Page 41 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
“Lord Vernon admires you greatly.” Falfield’s gaze swept her from head to foot and up again. “I can certainly see why.”
She blinked, speechless, and noticed people nearby watching.
“No lemonade left,” Hermione said, handing her a glass, “but I have brought ratafia.” She eyed the young man and said, “Good evening. Will you introduce us, Lady Chilcombe?”
“Lady Hermione Gravelston, this impertinent young lad is Frederick Falfield, Diddenton’s nephew, currently staying at Wickfield Hall.”
“I see.”
Hermione did see. Blythe had apprised her of the damage done and suspected culpability.
“Lord Chilcombe will certainly want to meet you Mr. Falfield,” Blythe said. “Ah, and you’re in luck. He approaches now.”
* * *
Anger simmered within Graeme, his throat raw from holding it back. The disrespect shown Blythe was worse than he had expected. The disrespect shown to him… that had certainly surprised him.
In particular, the conversation with Mrs. Jarrow.
“I had hoped you might have heeded my advice this morning,” Mrs. Jarrow said. “I must go further and suggest to you to be mindful of the standards of our community. This is not London, where men and women may dance?—”
He cleared his throat.
She straightened. “It is just that the lady does not have a good reputation. She is known to?—”
“Mother.” Jarrow’s appearance halted that particular slander.
But did not stop her. “You are new to the title, Lord Chilcombe. I would not like to see your reputation tarred with the same brush?—”
“Tarred by whom, madam?” Graeme interrupted. “Yes, I certainly would not like to see my reputation, er, defamed because of my civility toward my cousin’s widow. Or is slandered a better word than defamed? More actionable, as it were. What do you think, Jarrow? You’re the local magistrate now.”
Jarrow pressed his lips together.
“Surely civility doesn’t include such dancing as we witnessed tonight?” Mrs. Jarrow went on doggedly.
This local biddy had the gall to think she should advise him on his behavior. He supposed the waltz with Blythe hadn’t helped matters, but he’d never admit it to her. “The waltz? I’ve danced it in Paris and Vienna, though having only just arrived tonight, this was my first opportunity in England to waltz with a lady.”
“If she is a lady.”
“She very much is, Mother,” Jarrow said. “If you noticed, I danced with her myself and will do so again tonight if she will grant me another opportunity.”
Graeme had taken his leave then, walking away from the circle of women and Jarrow, and found Blythe and Hermione standing with a man.
From a distance, he thought it was Lord Vernon Falfield, but as he approached he realized it was a younger version of the villain.
Blythe made introductions. Frederick Falfield was residing at Wickworth Hall.
“Wickworth Hall?” Graeme asked. “So you are a near neighbor of the property at Bluebelle Lodge.”
The fellow’s mouth firmed. “I’m a guest. My great uncle allows me to stay there at times.”
“Does he indeed?” Graeme gazed into young Falfield’s eyes until the lad started to squirm. “I shall certainly call on you, Falfield,” he said. “We have matters to discuss.”
Falfield blinked. “I can’t imagine?—”
“Can you not?”
Falfield demurred and slithered away to join the other young bucks who were ogling Blythe in a most unpleasant way.
