"What are you going to do now?"
"I don't know. My best recourse will be to continue the acquaintance of Randolph and his friends, though I believe after what happened this morning, my hopes of continually being talked around as if I don't exist have been quite dashed."
"Why, what happened?"
"Randolph made some vulgar comments about me in my hearing for which he was snubbed quite brutally by Lady Bramcroft. His friends did not bear him sympathy, either. Odds are, however, that now he will be very mindful of my presence."
"Oh, dear. But he shall recover, for Lady Bramcroft—though a tartar—is not a scion of the ton. She and Lord Bramcroft live fairly retired. Moreover, I'm surprised they came to Oastley Hall."
A knock on the parlor door interrupted them. "Excuse me, ma'am," the footman said, addressing Cecilia.
"Yes, Stephen?"
"The duchess is asking for you. She's in the Chinese room, ma'am."
"Thank you, Stephen. I'll go to her at once." The footman bowed and left. "And you, Jessamine, why don't you lay down before dinner? You look quite done in. You know you'll need your energies this evening to be able to do Miss Cresswell's latest ensemble," she teased.
"Bah, don't remind me," grumbled Jessamine good-naturedly. "But I'll own that is a good idea. I'll do that before mother gets the notion she needs my services as well."
"I say, Haukstrom, hadn't realized until we came here what a devilishly fine filly your little sister is when tricked out properly," declared Lord Havelock later that day as he watched Haukstrom rack up the balls for billiards.
Randolph straightened and cast Lord Havelock a long look. "Cecilia? Well enough, I suppose, but e'gad, who'd want to be leg shackled to a walking apothecary?"
Branstoke, seated in a nearby chair reading the newspaper, raised his head to listen.
"Don't seem too afflicted to me," said the Honorable Mr. Rippy, chalking his cue stick.
Randolph snorted. "I've done the pretty by her the past few months—escorted her to some dashed dull affairs, too, just as you suggested, Harry, to raise my esteem in society. Which it has, I'll own. But let me tell you, this is one of her good spells. No, no gentleman. Only consider who she's been married to!"
"E’gad Randolph, don't be such a snob. It isn't as if she smells of the shop, not being brought up that way and all," protested Sir Harry."If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so."
"It is my understanding that it was a marriage you and your father arranged to see you through some, shall we say, rough seas?" offered Branstoke raising from his seat and sauntering toward the group. What an ill-assorted group, too. He wondered what drew them all together. Deep play?
"Well, what of it? That's all in the past. I'm Nye's heir now, though I don't get the titles, dashed unfair that is. And Waddley's dead."
"Precisely," Branstoke said blandly. "So I ask, why the prejudice against your sister?"
"I ain't prejudice against Cecilia. At least not directly. I don't like how that Waddley fellow changed her. Nor all the strings he placed on the ready when I was not so plump in the pocket." He picked up his mug of ale from the sideboard.
"Changed her?"
Randolph grunted and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Before she married him, she always was a quiet, biddable little thing. Looked at you with big blue eyes, all innocent-like."
"Perhaps she just grew up," suggested Branstoke.
"That wouldn't make her harp about her confounded health or try to cut a wheedle when you talk to her about Waddley or of that confounded business of his."
"But as you said, that Waddley fellow's dead.Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it . . .Now it's your sister as has all his money. Be a good chap," cajoled Sir Harry, buffeting him on the arm. "Consider your friends. We don't have any rich relations giving us health allowances. Let us have a chance at her."
"Eh, what? Yes. Let the best man win and all that!" agreed Mr. Rippy.
Randolph pulled at the tip of his nose. "Does seem a damned shame to let all that money rest in her hands. She'd probably just spend it on one quack physician after another."
"It might answer," murmured Lord Havelock, looking at the ceiling, his lips pursed in thought.
"Am I to understand you gentlemen are going to take up the pursuit of Mrs. Waddley?" Branstoke idly asked, pulling out his snuff-box and flicking it open with his thumb.
"Yes, just so. Care to place a wager, Branstoke, on the chances of any of us succeeding?" Sir Harry asked, the light of play in his eyes.
