“Oh, do dispense with the miss this and miss that, if you please. I don’t need to be reminded that I’m an ancient spinster.” Milly chuckled again. “And poor Edwina is even more ancient.”
“Nonsense,” Tristan interrupted with a smile, refraining from leaning down to rub his foot. Apparently Georgiana had taken to wearing iron-heeled walking shoes, for she couldn’t weigh more than eight stone, if that. She was tall but slender, with the rounded hips and pert breasts he was so partial to on a young lady. On her, in particular—which was what had gotten him into trouble with her in the first place. “You are both as young and as lovely as springtime.”
“Lord Dare,” Georgiana began, sounding pleasant and polite as she distributed tea and biscuits, though she offered none to him, “I was under the impression that you had little wish to join us this morning.”
So she wanted to be rid of him. All the more reason for him to stay, though he had no intention of allowing her to think he was the least bit interested in whatever she might be gossiping about. “I was looking for Bit and Bradshaw,” he improvised. “They’re to accompany me to Tattersall’s this morning.”
“I thought I heard them in the ballroom earlier,” Edwina said. In her ever-present black clothes and seated in the one corner of the room the morning sun didn’t reach, she looked like one of Shakespeare’s infamous shades with spectacles. “For some reason all of the footmen were in there, as well.”
“Hm. I hope Bradshaw’s not trying to blow something up again. If you’ll excuse me, ladies?”
As she returned to her seat Georgiana tried to step on him again, but he was ready this time and backed out the door before she could connect. He had every intention of finding out why she wanted to chat with the aunties, but he would have a better chance of doing that later, after she’d gone. At the moment, he needed to inform his brothers that they would be accompanying him to the horse market.
From the landing leading to the third floor, where the ballroom and the music room were located, the sound of applause reached his ears. That explained where the servants were, but didn’t alleviate his anxiety about what Bradshaw might be up to. He shoved the ballroom’s double doors open without ceremony—and nearly received an arrow through his skull.
“Damnation!” he bellowed, ducking reflexively.
“Jesus! Dare, are you all right?” Dropping a crossbow, Second Lieutenant Bradshaw Carroway of His Majesty’s Royal Navy strode across the wide, empty floor, shoving aside servants, and grabbed Tristan by the shoulder.
Tristan threw him off. “Obviously,” he snarled, “when I said no lit gunpowder in the house, I neglected to explain that I also meant no deadly weapons in the ballroom.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the still figure sitting in one of the deep windowsills. “And you’d best not be laughing.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.” Movement caught his attention as the servants began fleeing out the other entries. “Dawkins!”
The butler skidded to a halt. “Yes, my lord?”
“Mind the front door. We have a guest, with the aunties.”
He bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Who’s here?” Bradshaw asked, yanking the arrow out of the doorframe and inspecting the tip.
“No one. Put your new toy somewhere the Runt won’t find it and come along. We’re going to Tattersall’s.”
“Are you going to buy me a pony?”
“No, I’m going to buy Edward a pony.”
“You can’t afford a pony.”
“One must keep up appearances.” He faced the depths of the ballroom again. “You coming, Bit?”
To no one’s surprise, the black-haired figure shook his head. “I’ve some correspondence with Maguire.”
“At least go for a walk with Andrew this afternoon.”
“Probably not.”
“Or a ride.”
“Maybe.”
Tristan frowned as he padded downstairs beside Shaw. “How is he?”
His brother shrugged. “You’re closer to him than I am. If he won’t talk to you, where do you think that leaves me?”
“I keep hoping it’s something I’ve done, and that he’s chatty with everyone else.”
