“Speaking of things that don’t agree,” Lady Densham said, her sharp gaze scanning the room, “I see Lady Haslett and her coven have arrived.”
Louise followed her gaze to a cluster of women sitting on a settee near the windows, their heads bent together, clearly discussing something, or someone, with great interest. Their eyes kept darting toward Louise.
A soft hiss drifted across the room. “—lost everything?—”
Another whisper, sharper. “—charity case, really …”
A third, thinner voice: “—brother vanished—His Grace taking pity on her.”
Louise’s fingers tightened around her teacup until the porcelain practically creaked. Heat crept up her neck despite the coolness of the room.
“Clucking hens,” Lady Densham announced loudly enough for them to hear. “You’d think they’d have something better to do than speculate about other people’s circumstances.”
Lady Haslett flushed and turned away, suddenly fascinated by Lady Harbury’s wallpaper.
“Don’t mind them, dear,” Lady Harbury said to Louise. “They’re just jealous that Cecilia found such a lovely companion while they’re stuck with their dreary relations.”
“I’m hardly lovely,” Louise protested.
“Nonsense!” Lady Harbury leaned forward conspiratorially. “Which brings me to the important question. Is there any gentleman who’s caught your eye? The Season may be over, but that doesn’t mean the marriage mart has closed entirely.”
Louise’s teacup rattled against its saucer. “I’m not … that is, I’m focused on my duties to Lady Merrow and caring for Emily.”
“How refreshingly practical,” Lady Densham approved. “Not every woman needs to throw herself at the first available title.”
“But, surely, you’ve noticed someone,” Lady Harbury pressed, eyes twinkling. “Lord Pemberton’s nephew is quite handsome,if dim. Or there’s Mr. Froman, who recently made a fortune in shipping. Oh! And Octavia’s godson, though he’s a bit of a rogue.”
“Agnes,” Lady Densham warned.
“Then there’s Viscount Ashford, though he has that unfortunate laugh. Sounds like a goose being strangled.” Lady Harbury tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Of course, the prize of the bunch would be the Duke of Calborough, but he’s notoriously?—”
Louise’s teacup clattered. Heat flooded her face as four pairs of eyes turned to her with varying degrees of interest.
“That would be highly inappropriate,” Louise managed. “I’m His Grace’s houseguest.”
“Inappropriate?” Lady Harbury’s grin widened. “My dear girl, all the best things in life are inappropriate.”
“Agnes!” the Dowager Duchess scolded, though her lips twitched. “Stop tormenting the poor girl.”
“I’m not tormenting, I’m investigating.” Lady Harbury studied Louise with uncomfortable intensity. “And on an unrelated note, that is quite a becoming blush, my dear.”
“Perhaps we should discuss something else,” Lady Densham suggested, but her sharp eyes clearly missed nothing. “The weather, perhaps. Very … cold lately.”
“Oh yes,” Lady Harbury agreed solemnly. “Positively frigid. Though I hear Calborough House has been quite warm lately. All those fires burning.”
Louise grabbed for her teacup, desperate for something to do with her hands. She could feel their knowing looks, their barely suppressed smiles.
“Louise?” Lady Merrow’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you well? You look rather flushed.”
“Perfectly well.” Louise forced a smile. “Just warm from the tea.”
“Hmm.” Lady Harbury looked like Christmas had come early. “Tea. Yes. That must be it.”
Across the room, Buttercup let out a tremendous snore, saving Louise from further interrogation. Emily giggled, trying to shift the massive dog off her legs.
“He’s dreaming of chasing squirrels,” Emily announced with authority.
“How can you tell, darling?” the Dowager Duchess asked, genuinely curious.
