Page 18 of Lady, Behave
Lady Forbish, shocked by the Gyles’s bluntness, had ceased her search of his assets. At least one good thing had come of his sire’s nastiness.
“Dunno, son. I say it’s worthy here. Wouldn’t you like to know, my lady, how these people’ve robbed hundreds of their prized possessions? They’ve got paintings, sculptures, even families’ jewels!” His father stared at Lady Forbish with mischief in his brown eyes. Did his father know how this woman liked to fondle a man’s jewels for her entertainment?
“Astonishing, Your Grace!” Lady Forbish had the good sense and courtesy to dismiss him.
“I promise more later, then.” The ungracious Duke of Stonegage raised his glass in a promise.
“Do that, Papa, and you stoop to the same level as the man whose name you wish to tarnish.” That was aggressive, but Gyles no longer cared if his father suffered embarrassment at this table. Gyles, tempted though he was, should not rise to leave the insulting conversation. One did not leave the table before the Regent, even if George appeared well into his own cups. But shame his father, Gyles would, if the man continued in this vein. His own discourtesy he would make amends for, always.
“The whole family is corrupt. Blood tells, my boy.”
“Boy” had long been the term that could send Gyles over to a void. The word had been the one French guards used in Verdun to shame their British prisoners. Old or young received the dismissive appellation freely and often with beatings to accompany, including Gyles. Worse, his father knew the word could rouse the devil in his only son and heir.
If minutes ago he’d seen flashes from the tiny swaying crystals above his head, he now saw them flare in anger. One type of megrim was as bad as the other.
“Forgive me, my lady,” Gyles said to the woman on his left. To Lady Forbish he said, “Please disregard whatever you hear from my father. I must leave at once. I find the air quite morbid.”
“By your bad manners, boy, you shall not deter me!”
By yours, you cannot rule my life.Gyles had learned to think for himself in Verdun. He would not stop now.
He lifted his brow at a nearby footman. The servant rushed to his side. “Convey my apologies to His Royal Highness, as I am suddenly ill.”
At that, he threw down his serviette, shot to his feet, and strode away.
*
Addy accepted thehand of the Rensfords’ footman to climb the gangway to the family yacht. Head down, she picked her way along the uneven planks and fought thefrissonof calamity that shook her to her bones. She had slept well last night, yet this morning she was shrouded in a stormy premonition of disaster. Their mother had often felt a similar cloud before a horrendous event occurred to her or a member of the family. Neither Laurel or Imogen shared this trait, and thus, Addy kept her trepidations to herself.
“You are quiet, Adelaide.” Cass patted her hand as she and Laurel joined her on deck. “You do like to sail, don’t you?”
Unlike poor Imogen, Addy had no such challenges with the roll and pitch of the sea. Because of Imogen’s poor stomach, she had remained at home and happily waved off the other three to today’s event. Lord and Lady Rensford, lights of Brighton society, hosted a select group of guests on their own vessel. The regatta today was not a race, per se, but an excuse by the Rensfords and one other family to show off their new yachts.
“I do enjoy the sea, Cass. When we were little, Grandpapa took us to Cork, where he was a member of the Water Club. We’d sail down in his schooner for races in the summer. Not Imogen, of course. My only concern now,” she said as she fingered her parasol in her failure to spot Gyles on the dock, “is the sun.”
“Be sure to find your way to the ladies’ saloon to sit in the shade,” Cass said. “Each of us is very fair. And we have much to do these next few days. A red complexion won’t help us in any way!” Cass sounded much too happy and turned her attention to the receiving line of their hosts. “Let’s present ourselves. Shall we?”
As Addy and Imogen took their places beside Cass, silence fell.
Laurel caught Addy’s gaze. With a glance, she led Addy to observe Cass kneading her hands. The lovely lady who had come to their rescue was a lioness of London society. Affable, accomplished, and at thirty-six still considered an Incomparable, Cassandra, Lady William Downs, had never twiddled a thumb in distress. Yet since their first night at the Exleighs’ ball, Cass acted oddly. She embroidered often, though lately, her stitches were a cat’s ball of dull colors. She played the pianoforte usually beautifully, yet lately, lost notes. She also daydreamed, and that had never been her practice before that fated ball.
Today, she showed a penchant to describe in abundant and repetitive detail each person in the receiving line.
Addy shrugged at Laurel, unable to divine the cause of Cass’s behavior.
Other guests ahead of them chatted quietly among themselves, and Addy pouted when she still did not spot Gyles’s tall form. She craned her neck to survey the dock. Alas, she spotted two men whose interest in Laurel had not pleased her oldest sister in the least.
Addy cleared her throat and nudged Laurel’s elbow to direct her attention to the gangway.
Her sister took one look and raised her brows in exclamation. The two fellows who had consumed her attention at tea yesterday, Lords Penury and Warble—as Addy had vicariously dubbed them—had not come up to the mark for Laurel’s hand.
Cass, who had the lateston ditabout everyone, had told them more as they traveled to Cowes this morning. “Lord Penhurst lost an extremely large amount at cards last week. I also have it on good authority that he is not the best manager of his little estate.”
Lord Warble seemed no better.
“He’s a widower twice over,” Cass added with a frown.
Laurel set her teeth. Yesterday, she’d told Addy that Warble was missing quite a few of his own.
