“Not quite that good,” I replied, patting his arm. He roared with laughter and allowed me to introduce him to Aunt Ursula and Jane. He greeted them in a perfunctory fashion, dismissing one of them as plain and the other as older than Moses, no doubt. He clung to my arm and I led him into the drawing room, where Aunt Hermia had just arrived, breathless and patting her hair. I flashed Father a smile to let him know he was forgiven. He might have broadsided me by inviting Brisbane without my knowledge, but he had ensured my good will with his Grace. It was not every day that I received a proposal of marriage from a duke, even if he was more than eighty years old.
For her part, Aunt Hermia was delighted with her unexpected guests.
“Your Grace! How lovely that you could join us this evening,” she said. “It is only a family party, though, and I am certain you will be quite bored with our feeble entertainments.”
“Not at all, dear lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. “The reputation of the beauteous March women is as widespread as it is accurate. I shall simply admire the view. I believe you have met Nicholas?”
Brisbane stepped forward. “Lady Hermia. How good of you to include me.”
Aunt Hermia’s face was pink with pleasure. “Ah, we owe you much, Mr. Brisbane.” She turned to the duke. “My niece Julia’s husband passed away last year under most unfortunate circumstances. Mr. Brisbane was very helpful during that trying time. I am so pleased to see you under more pleasant circumstances, Mr. Brisbane, but I must insist on a forfeit for your supper,” she added waggishly.
“Oh, God,” I said, sotto voce, to Portia.
“A forfeit?” Brisbane smiled down at her. “I cannot think that I possess anything that would be worthy of your ladyship.”
“Heavens!” Portia whispered back. “Did he learn that from the darling old duke?”
“They must be relations,” Jane put in. “Charm like that runs in the blood.”
“Our evening is a musical one,” Aunt Hermia was explaining. “We each of us contribute something to the entertainment of the group. Do you play? Or sing, perhaps?”
The duke snorted, lifting his bushy white brows. Clearly he intended something by the gesture, but the moment was smoothed over by Aunt Ursula’s petulant inquiry about dinner. Aunt Hermia bustled forward, suddenly realizing that there were far too many ladies for the men to escort.
“Never mind!” cackled the duke, taking Aunt Hermia firmly by the arm. “We’ll be here until Michaelmas if you insist on precedence. Let the young people sort themselves out.”
To her credit, Aunt Hermia obeyed, leading the way to the dining room and leaving the rest of us to follow behind in a haphazard fashion. Blessedly, Aunt Hermia favored a round table and precedence there was not an issue. True, the round table created a bit more confusion, but it ensured general discussion, rather than lots of indistinct murmuring. It usually made for more spirited and interesting conversation and this night was no exception. In spite of the duke’s presence, Father and Aunt Hermia engaged in a heated debate about the use of Biblical images in Shakespeare’s sonnets. It ended with Aunt Hermia throwing walnuts at Father and the duke offering her marriage instead, claiming that spirit was as important a requirement in a wife as beauty.
“That’s what I keep telling the boy here,” he said, jerking a thumb at Brisbane. “He’s got no interest in marrying, he tells me, because he cannot find a woman who interests him for more than a fortnight. He’s got a twisty mind, that one, and he wants a woman that’s got the same.”
Brisbane sipped thoughtfully at his wine. “All women have twisty minds, sir, or so you told me.”
Aberdour laughed his dry, creaky laugh. “That I did, boy, that I did. This one gets it from his grandmother,” he said, pointing a knobbly old finger. “She was just the same, always turning a word back on you, bending an argument to suit her end. She was a wily bitch. I was glad to see the last of her.”
Jane gasped, which did not surprise me. I have often found that the most outspoken liberals are secretly the most conservative in small matters. For all her open thinking, Jane was deeply shocked at the duke’s plain speaking. Father simply went on cracking nuts, Brisbane kept deliberately at his wine, and Aunt Hermia looked up curiously.
“His grandmother? Is there a family connection, your Grace?”
“My sister,” he said, his lips thin. “She ran off with a footman when she was fifteen. She died in childbed eight months later. We had the raising of her son, and did a dog’s job of it. He no sooner grew up than he—”
Brisbane coughed sharply and some understanding passed between them, for the duke simply muttered, “Then he bred this one and died on us.” I fancied that was not how he intended to finish that sentence, but it must have appeased Brisbane. He had tensed at the mention of his father, but now he uncoiled slightly.
Aunt Hermia cocked her head. Anyone who did not know her might mistake the shine in her eyes for sympathy, but I saw it for what it was—rampant curiosity.
“That accounts for the different surname,” she said, “but I do not remember hearing of your father, Mr. Brisbane. Surely he is not in Debrett’s.” This was simply a conversational gambit. The Shakespearean society’s quarterly journal was the only publication she perused for names. In itself, her line of inquiry was only mildly intrusive. But I had felt Brisbane tense again next to me, and I knew he did not like it.
I rose, dropping my napkin. “I think the champagne would best be served in the music room—after the entertainments. Forgive me, Auntie. I am simply too eager to hear Jane’s harp.”
I smiled innocently to the table at large as I collected my napkin.
As I had expected, Aunt Hermia pricked up like a pointer.
“Jane! Have you a new piece? Splendid! Nothing I love quite so well as a moody Irish harp. To the music room!”
Aunt Hermia never permitted cigars and port on her musical evenings on the grounds that they thickened the voice. There was a general flutter of movement as people rose, gathering wraps and stretching discreetly. Father whistled for the mastiff, Crab, who had been lying quietly under the table, snuffling for crumbs during dinner. Amid the chaos, Brisbane leaned near.
“It seems I shall be obliged to sing for my supper,” he murmured, his lips disconcertingly close to my ear. “What would you like to hear?”
“Bach,” I said without hesitation. I had the irrational notion that he was thanking me somehow for deflecting Aunt Hermia’s impertinent questions.
