A Crime of Manners (22 page)

“You are very good, mees,” Felice responded with open admiration for the girl.

Henrietta handed her the pink tourmaline ring and returned to her bedchamber. She wondered how the duke would react to the news of the ring switch. She allowed herself to picture his handsome face regarding her with high esteem when she presented her discovery and the genuine ring to him. Smiling, she found herself hardly able to wait for the days to pass so she could see him again, and they could solve Lady Fuddlesby’s mishap with none being the wiser.

* * * *

In the duke’s bedchamber the evening of the dinner party, Tyler, very stiffly on his stiffs because of the appalling condition of the duke’s clothing after his adventures in the countryside, helped his master into an evening coat of darkest blue.

In a corner of the room, Sir Polly Grey gnawed with contentment on a branch placed inside his cage for this purpose. He paused in his task to mutter in the seventh Duke of Winterton’s voice, “Giles. An heir. Marriage.”

Tyler pursed his lips at the parrot, and asked the duke in an oppressive tone, “What shall we wear in our cravat this evening, Your Grace? The ruby or the diamond?”

“You decide, Tyler. I shall be eclipsed by Lady Mawbly whatever I wear.” The duke knew there was nothing that brought more satisfaction to the valet than when he deferred to his opinion on dress. It was the least Giles could do after the valet had fallen into a near faint at the sight of his soiled and scratched Hessians.

After selecting a large ruby pin and placing it artfully in the folds of the duke’s cravat, Tyler took advantage of his master’s complacent mood to offer another opinion. “I hear Lady Mawbly’s daughter, Lady Clorinda, is a suitable girl. Will she be one of the party this evening?”

Sir Polly Grey’s beak stilled. Black eyes alert, he cocked his head to one side in a listening manner.

The duke was not prepared to discuss the ladies of his acquaintance. “Yes, Lady Clorinda will be here with her parents. Where is the matching ruby ring, Tyler?”

While Tyler fussed with finishing touches, Winterton’s thoughts turned to Miss Henrietta Lanford. He hoped she had gained useful information. Lord Mawbly, still in possession of the paste ring with his wife none the wiser, grew more anxious by the day. Giles had seen him at White’s and had delivered his invitation to dine. The timid man had accepted, and beseeched him to bring the matter of the ring to a close before Lady Mawbly became suspicious.

Accepting a bottle of spicy scent from Tyler, the duke applied the lotion sparingly, then left the room to descend the stairs.

Arriving in the drawing room, he reflected the tedium he had experienced upon his arrival in Town had somehow vanished. He wondered what had occurred to bring new sparkle to his life, then brushed the puzzle aside.

His hand reached out to a bowl of red roses adorning a Chippendale table. Touching a soft petal, Giles looked forward to crossing swords with the intriguing Miss Lanford.

He did not connect his acquaintance with the girl to the disappearance of his boredom.

Chapter Twelve

The first of the guests to arrive at the Duke of Winterton’s dinner party were the Mawblys. Lady Mawbly, diamond and gold necklaces flashing against a bronze-colored dress, ushered her daughter into the drawing room.

The duke’s eyebrows rose at the sight of Lady Clorinda, dressed in virginal white. The neckline of the girl’s crepe gown rose to her throat. Her only jewelry was a proper set of pearl earbobs that peeked out from behind the demure golden curls arranged charmingly around her face.

Perhaps he had been too hasty in his conclusion that the lady was forward. Recalling his manners, Winterton greeted his guests while a footman offered glasses of wine. “Lady Mawbly, Lady Clorinda, I am happy to have you here this evening.”

Lady Clorinda sank into a smooth curtsy. “Thank you, your grace. I am honored to be invited and must compliment you on your exquisitely tasteful home.”

“Indeed, your grace. Everything is as it should be,” interposed Lady Mawbly, her rabbity face fairly twitching with curiosity while she examined the costly contents of the drawing room.

The duke suppressed a grimace. Lady Mawbly

was an odious woman, but one he would have to tolerate if he wed her daughter. Clorinda’s father, on the other hand, was a good sort of fellow, but in the duke’s opinion needed to assert himself with his wife.

“Ah, Lord Mawbly, for a moment I thought the ladies had arrived without you.”

Lord Mawbly trailed into the room looking hot and uncomfortable. “Good evening, your grace. If you please, I must speak—”

“Giles!” Matilda, Dowager Duchess of Winterton, interrupted, sailing into the room with Colonel Colchester. Dressed in regal purple, she served as the duke’s hostess for the evening. “I captured Owen coming downstairs from his apartments, and tried to scold him for his tardiness in welcoming our guests. But the maddening man pointed out I was equally at fault.”

