Of course, the man would be a braggart—he was related to Dervil, the man who had upset his chances with the bridge commission out of spite, but who had made his dislike of Bran and his friends well-known. Bran was ready to take after him, except that Summerall had picked up the theme.
“Not meaning any disrespect to your family, Balfour, I agree that the duke should not have brought her to a village event. That sort of thing should stay in London, eh, my lord?” He directed the last toward Mars, who took a step away.
“It is not my job to judge other men,” Mars answered.
“Well, it ismyjob,” the reverend assured them as he lifted his tankard to his lips. “Young men have been led astray since time began. Eve has always deceived Adam.”
Bran himself had referred to Kate as a Delilah—however, now he thought of her being kidnapped against her will. Of her being held and used for no other reason than to claim a wager on the betting books at White’s and for some man’s arrogant pride. Of being treated as if she’d had no intelligence or feelings, as if she was a plaything—and he had to come to her defense. “Are we really such cowardly creatures we have no control of our emotions? What happened to logic and reason? Are you saying we are justified in behaving in a boorish manner because a dress is too low cut?”
“Ah, there, you said it yourself, Balfour,” the reverend said. “The dress was too provocative for our gathering. Is it small wonder men lost all good sense?”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have bothered mounting cannon against Napoleon,” Bran answered. “Apparently women in low cut dresses would have been enough to make the French stop in their tracks.”
“She made me stop in my tracks last night,” a gentleman murmured, a sentiment endorsed with a few guffaws from the others.
Bran struggled to control his temper. Mars spoke up, “I found Miss Addison delightful.”
“As did I,” Ned chimed in.
“Well, we won’t have to worry about her if the women have their way,” Montcreiffe announced.
“What does that mean?” Bran demanded.
“It means they are going to take care of their own,” Montcreiffe said. “My wife informed me the less I know, the better. And I understand that the duke’s own mother is leading the pack.”
“What are you saying?” Bran asked. And what was Lucy about now?
“I’m saying that the women will put one of their own in her place. It is justice.” Montcreiffe looked at the others for confirmation.
Many nodded. One said, “Yes, let the women deal with it.”
“Ah, now it all starts to make sense,” Summerall said.
“Whatmakes sense?” Bran wanted answers.
The reverend said, “After complaining, Mrs. Warbler said she and the duchess would be attending the play, which I didn’t understand after she’d told me she wanted them gone. And then, as I arrived here, I overheard one of the lads tending the horses bragging to the others that he’d sold a bag of moldy turnips to Mrs. Warbler.” He looked at Mr. Remy who had wandered over. “How do you do, sir? I am interested in your edifying ideas.”
However, Bran was not.
Moldy turnips and Lucy taking matters into her own hands, especially with the help of a knotty-brained gossip like Mrs. Warbler did not bode well.
He looked to Ned. “I won’t be able to stay. Andy, sorry I won’t have a taste of your pie.” He was already moving toward where Orion was tethered.
“Well, if you are going, I’m going.” Mars fell into step with him.
“I’m coming as well,” Ned said. “You may need me.”
They might. Bran was of a mind to throttle Lucy and who knew what her son would do?
“What about the lecture?” Mr. Remy called.
“Talk,” Ned called over his shoulder. “There are those who will listen.”
But that wasn’t true. Most of the men now moved toward their horses and vehicles. Bran wasn’t anxious for the company and yet he was powerless to stop them.
Putting his heels to Orion, he set the horse flying down the road, Mars and Ned beside him.
And a pack of curious gentlemen followed in their wake.
