Even though Percy had begun making daily pilgrimages to Bloomsbury to call on Natasha, he had largely let him go alone or with Petunia and Elizabeth. He went once or twice for a morning visit, luckily more sparsely attended than that first at-home at the Mappertons. But he found that it was difficult to say much to Olivia in front of others.
At least, he knew when he would see her next, and that, there, he might actually have the opportunity to speak with her further. The second part of his plot had been set in motion. He and his mother would host a ball in three days’ time at Carrington Place. He had told his mother that he thought it was appropriate to hold one given that Petunia had just come out, but it was just an excuse, of course. He wanted the opportunity to get Olivia alone. He wasn’t completely sure what he would do when he had achieved that goal, how he would convince her to take him seriously as her suitor.
At least, she had accepted his apology at Almack’s. And it had given him a glimmer of insight into her perspective—she did feel wronged by him, harmed, and he would figure out why. Once they were alone, he would get to the bottom of it and fix it.
Given the state of his mind, when he received a missive from John inviting him for a casual dinner at Edington House, he almost declined it. But he thought better of it. His friends, of course, were all attending the ball at Carrington Place—and even though he did not look forward to telling them of his intentions, it would make securing his object that much easier.
When he arrived in the Edington House drawing room and saw Catherine, John’s wife, her silver blond hair secured under a matronly little cap that did nothing to hide her unusual beauty, he was glad he had come.
“Monty!” Catherine cried, jumping up and kissing his cheek.
“Unk Monty,” Griffon, Catherine and John’s son shouted, from the floor.
“Hello, little fellow,” he said, patting him on the head, and was rewarded by Griffon grasping his leg with a ferocity he could not believe the boy possessed.
“Up!” he cried, and Montaigne leaned to pick up the child, who then climbed onto his shoulders. Montaigne grabbed his shins so he wouldn’t fall, and the boy took the opportunity to begin lightly pulling his hair.
“Oh no, Griff,” Catherine said, coming over and taking the boy. “Follow Cresley to the nursery now.” She smiled at the butler, who took the hand of his little charge. “Mrs. Hoggins is waiting for you.”
Griffon gave his mother a large kiss and his pant leg another tug before he scampered from the room.
“He loves you so much,” Catherine said, when the boy was gone, “Between you and me, I think he likes you the best of our friends.”
“Hardly a competition,” Monty laughed. “Trem only has eyes for Henrietta and Leith is deuced awkward with children. And I grew up in a big family.”
“True. John and I do wonder if you ever think of settling down yourself. You’d make such a good father.”
Montaigne paused. It was unusual for Catherine to say such a thing—but it was rather fortuitous. “I have, actually, of late.”
“No! Who? John didn’t say!”
“That’s because John doesn’t know.”
“Oh, you must wait for him—and Leith and Trem and Henrietta, too. They’ll be here any minute.”
At the mention of Leith’s name, Montaigne felt a little slide of dread in his sternum. He knew the others would happily accept his interest in Olivia, despite her rank. But Leith—he was different than the others, even though he tried to protest that he wasn’t a snob. They had always been the best of friends, finding amusement in each other’s differences. But he feared that Leith did not approve of Olivia. Yes, he had gotten his mother to arrange for the vouchers—using, to hear him tell it, all the filial persuasion he had—but Montaigne still knew that his friend would resist a marriage so out of step with what society demanded.
Soon, the others arrived, and they were all seated around the fire, eating a kind of indoor picnic that had been prepared by the Edington House staff. No other lady of thetonthat Montaigne knew of had ever held dinners this way, but once others had found out that the new Duchess of Edington did, the trend had spread. He had been invited himself to these repasts at the homes of others. Catherine, however, always kept her indoor picnics to her closest friends and regarded the miming of her habits as absurd.
Montaigne also knew that tonight was a bit special. Henrietta had given birth last month and had thus not been enjoying the usual whirl of the season. Montaigne had met their baby, a sweet little girl, two weeks ago. The way his friend looked at his daughter and wife had sent strange pangs crawling through Montaigne’s chest. He hadn’t been sure at the time if he was jealous or merely wistful. Tonight marked Henrietta’s first true reemergence from Tremberley House after the birth.
She was currently curled up on the sofa with Trem, picking at a plate of dinner, looking tired but satisfied. Trem gazed down at his wife as if Henrietta eating her way through cold chicken and cheese was a miracle. Montaigne had never suspected that Trem and Henrietta would end up falling in love and getting married. And yet here they were. In a way, they were proof that what seemed impossible could, indeed, transpire.
The group was currently laughing, however, about an incident far removed from the matrimonial. It had happened a few weeks ago, right before the birth of Trem and Henrietta’s daughter. Leith had confused his mistress-at-the-time, a courtesan, the illegitimate daughter of an earl, for her high-ranking, legitimate half-sister. This misstep had led him into a rather grievous error. He had pinched the bottom of the half-sister, a viscount’s wife—and had nearly been called out for the offense.
“They were practicallytwins, on my honor,” Leith drawled.
“You have to admit,” Trem nearly howled, “that it might indicate a lack of attention to the original woman in question. I know you change them out fast, Leith, but you should at least have a general idea of what they look like.”
“I did, of course,” Leith objected, but his smile revealed there was some truth to Trem’s accusation. “Her sister wasuncommonlylike her. But I did, perhaps, contract a relationship with the courtesan sister on short acquaintance. It was only the second time—Ithought,at least—that I had seen the lady.”
“Really, Leith,” Henrietta said, attempting disapproval but unable to suppress her giggles, “You are disgusting. If I were Lord Trevton, I would have shot you on the spot and foregone the duel completely.”
“Well, I, for one, am glad that Trevton was able to see reason on that score,” John added.
“I don’t know if I would call the manreasonable,” Leith pronounced dryly, “I had to give him my new curricle to make amends for his wife’s slighted bottom. When I saw them enjoying it in the park the other day, she seemed to have recovered. But surely I was in no place to object to his demands. I couldn’t havethatstory circulating. Molesting the bottom of a married viscountess—my mother would have my skin.”
“And, to think, I would have been honor bound to be your second in a duel,” Montaigne laughed. “At our age.”
