“That’s a good idea,” James agrees, glancing up at Bobby. “Cunningham’s here this week, isn’t he?”
“I think so,” Albert says.
“Oh, we have dinner scheduled with them tomorrow,” Meredith says. All three of them look over at her. “You lot have been busy with the vote and research, so I made some calls. Parker’s here as a guest of Cunningham’s, and I’ve already got them compiling a list of gentlemen they know who have had dalliances with Raverson, which they’ll bring tomorrow night. And then we’ll discuss who else we should connect with to get a list of men that perhaps Raverson wouldn’t want coming out of the woodwork—anyone he blackmailed at school, or their fathers, who might want retribution. All of that combined shouldbe enough to intimidate him into keeping his mouth shut, or else.”
James is gaping, Bobby’s wide-eyed, and Albert flops backward on the bed, a hand over his eyes.
“You really need to stop forgetting to ask for help,” Meredith says simply. “We’re a team, whether we’re matchmaking widowed parents or blackmailing a viscount to protect our family and friends, all right? Use your words.”
Bobby snorts. James’ chest fills with that warm, sickly-sweet feeling again. He watches Meredith cross the room to sit beside Albert, patting him consolingly on the thigh as he shakes his head in shame.
“You ready to con the ton?” Bobby asks.
James looks up at him, glancing over at Beth and Gwen before he rises on his toes to press a kiss to Bobby’s lips. Bobby steadies him with a hand on his waist, his other pressed between them, their fingers still tangled together.
“Oh, get a room,” Gwen calls out.
“That’s the plan,” James returns as he breaks away from Bobby and sinks back down to the flats of his feet.
Bobby just smiles at him and James takes a deep breath. Conning the ton it is.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bobby
“Lord Demeroven, dearest, thank you. I was ever so parched,” Gwen simpers, batting her lashes beneath her frankly absurd lace bonnet and swishing her bright lilac skirts.
She accepts the proffered champagne from James and immediately grabs his arm, leaning coquettishly into him. Bobby’s never seen Gwen in such a loud outfit by choice, but she’s taking their challenge seriously. Perhaps too seriously, he thinks, as James looks woefully over his shoulder in his formal linen suit. Gwen yanks him away, going on about china patterns, and Bobby just shrugs helplessly.
James’ look turns into a glare and Bobby snorts. Beth takes her drink from him and giggles. He meets her eyes and they share a conspiratorial smile.
“You do know they’re winning,” she says, linking her arm with his. They amble behind Gwen and James, following them toward Meredith and Albie’s picnic blanket.
“I can be obnoxious,” he offers, sipping his champagne as they stare out across the water.
“We can cede today to them. They need to bond,” Beth says easily, looking up at him beneath her own, slightly smaller bonnet.
Her green skirt and blouse are lovely, and she looks positively delighted to be on his arm. They’re not doing so poorly themselves. He raises his glass toward a few acquaintances he thinks were in Albie’s year at Oxford. They’re all watching them from their picnic blankets.
The whole ton of Cowes is spread out on the green grass overlooking the channel beach, an array of muslin gowns and linen suits on checkered blankets as far as the eye can see. On the water, the sailboats have lined up for the second day of races, and with clear blue skies and a cool breeze, it’s shaping up to be an excellent day for flaunting fake engagements.
“Would you like to sit, my dear, or meander a bit before the race begins?” he asks loudly near a cluster of mothers.
“Your mother will be so delighted,” one of them says, looking up at Beth.
Beth smiles brightly and leans into Bobby. “I cannot wait to see her. She’s going to dote on him terribly.”
“No, no, it will be my honor to spoil both of you rotten,” he tells Beth, winking at the mothers before bowing and leading Beth away. “The letter to your mother and Uncle Dashiell must have arrived by now, right?” he asks as they finally reach Meredith and Albie’s blanket.
James has sprawled down on his back, his arm flung over his eyes, while Gwen sits next to him, cheerily eating a profiterole. She pats the space beside her and Bobby helps Beth settle herself and her massive skirt.
“I expect we’ll receive a very wordy letter from my mother and Gwen’s father presently,” Beth assures him as he plops down on her other side.
“Good,” he says, pretending he’s not at all afraid of Uncle Dashiell’s or Aunt Cordelia’s reaction. He thinks they’ll be happy for all of them, but doing this in the bubble of Cowes leaves a lot of reassurance to be desired.
He looks over at Meredith and Albie, Meredith reclinedbetween Albie’s legs, his hand resting on her stomach. “And how is life for the happily married?” he asks them.
“Wonderful,” Meredith says, rolling her neck against Albie’s chest to squint over at him. “Cunningham’s gone to get us ices.”
