Finally, Mars said, “There is more here, isn’t there?”
Bran didn’t answer. In fact, he was sourly realizing that Marscouldhave a go at Kate. There was nothing to stop him, well, except for both Winderton and Bran threatening murder.
“I sensed it last night,” Mars said. “Something in the air.”
When Bran didn’t answer, his friend wisely shut up.
After a few minutes of riding, Bran recovered enough good sense to say, “I just don’t want animosity over a woman to build between you and my nephew.” That sounded reasonable, and he didn’t mention himself.
He could sense Mars didn’t believe it, however, the earl was good enough of a friend to keep his suspicions to himself.
Fortunately, they had reached The Garland and the promise of a lecture, pie, and drink.
At least twenty gentlemen were gathered around the tapped keg Andy had set up. Ned’s grin was wide and welcoming as he saw Bran and Mars handing over their reins to some village boys. They crossed to the keg. Ned met them halfway.
“Is this not amazing?” he declared. “I knew there was interest in a scientific lecture but this is astounding. We have never had such a crowd. Two of the men here are interested in joining the Society as well!”
Mars and Bran both murmured something about Ned’s hard work. Still, Bran was surprised. In previous years, most people who attended the Cotillion were well on their way home before noon. However, from the way the gentlemen were filling their tankards, they did not seem as if they would be traveling anytime soon.
In truth, the day was a good one for being out of doors. The sky was cloudless and blue and the temperature mild. Perhaps that was reason enough for the crowd.
“Is that our speaker?” Mars asked. He nodded toward a balding man who kept dabbing his high forehead with a handkerchief. “Seems a bit nervous.”
“He will do fine,” Ned answered, clapping his hands together in anticipation.
“If he is this anxious now, he might pass out when he has an actual audience,” Bran suggested.
“If that happens, Ned knows more about the topic than Mr. Remy could ever have thought possible,” Mars assured him and received a grin of agreement from the good doctor who immediately acknowledged a newcomer to their group.
“Hello, Reverend. It is good that you could join us.”
“Especially after that rowdiness last night,” Reverend Summerall said. “Ah, thank you, Andy,” he said as the tavern keeper approached him with a brimming tankard. He took a steadying swallow of the brew. “I needed this. I’ve just had a disconcerting conversation with Mrs. Warbler.”
“Is she complaining as she usually does?” Ned asked.
“No, she isn’t even paying attention to what is going on over here.”
“You are jesting,” Old Andy said in his gravelly voice. “She always has her nose in our business. That is, when she is not lying in wait for Sir Lionel. The woman stalks him like a jungle cat.”
“No, she wished to share her strong thoughts about the actress who attended the Cotillion last night. Of course, I agreed with her,” the cleric said. “I’m most upset that someone would come in from the outside and start a fight the way that woman did.”
Bran shifted uncomfortably. Summerall spoke in his customary loud voice and it gathered attention. Bran had to say, “I don’t know that you are correct that the actress started the fight. I didn’t see how it began, but I did witness the Dawson brothers take a swing at Landon Bonniwell.”
Mars nodded in agreement. “And then there was the doctoring of the punch bowl. That contributed to the increased tempers.”
Reverend Summerall shook his head as if weary of the world.
A gent by the keg whom Bran didn’t know spoke up. “Oh, no. The tart in the striped dress started the whole thing. My wife saw what happened.”
The wordtartpricked Bran’s sense of justice. Yes, Kate had dressed the part. That didn’t mean he wanted to hear the appellation applied to her.
He gave the man a cool look. “The ‘tart’ was on the arm of my nephew and ward, the Duke of Winderton.”
The man did not back down. “Young men do foolish things.”
Now Bran faced him squarely. “And you are, sir? I don’t believe we’ve met.” He didn’t hide the challenge in his voice.
“Reginald Montcreiffe. My uncle is Lord Dervil. I believe his property is near yours.”