The dowager duchess smiled teasingly at the handsome military man. Matilda had observed, with displeasure, the way the colonel had positively fawned over Clara Fuddlesby at Lady Chatterton’s musicale. She considered the colonel her own territory because he had been a close friend of her husband for many years. A strong competitive nature made her determine to redirect the colonel’s attention toward herself.

The colonel appeared puzzled over the lady’s flirtatious manner, but indulgently played along.

Winterton strolled over to her side, raised her gloved hand, and gave it a brief kiss. “You look attractive in purple, Mother. It suits you. Good evening, Colonel.”

“Going to be a deuced fine party, my boy. Hope we get that information we need,” his godfather responded with a significant look at his godson.

Matilda rapped the colonel’s arm with her fan. “Information? Pshaw! You gentlemen and your business dealings. This is a party. Remember we are here to enjoy ourselves.”

The duke’s elderly butler, Prestwich, shuffled into the room and announced in a feeble voice, “Lord Sebastian and Sir Thomas Martin.”

“Hallo, everyone,” the affable Sir Tommy called out. He bowed to the ladies.

The duke gave a brief nod to Lord Sebastian, who moved away to greet the dowager. Winterton shook hands with his friend Sir Tommy, giving him a reproachful glance over his arrival with the aging dandy, Lord Sebastian. “Tommy, I have not had the pleasure of seeing you since Almack’s opening night.”

Sir Tommy looked rueful. In low voice he said, “Sorry, old fellow, but your mother needed another gentleman to make up the numbers, and told me to bring a friend. Sebbie was the best I could do on short notice, especially when there’s a cyprians’ ball tonight.”

The duke chuckled. “Forgive me, Tommy, for keeping you from choosing your next chere amie.”

Ignoring the taunt, Sir Tommy said, “Don’t get on your high ropes over Sebbie. He may be a rattle, but he’s inoffensive enough, and besides, he’s togged out to the nines.”

Turning to Lord Sebastian, the duke saw he wore an exceptionally well cut cornflower-blue coat. The gentleman appeared acquainted with the Mawblys, and they had moved over by the fireplace and were chatting amiably.

Out of the corner of his eye Winterton thought he saw Lord Mawbly signal to him, but at that moment Prestwich announced, “Lady Fuddlesby and Miss Henrietta Lanford.”

All eyes turned to the new arrivals. Lady Fuddlesby, in burgundy silk, nodded to the company and made as if to join the colonel, who had smiled at her entrance.

Standing beside the colonel, Matilda gave Clara a chilly nod, then laid a possessive hand on the military man’s arm and resumed their conversation as if Lady Fuddlesby did not exist.

Lady Fuddlesby stopped short, a crestfallen expression on her round face. Perturbed at Matilda’s slight and hurt by the colonel’s seeming unconcern, her ladyship remained where she was, at her niece’s side.

Henrietta was dressed in an ivory satin gown trimmed with violets. White gloves covered her arms to just below the puffed sleeves of the gown. Violets adorned her dark, glossy curls, and a dainty necklace of amethysts circled her slim neck.

Henrietta hoped she was not staring. The duke’s town house was the epitome of elegance, the classically inspired furnishings done in blue and gold understated in their resplendence. The grandeur overwhelmed and intimidated Henrietta, but she squared her shoulders against the prying eyes of the gathering.

The duke excused himself to Sir Tommy and crossed the room to the ladies, unaware of Clorinda’s jealous gaze boring into his back. “Lady Fuddlesby, Miss Lanford, you both look lovely this evening.”

Dropping a deep curtsy, Henrietta said, “Thank you, your grace. My aunt and I are delighted to be your guests.” Surely she imagined that he held her hand overlong when she rose from her curtsy.

The duke led them over to Sir Tommy and performed the introductions.

Lady Fuddlesby nodded at the young man distractedly, her attention riveted by the disgraceful way her old rival, Matilda, was flirting with the colonel.

Sir Tommy ran his gaze over Henrietta. “By Jupiter, Miss Lanford, I am pleased to meet you. Remember you from the opening night at Almack’s. Prettiest gel there in your silver gown. Wanted an introduction, but had to toddle off early.”

