Page 34 of Lady Daring
“I escorted Miss Wardley-Hines home from the workhouse yesterday, and Lady Clarinda kindly invited me to dinner.” Darien gave her a polished bow. “I hope I am not intruding.”
Lady Pomeroy’s eyes widened as she finally examined Henrietta, noting the pearls at her hair and throat, the delicate expanse of shoulder set off by the red of her India shawl. Her ladyship shot a jealous glance toward her daughter, as if reassuring herself that Marsibel still had the advantage.
A woman like Althea Pomeroy had no inkling of how Marsibel’s girlish pinks and glossy browns were overshadowed by Henrietta’s statuesque auburn and ivory, the bold cut of her collarbones, the enchanting arch of her neck. A man would see it, certainly.
The butler announced dinner, and Lady Clarinda quietly arranged the procession. With a light touch she drew Darien to her side; Charleton took in his aunt; Sir Pelton offered his arm to Henrietta; and Rutherford escorted Marsibel. Sir Jasper strolled in and seated himself at the head of his table with a lack of self-consciousness that made the whole show of precedence look silly.
“I admit our numbers are uneven,” Lady Clarinda said to Darien, “but I was not certain that Charley would be joining us. He often dines at the club with his friends, though we are very glad to have him.” Her eyes twinkled. “And any young lady he might wish to invite, in due time.”
“Which club?” Darien inquired.
“The Eccentrics,” Charley grumbled. “Don’t have a recommendation to Brooks’s, stiff-rumped lot.”
“I could put in a word for you,” Darien offered, wondering why on earth he did so. He did not need the sprig’s approval to succeed with Pell Mell.
“Would have thought you a White’s man,” Sir Pelton said, settling himself beside Henrietta.
“White’s is my father’s club,” Darien replied.
“Don’t have much use for clubs myself.” Jasper smoothed his serviette over his lap. “Do enjoy the coffee shops, though.”
Darien tamped down a grin at Charley’s answering mutter, but he felt along with it the old, dull ache. He had not dined with his own family, whole and complete, since he went down to school. He dimly remembered his father sitting large and imposing at the head of the table and his regal mother keeping her sons in line with no more than her soft voice and a few quelling looks from her magnificent dark eyes.
The pang deepened. Horace had known their mother, and Lucien had spoken of her often. Darien had only vague recollections of her scent—rose water, a touch of hartshorn forher nerves, talc powder, and the smell of oak gall ink when she was writing.
Jasper grinned at Darien. “Hetty warned me you would find our manners shabby. The infamous Lord Daring under my roof! I suppose I shall turn up in a broadside tomorrow?”
Darien blanched, wondering what Sir Jasper had seen of himself already. He glanced across the table at Henrietta. She glowed like a classical statue in her ivory gown, a Diana come to life. The candlelight flickered over the warm golden tones of her skin.
In other circumstances, he would indeed have considered the casual manners of the Wardley-Hines table shabby, at least in comparison to the hightonadhered to at a Bales dinner. But Henrietta’s assumption made him immediately decide that the tradesman’s table had its own convivial charm.
There was no fault to be found in the fare. The family dined in the old style, affably serving one another. Lady Pomeroy was too prim to request a dish beyond her reach, but the others freely interrupted conversation to make sure all the cook’s tasty dishes came within their circuits. Darien gathered that Lady Clarinda had not engaged an expensive French chef but brought down their plain cook from Lancashire, who knew how to produce all of Sir Jasper’s favorite dishes exactly as he liked them.
His first problem was finding someone to drink with. Sir Jasper and Sir Pelton drank with one another at a pace far too slow to suit Darien. Rufie was all but abstinent. Charley was the only one Darien could depend on to meet his eye and take wine with him, and so a glowering truce developed between the two men as they went glass for glass in a discreet, unnoticed competition to see who could best hold his drink.
The conversation was certainly lively and unrestrained. The mill fire and its ramifications were hashed out in full. Henrietta’s trip to the workhouse, the rescue of Mary Ann and her child, andDarien’s part in it were fully elaborated. Jasper and Henrietta argued with Sir Pelton over the proposed Libel Act, with counterpoints provided by Charley, who had not left off the lace at his sleeves in sympathy with the French radicals as some of his set had done.
Even Marsibel was ribbed about Lord Pinochle, who had taken her driving in the park that afternoon. Darien wondered if he ought to mention that Pinochle was under the hatches and on the hunt for a bride to restore his credit.
Rutherford was pressed to speak of his studies, and then, as he had anticipated it would, the scrutiny turned to Darien. The covers had been removed and the dessert trays placed on the table, along with several bottles of port, when Jasper Wardley-Hines lit upon his notorious guest.
“So. Lord Daring. Do you mind the nickname?”
“It seems to amuse people,” Darien allowed.
“And what sort of prospects await you? How does the lesser son of a marquess amuse himself? No estates of your own, I take it.”
“You wouldn’t have heard the news, sir,” Charley said with a savage edge to his voice. “Daring won an estate from its proper owner some years ago in deep play. Stripped the man of everything he had. Word is the former owner blew out his brains the next day, leaving a destitute widow and children.”
Conversation halted. Their expressions were a blur to Darien save for Rufie’s look of horror. His cousin had been at Eton and knew none of the details. Darien never spoke of how he’d obtained The Revels, but he’d been warned by Perry that many held him responsible for the previous owner’s death.
Jasper diplomatically moved on. “What else do you do with your time? Or are you fashionably idle, like our Charley here?”
Henrietta watched him with a curious, level look. Confound her for not being coy and flirtatious like other girls.
“Sir Charleton’s behavior can at least be said to be above reproach,” Lady Pomeroy remarked.
“I’d spend more time at my estate,” Charley said, “had you not hired such an excellent steward, sir. But I find there is little for me to contribute.”
