“I— Did I?” He was looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I forget what I said yesterday.”
Liars really ought to spend some time sharpening their memories.
“You told me,” she reminded him, “that you had not even heard of the local scandal, which had seemed so catastrophic to us. You told me that to your knowledge there had been no great scandal here in London, that Papa’s...behaviorwould not even be frowned upon to any marked degree here provided he was always discreet. You told me that anyway you have never spent much time here. Or indulged in the reading of the gossip columns of the newspapers. Were you lying yesterday? Or are you lying now?”
He slowed the carriage to a walking pace and kept his eyes on the path ahead.
“Did you know my father?” she asked.
“No.” He sighed audibly again. “I never met the late Earl of Stratton.”
“Then why on earth did his name come as such a shock to you that it provoked you into calling his daughter soiled goods in the hearing of a number of her neighbors at Ravenswood?” she asked him.
He turned to face her after pulling the horses to a full stop. He was looking a bit white about the mouth, she saw. His eyes were troubled. She felt not one iota of pity for him.
“I had heard he was a... an unsavory character,” he said. “When I was at Oxford, perhaps? It is hard to remember. I was very young, very righteous, very judgmental in those days. It disturbed me to learn when I visited a friend for Easter that the infamous earl I had heard of lived close by. I do beg your pardon for the whole sorry episode, though I know you cannot forgive me.”
He was still lying. She was quite certain of it. His explanations were as full of holes as a tea strainer. But he was clearly not going to tell her the truth. There was no point in pressing the matter further.
“I wish to go home,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “I will take you.”
They moved off again along the path and soon came to the wider avenue they had left several minutes before. There were pedestrians and horsemen and other carriages in sight now, including an open barouche in which a man and a woman sat facing the horses and three children sat opposite them, two boys with a girl sandwiched between.
“Uncle Luc!” the older boy cried, waving an arm when he spied the Marquess of Roath. “I am going to sail my boat on the Serpentine.”
Both conveyances stopped.
“And I am going to sail my duck,” the little girl said.
“You don’tsailaduck, idiot,” the younger boy said. “I am going to sit on the bank and read my book, Uncle Luc. I have twelve pages left.”
“Did my ears deceive me?” the man asked. “Did you just call your sister anidiot, Raymond? I believe an apology may be in order.”
The woman smiled serenely at the marquess before transferring her gaze to Philippa as the boy was muttering a grudging apology to his sister. “I believe all of our manners have gone begging,” she said. “Present us, if you please, Luc.”
“I have the honor of presenting Lady Philippa Ware, sister of the Earl of Stratton,” he said. “My sister Charlotte, Lady Philippa, and her husband, Sylvester, Viscount Mayberry. Their children, Timothy, Raymond, and Susan, in descending order of age.”
They all exchanged greetings. Lady Mayberry beamed at Philippa. So did Susan.
“I made Lady Philippa’s acquaintance at Aunt Kitty’s tea party yesterday,” Lord Roath explained.
“I was sorry to miss it,” the viscountess said, addressing Philippa. “Alas, we were obliged to attend another... Hmm. I hesitate to call it a party. Most of the people there were political types and spent almost the whole afternoon talking ad nauseam about that annoying little man Napoleon Bonaparte and his escape from Elba. It was one giant yawn, Lady Philippa, I promise you. I heard so many ridiculous theories about how and why that escape came about that I had a hard time remaining civil. I suppose it will mean war again, though, since it would appear the French are still besotted with their former emperor and are flocking to his banner. I do hope youenjoyed Aunt Kitty’s tea. Her entertainments are usually jolly affairs.”
“I did,” Philippa said. “I particularly enjoyed talking with your sister.”
“Jenny refuses to mope in the country,” the viscountess said, “though she would have every excuse for doing so. She loves to come to town when she can. I greatly admire her spirit.”
“Mama-a-a,” the little girl said pointedly.
“We have a duck here that is desperate to get into the water and be sailed,” her father said, smiling at Philippa.
“Will you come with us, Uncle Luc?” the girl asked politely. “You can bring Lady Philippa with you.”
“I must beg to decline your kind invitation on both our behalves, Susan,” he said. “Lady Philippa needs to go home. She is going to watch a play tonight and must not be late. Everyone in the theater would boo and hiss at her, and perhaps even the actors too. I will very definitely attend the launch of your kite, however, as I promised this morning. I would not miss it for worlds.”
“Lady Philippa can come to that too,” Timothy, the older brother, said with boyish eagerness. “It is a super kite. I made it myself with Papa’s help and a bit of help from Susan. She is going to paint it. We are going to fly it here on the first windy day. Do say you will come with Uncle Luc. It will be jolly.”
