“No.” Lark shook his head. “He’s got his eye on an entirely inappropriate woman, though.”
Anthony clapped his hands in delight. “I love it. Who?”
“The Earl of Canbury’s daughter.”
Anthony’s eyes widened. “There’s no way the dowager duchess would ever let Swynford near anyone even associated with Canbury.”
“I know.”
“The rumors about Canbury wearing women’s clothing in public are falsehoods, but I’ve heard he has a male lover. I actually suspect a spurned lover is responsible for the clothing rumors. And who knows, perhaps Canbury likes to wear a silky chemise in the bedroom.”
“I’d rather not contemplate that,” said Lark, unwillingly allowing a mental picture of the beady-eyed Canbury in a woman’s undergarments.
Anthony chuckled. “All right. I will stop hoarding your time. I need to go out of town for a few days to attend to a tenant issue at my estate in Surrey, but I will be home in time for the Wakefield ball. I shall see you there, yes?”
“I imagine you will.”
As Lark sat down with his friends—from what he could tell, Fletcher was telling a story about a trip to his tailor on Savile Row, one Lark had already heard—he smiled at everyone. When Fletcher wrapped his story and Hugh laughed as he was supposed to, Hugh turned to Lark and asked, “Who was that?”
“Anthony Pearson, the Marquess of Beresford,” said Fletcher, sounding irritated. “He’s been paying you a lot of attention lately, Lark.”
“He snared me on the way back from the retirement room to ask my advice about something,” said Lark, which had been true enough. Although the question Anthony had asked was, “Do you think anyone would walk into the cloakroom if we spent a few minutes there?” And Lark’s response had been, “Let’s find out.”
“Is he a friend of yours?” asked Hugh, looking puzzled. “My gut tells me I do not like him. He’s quite… foppish.”
Lark laughed. “He’s a lot to take, that is true. I suppose he has his charms.”
“Lark can be foppish,” said Owen. “And yet we keep him around.”
“That is not precisely what I meant,” said Hugh.
“Even understanding that, my answer does not change,” said Owen.
Lark rolled his eyes and picked up his snifter of whisky. He took a healthy sip and let the liquor burn his throat pleasantly on the way down.
Under different circumstances, Lark would have gleefully related the rumor that Canbury had a male lover because it was just the sort of gossip his friends seemed to eat with a spoon. But given that Owen seemed to already be implying that he knew Lark and Anthony were lovers, and given that Hugh seemed sweet on Canbury’s daughter, it seemed ill-advised to mention it.
“Beresford told you something, didn’t he?” asked Fletcher. “Some bit of rumor you are reluctant to share for some reason.”
“If you must know, I asked Beresford about Canbury.”
That definitely caught Hugh’s attention.
“I know you are fond of Lady Adele,” Lark said, “but you should know, her father is something of a laughingstock.Beresford thinks someone with ulterior motives is the one spreading rumors and nothing said about Canbury in the scandal sheets is true, but people believe the rumors anyway, so the damage is done.”
“It is true he aspires to a position in the king’s government,” said Owen.
“Oh. Yes,” said Lark. “That is true. The ridiculous rumors about dressing as a woman are pure imagination, however.”
Hugh guffawed. “People are saying that?”
“Everyone in thetonis an unrepentant gossip,” said Fletcher.
“Remember that MP caught up in a similar rumor maybe ten years ago?” asked Lark. “What was his name?”
“Miller, I think,” said Owen. “Ah, Lord Broward.”
“That rumor was also false, as I recall,” said Fletcher.
