“People are truly sad,” Ariana said.
“It’s thrown up a few oddities,” he said, adding potatoes. “Last week a foreign ambassador’s wife turned up to a reception in white.”
“No!” Ariana exclaimed.
“Why?” asked their mother.
“I’m told white’s a mourning color in some countries. That’d make our spring assemblies pretty sad affairs, wouldn’t it, with all the hopeful misses in their pale silks and muslins?”
Ariana almost said something about hopeful misses,but managed to repress it. She did say, “I doubt you’ve been inside Almack’s in years.”
“Gads, no. Dull stuff there. Cribb’s Parlour’s more my style.”
“Pugilism?” his mother exclaimed.
“All the thing, Mama. Keeps a fellow in trim. A man’ll hear it from Cribb’s if he’s bellows to mend.”
“Don’t sink to cant, dear.”
“Apologies, Mama.”
“And I don’t like to think of you under attack.”
“It’s all in good fun.” Norris flashed a look at Ariana. “No danger at all.”
How could he take the matter so lightly? Ariana reminded herself to keep the peace. “What do you find to do with yourself in Town amid all the gloom?”
“There are still private parties to enjoy, and other amusements. I took part in a splendid steeplechase near Chiswick. The Great All-Black.”
“‘All-Black’?”
“In keeping with mourning. Men to be dressed in black and riding completely black horses. The price of an all-black horse rocketed the week before, but of course I had Torrent.”
Lady Langton smiled at him. “Then of course you won, darling.”
Norris was a brilliant rider and could afford the finest horses. Torrent was his best.
“Neck and neck with Arden on Viking and Templemore on Beelzebub. Then Torrent put a foot in a rabbit hole and down we went. Damned shame.”
“Is Torrent much injured?” Ariana asked.
“Dead,” Norris said, lips wobbling. “Broken leg.”
“How very sad,” his mother said, “but thank heavens you were unscathed.”
“Pretty well. Knocked out by a damnably placed rock. I came round to find I’d nothing but a headache and bruises, but Torrent was a goner. He was a fine beast.” He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his eyes. “A fine beast.”
“He was,” Ariana said. “But...” She cut another piece of meat, though she wondered if she could swallow it.
Norris had almostdied.
The idiot made light of it, but a slightly harder blow could have killed him. Or he could have broken his neck or been mortally injured in some other way. Not long ago young Lord Scorton had broken his back in a similar accident. He’d lingered a day or so, but died. At least he’d had a son.
Ariana struggled through the meal, making general remarks to conceal her inner turmoil, but the scene kept running through her head. A grim messenger bringing the terrible news, soon followed by grinning Uncle Paul, eager to throw them out and begin converting as much of the earldom as possible into funds for the gaming table.
Norrismustmarry. She knew her brother, however. Now he’d dug in his heels, nothing would move him. There was only one thing for it.
She waited until they were in the parlor and the servant who’d brought the coffee had left. Once they all had their cups, she gathered her resolution and made her announcement. “Very well, Norris. I accept your challenge.”
