“Go on,” Trem prodded.
“We found him at White’s,” Montaigne continued.
“And?” Trem said, desperate to hear if they had been successful in scaring the young lordling off his purpose.
Montaigne didn’t raise his gaze from his plate. “I am going to let my dear friend Leith field that question.”
“Erm,” Leith said, “I may have—what Monty is trying to say is—well, the young man—threatening a young lady—it isn’t the done thing—”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, if you are going to be like this about it, then I will tell it,” Montaigne interrupted. “I thought that we would find Hartley, threaten or cajole him as necessary, and the matter would be done. But when Leith found him unreasonable, well—”
“I wasn’t the most gentlemanly in my conduct, I will admit—”
“Gentlemanly!” Montaigne cast his gaze over to Trem and Henrietta. “When Hartley started blathering about Trem stealing Henrietta, he clocked him in the stomach and then grabbed the man’s throat. I myself was terrified that he’d kill him.”
“Well, I—” Leith broke off. He looked deucedly uncomfortable. “It isn’t every day that you hear one of your best friends impugned.”
“You just impugned me right at this table!” Trem laughed in objection.
“That is different,” Leith said, refusing to look at him. “But suffice to say, I don’t think Lord Hartley will be bothering you two further.”
They spent the rest of the dinner in riotous laughter and bubbling talk. If Trem squinted and tried to forget about John, the scene was perfect. Monty relayed several absurd reactions to the headlines that he and Henrietta had made due to their flight from London, but, in general, his friends reported that the gossip had died down when it became clear that the wedding would still be going forward.
Over dessert, Leith told an elaborate and amusing story that involved an acquaintance of his, Lord Pramington, having found his own parents in flagrante in their drawing room with the butler and housekeeper.
“Apparently they have lived as a quartet for years,” Leith said, his hands gesturing wildly to illustrate the concept of a foursome. “And Lord Pramington nearly expired from shock. He took lodgings, allegedly, after the incident, and isn’t speaking to any of them. And you know what a prig he has always been.”
After dinner, they retired to the drawing room for port and continued their conversation. It thrilled Trem to see how happy Henrietta looked in the company of his friends. She had, of course, joined them for years, but now she was here not as John’s sister but his wife-to-be. The apples of her cheeks shone in the candlelight and her eyes flashed with mirth at Leith and Montaigne’s anecdotes. They, in turn, regarded her differently than they did before—and she gave her opinion more freely and jested more broadly, drawing laughter from his friends.
Eventually, they began a raucous game of charades. In the middle of Montaigne pretending to be a bird, flapping his arms like wings and right as Leith was yelling at him, “The Thieving Bloody—what was it? The magpie! The Thieving Magpie, you bounder,” John and Catherine walked into the drawing room.
Leith, Trem, and Henrietta noticed their appearance immediately, but, unfortunately for Montaigne, he was really giving his performance his all. He didn’t notice John and Catherine until a few seconds later—when his flapping caused him to collide with Catherine.
“Zounds,” he exclaimed. “Hello, Catherine, I didn’t see you there.”
He hugged her awkwardly and she returned the embrace with good humor.
“I see you are all having quite the romp,” she responded, with a laugh, but her smile was tight. John’s countenance made the strain on his wife obvious.
Trem looked at John. He was standing with his mouth set in a firm, displeased line, which announced as clearly as any statement that he wasn’t in a humor to be amiable.
“Good evening, John,” Trem pushed out. “Welcome back to the manor.”
He didn’t even look at him. Well, if that’s how it is going to be, he thought, and turned away himself.
“Has Bonner had the footmen see to your luggage?” Trem asked Catherine.
“Oh, yes.”
“You’ll be in the green bedroom, as you always are,” he supplied.
“Are you all right, Henrietta?” Catherine asked across the room. Trem looked at his fiancée and saw her face was a mask of tension. He could tell that she didn’t dare to cross the room and greet Catherine and John, given the expression of the latter. She met his eye and he held out his arm. He needed her next to him.
She rose from the sofa and came over to him, nestling under his arm.
“I am very well, Catherine,” she said, her voice a blend of defiance and kindness.
“Wonderful,” Catherine said. “Well, I think we’ll be going to bed, then. We’re tired from our journey. We’ve already had Griffon taken up to our room.”