Henrietta liked the tall, friendly Sir Tommy at once, although the mention of Almack’s brought a blush to her cheeks as she remembered her embarrassing behavior that night. She was sure the congenial young man could have no notion her vouchers to Almack’s had been withdrawn after that night. “You are kind, Sir Tommy.”

Turning her head so she might address a remark to the duke, Henrietta was taken aback by the look of warning Winterton was giving his friend. Almost as if he thought Sir Tommy’s comments toward her overwarm. Looking back at Sir Tommy, Henrietta was further perplexed when she caught a wide, knowing grin on the gentleman’s face.

She had no time to contemplate the strange exchange between the men, for just then a footman opened one of the drawing room’s double doors holding a tray of glasses in his hand. Henrietta watched, astonished, when Sir Polly Grey flew over the servant’s head, into the room, to land on a Greek bust from where he peered at the company curiously.

“Giles!” Matilda shrieked, causing instant silence in the room. “Get that creature out of here at once.”

Lady Fuddlesby bristled. “Oh, Matilda, you always were a silly creature. ’Tis just the duke’s jolly little parrot, not a dragon come to breathe fire on you until you are burnt to ashes.”

Henrietta’s eyes opened wide at her aunt’s harsh statement, which almost sounded like her ladyship wished the dragon might appear. With a sniff, the dowager duchess ignored Lady Fuddlesby’s remarks, turning to the colonel for support.

Colonel Colchester spoke to Matilda quietly, further infuriating Lady Fuddlesby, who picked up a glass of wine from the tray and drank its contents in one gulp.

A rather stout man with graying brown hair and numerous fobs hanging from his waistcoat rose from his seat by the fire and said, “I’faith, Duke, does the bird speak? If so, mayhaps it could tell me who the charming ladies are at your side.”

Henrietta detected the duke’s hesitation before he spoke. “Lord Sebastian, may I present Lady Fuddlesby and Miss Henrietta Lanford?”

Henrietta curtsied to a smiling Lord Sebastian, and acknowledged the Mawblys, who had also risen.

Lord Sebastian raised his quizzing glass and eyed both ladies appreciatively.

Next to Lord Sebastian, Lady Clorinda and Lady Mawbly had identical looks of distaste. Lady Mawbly whined, “Your grace, can you please have that bird removed before my nerves become overset?”

The footman had set his tray down and was trying to capture Sir Polly Grey. When the servant pounced on him, the bird panicked and flew to the other side of the room, causing more uneasiness among the ladies. A stray feather floated down to land in Lady Mawbly’s wine, causing the woman to let out an ear-piercing shriek before the footman rushed to replace the glass.

The duke walked determinedly toward where Sir Polly Grey had landed on the back of a blue satin settee. “Sir Polly, come here at once.”

Winterton held out his hand in the manner of a perch, but the parrot disregarded the command. Instead, his black eyes fixed on Henrietta.

Henrietta moved to stand next to the duke. “La, Sir Polly Grey, how wonderful to see you again. However do you manage to get out of your cage? You must be the most intelligent bird I have ever known.”

Sir Polly Grey left the settee to fly in Henrietta’s direction. Quickly she placed her reticule on a table and raised her gloved hand. The parrot landed on it with a happy squawk.

Matilda said derisively, “Miss Lanford, how fortunate we are that despicable bird is attracted to you. Since you have been clever enough to charm him, now he can be returned to his cage without delay.”

But when the duke reached for Sir Polly, intending to take him upstairs, the bird shrank away from him, fluttering its wings as if it would fly away at the duke’s touch.

Winterton heaved an exasperated sigh. “Very well, Sir Polly, Miss Lanford will take you upstairs. You do not mind, do you, Miss Lanford? Prestwich, escort Miss Lanford to Sir Polly Grey’s cage.”

Perceiving an opportunity to speak to the duke privately about Lady Fuddlesby’s ring, Henrietta said, “Your grace, will you accompany the butler and me? I fear Sir Polly may prove troublesome on the stairs, and I would be glad of your assistance.”

Lord Mawbly startled the company by hurriedly saying, “I shall join you.”

His wife’s incredulous expression and words stopped him. “Silias! Don’t be nonsensical. The duke and Miss Lanford will be chaperoned by his butler. They do not require your presence.”

Lord Mawbly sat miserably on a gold and blue striped chair.

Henrietta, talking softly to Sir Polly, left the room with Winterton and the butler.

As she looked after them, Lady Clorinda’s lips formed into a petulant pout. Here she was, dressed in a gown that looked as if it belonged to a Methodist, and the first thing Winterton did was leave the room with that country nobody.