Page 7 of The Odd Riddle of the Lost Duchess
Ann shrugged daintily. “I threatened to tell Mother about a certain widow named Lady Juliana.”
“He is having an affair with a widow?” Emmeline frowned.
Mr. Owen was Ann’s brother and only two years younger than the ladies, but despite his age, he was wild and did what he pleased. He had the same basic coloring of Ann, only with a darker hue of hair, a rakish smile, and reckless disposition.
Ann brushed back a stray strand of her hair with her fingers and sighed. “Ladies prey on him because he is wealthy and handsome. I attempted to make him understand that this lady intends to take advantage of him.”
“What did he say to that?” Emmeline inquired.
“He told me to mind my own business. Then he said that if I go to our parents about this matter, it will make no difference as he will continue to do as he pleases. He also asked, quite angrily, whether I believed him to be a fool.” Ann sighed again, shaking her head woefully.
Emmeline grinned as her friend was apparently given to theatrics. “At least he knows what the lady is about, so it is possibly a relationship based on Mutualism, Ann. That is a biological theory in the animal kingdom. One is doing the latter a service, while receiving benefit in return.”
“I see,” Ann said finally. “So, which is my brother?”
Emmeline deliberately ignored the sarcasm in her friend’s voice. “I believe he is receiving a service, while Lady Juliana is the receiver of payment of some proportion.”
“Good heavens, Emmeline! Where do you even get these notions from?” Ann cried in horror at the visualization.
“I read it in a science journal once,” Emmeline said nonchalantly. “I realized it could be attributed to men, as well as dumb beasts.”
The ladies stared at each other for a moment, before being consumed by laughter. It was difficult to stop–tears ran down their cheeks by the time they gained a semblance of control.
“On a serious note.” Emmeline sobered, thinking about the impending adventure. “We will need have a feasible excuse that will not require a chaperone, so no balls or soirees, and then make use of a hackney carriage since your coachman will tell your father of our whereabouts.”
Ann nodded. “I shall discuss this with Owen and tell you the particulars soon.”
* * *
Henry, Viscount of Croxton, studied the Duke of Newberry while comfortably seated in the depths of White’s. The latter’s behavior had been peculiar strange for several days now, and it was a fact that extracting any kind of information from Noah was akin to pulling a tooth rooted in bone. Hence, he waited for his friend to discuss the reason for his mood.
Henry sipped whiskey from a crystal glass, while Noah smoked one of his favorite imported cigars. Tendrils of smoke swirled around White’s, full of gentlemen trying a hand at whist, quinze, or making merry in male company.
A group of gentlemen were crowded around a table, placing wagers on whether a certain debutante would marry a certain man of the peerage or not. Henry shook his head, as he knew that as soon the man in question discovered the wagers, which as a member of White’s was certain to happen, he would have their hides whipped.
A year ago, Henry would not have believed that he would be married to Lady Alexandria. During his rakish years in society, he had never been struck speechless in front of a lady, let alone a pretty little widow, until Lady Alexandria had walked into his life.
“Whatever is the matter with you today, Henry?” grumbled Noah, “You look worse than a lady on her monthly.”
Henry spluttered in shock. “I? You are the one who has been grumbling like an old woman since this past week!”
Noah scowled blackly. “You have not said a word since we came here, my man.”
“That is because I am waiting for you, sir, to cease your brooding and tell me what has you all agog,” Henry demanded.
Noah relapsed into stubborn silence while Henry shook his head and continued to drink. The Earl of Browning joined them several moments later.
Henry was relieved, as Lord Browning’s constant gossip about various events of the season was a distraction. Noah was not fit company at the moment.
“...and Leverton’s girl. Is she not a beauty?” Lord Browning was saying. “My father tells me her mother was much more beautiful–striking rather–with very fair hair.”
“Your father gossips like an old lady,” said Noah irritably.
Lord Browning frowned. “Oh yes, I remember your rivalry with Newberrys.”
“Ido not have a rivalry with anyone,” Noah snapped.
“Am I mistaken? Don’t your families have a–” the Earl blanched at Noah’s vicious glare scorching his skin and coughed nervously, “Um, excuse me, sirs, I think I have to go see Lord Geer.”
