.Did gentlemen swim?
“Lord Chatham was telling usservantsput food on the table,” she told the thin-faced, rather mean-looking one called Watson.He had a sharp nose.Could that be described as Roman?“Our local baker died recently, so the rest of us are having difficulty putting bread on the table.Do you like toast with your morning tea?”
Patience uttered a muffled choke that might be laughter or a warning.Brydie didn’t care.
“Find a new baker,” Mr.Watson said callously.“The city is full of them.”
“But this is not a city.Villages have only one bakery and the locals rely on it for their bread.Can you imagine going off to work with no breakfast?And no sandwich to tide one over at noon?”Brydie hid her spite with a smile.“Or can you even imagine going off to work?”
The one introduced as Shaw sputtered.Shorter and sturdier than his companions, his russet hair less fashionably styled, he appeared on the verge of apoplexy.“I cannot think this a proper discussion.I understand the poor woman murdered in her bed was not the sort a lady should even acknowledge.”
“Andthatshould not be mentioned now,” Henri cut him off curtly.“If any of you are from around here, you should appreciate that every village has a bakery.Most people do not have ovens.We are all in mourning.”
“Are you from around here?”Patience asked sweetly, re-directing the topic.
Having taken a dislike to the privileged trio, Brydie would have preferred to hammer toes and knuckles.
“London, Stratford, and all parts in between.”Watson bowed.“Can you not send to Birmingham for a baker?”
“The bakery belongs to a family in the Americas.We’re not likely to hear from them for weeks.Or even if we did, Birmingham is currently inaccessible, and it would be impossible to find a baker there.”Brydie could tell she was making no progress on the investigation, but these simpletons increased her confidence.“The bridge is out.”
The viscount blinked in surprise and looked concerned.“The bridge is out?We cannot go up with Villiers to his estate when we leave here?”
“You’ll have to return to Stratford and take the toll road,” Patience explained.
