Page 89 of The Lyon Returns
“No, no, lad, I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of one of your prized, tailor-madeensembles,” he said in a mocking French accent. “I’ll make do.”
“Suityourself,” his son said, laughing aloud at his own pun.
Gwen forced a smile. For the life of her, she could not see what Gideon and the overly suave man had in common, other than their shared youth.
She recalled an event recorded by Gideon which seemed to have clinched the long-standing bond between the two. It involved an accident, whereby Gideon had fallen over an escarpment into the Mole after a time of heavy rains. Gideon had no real memory of what occurred, because, according to Brice, he’d fainted before tumbling over the edge. Brice, with Grayson arriving in time to lend his assistance, had risked drowning himself to pull Gideon out.
Gideon might have died without Brice’s timely intervention. Gwen shivered at the thought and ordered herself to rethink her dislike of the man. There had to be more to the showy—no, dashing—Brice Tyrell than met the eye.
During her musings, Lord Culver and Mr. Tyrell had struck up a conversation concerning the upcoming parliamentary session, and topics they wished to see addressed. Veterans’ aid, justice reform, land management. No mention of women’s issues, she noted, and wondered how they would react if she broached the topic.
“Gideon, I hear tell Dreyfus wishes to restrict trade of—” Brice paused to wince in her direction. “Apologies, madam. Going forth we shall restrict our discussion to one all, including the ladies present, might enjoy.”
“Please, do not trouble yourselves on my account, gentlemen,” she began, with a polite smile. “There are no shortage of ladies with whom I can strike up anappropriateconversation.” If she stressed the wordappropriatea little more than necessary, more was the pity.
Turning from the men, she saw the glint of amusement in Gideon’s magnificent eyes. Then he and Lord Culver exchanged looks. The baron’s expression seemed to read,I understandandgood luckall at once.
But then, he was Lady Amelia’s husband. The woman was nothing, if not an original.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gwen sipped herchampagne and glanced about the drawing room in search of a destination.
Lady Amelia and Lady Georgina had joined the duke, Grayson, and the Floyds’ conversation. She started to move in their direction when she noticed Lady Mary, Brice’s wife, across the room, sitting alone on a blue velvet sofa apart from the crowd.
During the afternoon, Gwen had gained an impression of the lady as a shy, good-tempered sort who lacked the social polish one typically found amongst the nobility. As she still bore the monikerladydespite having married amister, her father must be or have been a peer.
Gwen meandered forward, trying to imagine Brice wooing sweet Mary. She was hardly the sort of woman a society-minded man like him would choose to display on his arm. She more pictured him with someone like the stately Mrs. Trent whom she had nearly convinced herself had been Gideon’s mistress.
She chuckled to herself recalling the moment, on the night she met the duke and duchess, when she’d relayed Mrs. Trent’s message for Gideon. Everyone present had reacted so strangely, and suddenly, sheknewthe woman wasGideon’s mistress.
Then, Grayson mentioned running into Mrs. Trent’s husband. Knowing Gideon’s recent mistress was a widow like herself, his revelation had greatly relieved her mind. She could only guess Gideon’s brother and father simply did not like Mrs. Trent any better than Gwen had upon meeting her.
In any case, she did seem more the sort of companion Brice Tyrell’s taste would run to than did his wife. Mr. Tyrell had either married Lady Mary to gain entry into the noble class, or, more likely, his bride had come with a bucket of money as her dowry.
As to why Lady Mary married Mr. Tyrell, Gwen decided she had married for love. She would be putty in the hands of the elegant and charming Mr. Tyrell.
The round-faced, curly haired lady looked up with a weary smile at Gwen’s approach.
“How are you, Lady Mary? Not too fatigued after our tour of the vast gardens today?” Gwen asked.
“Good evening, Lady…I mean Mrs. Devereux. My feet do hurt something awful,” she admitted.
“Mine, too,” Gwen said. “I’ll join you.” She lowered to sit beside Mary.
Mary smiled in shy welcome. “You’re very pretty, and nice, too. I like you much better than…” Her face colored. “Oh, dear. Brice told me not to mention her.”
“It’s all right. Say whatever you like. I promise not to breathe a word of our conversation to anyone.”
She beamed. “I told Brice you seemed nice. I told him the duchess don’t…doesn’tflummox you like she does me.”
“And what did he think of that?”
“He laughed. He said the duchess could frighten the leaves off a tree.”
“She’s only a woman, flesh and blood like you and me.”With weaknesses and hurts, Gwen thought with a twinge of guilt. Perhaps shejudged Lady Ashwood too harshly. One never knew what trials another suffered, and it was never good to assume. Like Reggie, like she herself to a lesser extent.
“Lady Tyrell, did you know my husband’s late wife?”
