“Grace.”
“What was I meant to do? The last time he caught her in his house, he threatened to shave her!”
“I’m certain he was exaggerating,” Mercy said, with a consoling pat upon Grace’s knee. “After all, he’d have to catch her first, and Tansy’s a slippery thing. And so cunning, I’m notconvinced she isn’t half-fox.”
“He’s got catmint all over his garden and proclaims himself surprised when it attracts a cat! Tansy doesn’t mean any harm by it. And really, she’s such a sweet, precious—”
“To you, darling. Toyou.” Mercy gave a wry grin. “She’s taken a swipe at nearly everyone else at some point or another. Sometimes more than once. Why, just two days ago, I saw her leap from the top of a wardrobe straight at one of the footmen, and I would swear she had murder in her eyes.”
Of course she had had murder in her eyes. Tansy was a cat, and cats excelled at precisely two things: sleeping for the vast majority of the day, and a general proclivity toward criminal intent. Tansy, like most cats, preferred to fill every last one of her waking hours with crime. Murder had always been a possibility.
Tansy had been a gift to Grace from her sister, Felicity, and her brother-in-law, Ian, upon her matriculation from Felicity’s girls’ school, and she had been Grace’s constant companion ever since. Every bit as much a member of her family as her sisters, as her nieces and nephews. Tansy had withstood agonizingly long carriage rides between Grace’s sisters’ homes, and waited patiently for her return home from evening events during the Season. She slept right beside Grace each evening, her ferocious rumble of a purr a reassuring presence in the depths of the night.
If his lordship had taken a dislike to the poor dear girl, well, then, it was his own fault for being steadfastly immune to her many charms. Probably the wretched man preferred dogs.
Mercy adjusted herself on the couch, propping one arm upon the armrest. “At any rate, it’s a Toogood ball,” she said. “All of our friends will be there, and it is Felicity and Ian’s first of the Season, you know.” Her voice pitched to a cajoling tone. “Our first with all of us together. Just think how lovely—”
“All right,” Grace said, casting up her hands. “All right, I’ll go. But I willnotbe anything more than cordial to his lordship, forhe doesn’t deserve even my cordiality.”
“I’d never ask it of you,” Mercy swore emphatically as she popped up from the couch, no doubt to impart the good news to the rest of the family. “But I am so glad. It’s going to be wonderful.” Her bare feet padded across the carpet toward the door, and she turned at the last, her dark hair flying over her shoulder. “And you will wear—”
“I’ll wear the green.”
“Brilliant.” A dimple glowed in Mercy’s cheek. “And if Lord Lockhart is rude to you, you have only to tell Anthony, and he’ll—”
“Tell him to fuck off?” Grace suggested.
“Probably he’ll be a bit more tactful than that,” Mercy said with a light laugh. “They are neighbors of a sort, after all. And really, his only crime is not caring much for Tansy.”
Which was utterly unforgiveable, in Grace’s opinion. “I’ll be cordial,” she said. “But if he should utter evenoneunflattering word of Tansy, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”
“Fair enough,” Mercy said, as she started for the door once more. “Just do me one small favor, and don’t get caught.”
Chapter Three
It was difficult, in the midst of a ball, to pretend one’s life wasn’t falling down about one’s ears. Henry hadn’t truly wanted to attend a ball this evening, but he’d committed himself to it weeks ago, and in uncertain times, it was best to begin as one meant to go on.
For as long as he could, anyway. Until the inevitable collapse of his world, and the scandal that would come with it. Impossible to say when, exactly, the end would come. But it would, eventually.
He stood near the refreshment table, staring down at the selections laid out upon it. Delicate slices of cake, assorted biscuits, champagne—probably it would be ill-advised to help himself to a third glass. Might even make him freer with his words than would be wise.
Liquor would be far more efficient, besides, and he’d had enough of that already last evening to have woken this morning with the devil of a headache which still had yet to fully abate some twelve hours later.
Henry pressed his fingers to his aching temples, struggling to bite back the scowl that wanted to wrench at his mouth.
A hand nipped past him to snatch a glass of champagne.“What did those cakes ever do to ye, Lockhart, to merit such disdain?”
Christ. He’d forgotten, somehow, in the utter chaos that had enveloped his life over the last twenty-four hours, that the marchioness who was hosting this ball had been born a Toogood, and that meant that all sorts had inevitably made the invitation list who otherwise might not have found themselves welcome.
Including the marchioness’ sister, who had been born a Toogood, but had long been married to one of the most notorious figures in London, Mr. Christopher Moore. Some had suggested the man had mellowed as he’d aged, but Henry could not see it for himself. The man looked every bit as sly and conniving as he had once been purported to be, and his frosty blue eyes scanned Henry’s face as if he could read the secrets hidden in plain sight, tucked away into the clench of Henry’s teeth or concealed within the tense lines of his face.
The man could probably spot a lie at twenty paces or more and sniff out secrets like a damned bloodhound scenting a fox.
Still, Mr. Moore wasn’t the sort of man anyone who was wise wished to be on the wrong side of, and so Henry muttered, “The fault is mine. Bit too much to drink last evening, I’m afraid.”
“Over-imbibing’s a young man’s game,” Mr. Moore said. “At yer age, it’s past time to find a wife before someone sets ye on a shelf somewhere, hm?” He folded his arms over his chest and let a sharp smile play about his mouth. “’Course, ye’ll want to avoid any o’mygirls. Or I’d have to kill ye.”
Henry couldn’t be entirely certain the man was joking. To hell with it—Henry grabbed up a third glass of champagne. “I wasn’t aware you had children, Mr. Moore,” he said, after a long swallow.
