He’d invited Lord Farthingale to dinner this evening.
That sin alone was enough to warrant eternal damnation, but to make matters worse, Lord Gilbert, who was also in attendance had been obliged to give up his place beside Harriett and take the seat on Phee’s left.
“No, thank you, my lord.” Harriett glared across the table at her brother, her face as dark as a thundercloud. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite this evening.”
“Pity that,” Lord Farthingale said with a shrug. “It is my considered opinion, Lady Fosberry, that not one cook out of a hundred can produce tolerable scalloped oysters, but these are acceptable. My compliments.”
“That’s, er, very kind of you to say, Lord Farthingale.” Lady Fosberry gave him a pained smile.
No one seemed to have anything to say after that, and a tense silence fell over the table. Phee kept her gaze on her plate as she counted off the seconds.
One, two… a hundred, a thousand, a lifetime…
Dear God, had there ever been a more interminable dinner than this one?
She sneaked a peek at Lady Fosberry. Her ladyship had initially made a heroic attempt at pleasant conversation, but she’d since given it up as hopeless and subsided into a morose silence.
Harriett, who was seated to her aunt’s right, had sat as still as a statue throughout dinner, only occasionally breaking her air of icy dignity to glare at her brother, who dared to look puzzled, as if he hadn’t the vaguest idea what had put her out of temper.
The only one who seemed content was Lord Farthingale, who ate heartily, and without seeming to realize the only sound inthe dining room was the scrape of his fork across his plate. “This glazed ham is a trifle sweet for my tastes, Lady Fosberry, but not ill-prepared.”
Lady Fosberry took a half-hearted bite of the ham, then set her fork aside in favor of her wine glass. “I’ll be sure to pass your effusive compliments on to my cook, my lord.”
The ensuing silence that fell after this brief exchange lasted from the roasted fowl course through the lemon souffle. By the time Lady Fosberry rose to leave the gentlemen to their port, Phee had become so desperate to escape the table, that she was considering feigning a swoon.
“What does Jamesmean, inflicting Lord Farthingale’s presence on us without a word of warning?” Harriett demanded once they’d escaped to the drawing room. She was so enraged her voice was shaking.
“I confess I asked myself that same question.” Lady Fosberry sank into a chair across from the settee. “James’s friends are always welcome here, of course, but?—”
“They’re not friends, Aunt!” Harriett threw herself onto a settee with a huff. “James never once mentioned Lord Farthingale’s name, until he decided I must marry the man! Dear God, how I feel for poor Gilly, trapped in the dining room, with James looking down his nose at him, and Lord Farthingale no doubt illuminating, point by point, all the ways in which the port falls short of his expectations.”
“It’s rather a grim picture, isn’t it?” Lady Fosberry agreed with a sigh.
It must have been as grim as she predicted because the gentlemen appeared in the drawing room less than fifteen minutes later.
Poor Gilly looked a bit bemused, but his expression cleared as he caught Harriett’s inviting smile, and he hurried across the room to her, casting Lord Fairmont a defiant look as he took aplace beside her on the settee. “I’ve just got some new music, Lady Harriett. I hope you’ll permit me to come and share?—”
“You must tell me all you’ve been doing, Lady Harriett, since I last saw you in Hereford.” Lord Farthingale swept across the drawing room in a cloud of cheroot smoke, and squeezed onto the settee on Harriett’s other side, looking perfectly pleased with himself, his cheeks flushed from the port.
Harriett cast him a disdainful glance, and said only, “Nothing of any consequence, my lord.”
“Nonsense, Harriett.” Lord Fairmont managed a smile as he took a chair, but the edges of his lips were tight. “I’m sure Farthingale here would be delighted to hear all about your gardens, and the progress you’ve made on the pianoforte.”
The chair he’d chosen happened to be a dreadfully uncomfortable one— Phee had made the mistake of sitting on it herself yesterday —and she couldn’t smother a grin as she retreated to a distant corner of the drawing room,The Devil’s Elixirsstuffed into a pocket of her gown.
A sore backside was no less than he deserved.
“The pianoforte,” Lord Farthingale repeated, with ill-disguised impatience, but he quickly recovered himself, clearing his throat. “Er, yes, of course. I’d be delighted to know all about it, Lady Harriett.”
“Indeed, I’m certain Harriett would love nothing more than to enlighten you, but first, Lord Farthingale, you must satisfy my curiosity about this new carriage you’ve commissioned. Do come and sit closer to the fire, and tell me all about it.” Lady Fosberry patted the empty seat beside her. “Lord Fairmont tells me it will be the height of elegance, and I can’t rest until I know every detail.”
“It will be the most splendid equipage, my lady.” Lord Farthingale jumped up from the settee, abandoning Harriett in an instant. “Far superior to any other in London.”
Bless her, Lady Fosberry had just doomed herself to an evening of listening to Lord Farthingale drone on about his exquisite taste in carriage fittings for Harriett’s sake!
Quite a sacrifice it was, too, but it wouldn’t do much good as long as Lord Fairmont insisted upon hovering over Harriett and Gilly, like a hungry wolf about to pounce upon a pair of unsuspecting sheep.
Phee glanced down atThe Devil’s Elixir, then back up at Lord Fairmont.
