Or beheading chickens.
“Yes.” Gilbert huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I intend to ask Lady Harriett to dance, not that it’s any concern of?—”
“Mine? Of course, it’s my concern. Iamher brother.”
Gilbert swallowed. “Of course, my lord. I beg your pardon.”
“Yes, yes, it’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, not really, but there was no question that Harriett would accept Gilbert’s invitation to dance, so the only thing to do now was make certain the man didn’t make a spectacle of both of them. “Lord Powell is a fashionable gentleman, and his ball is certain to be the height of elegance. Do you have the proper attire for the evening?”
“I believe my clothing to be perfectly acceptable?—”
“Show me.”
Gilbert blinked. “You want me toshow youthe clothing I intend to wear to Lord Powell’s ball?”
It was, admittedly, a trifle unusual for a gentleman to appear uninvited on another gentleman’s doorstep and demand to see his wardrobe, but it was Gilbert’s own fault for appearing in that dreadful canary yellow coat in the Ring the other day, and that was to say nothing of that sky blue monstrosity he’d worn yesterday. “Yes, Gilbert, I do.”
Gilbert’s eyebrows lowered in a scowl, his cheeks flushing with the first hint of temper James had ever seen from him. Ah, so the man did have some pride, after all.
“You have a bloody nerve, Fairmont, showing up here and?—”
“That’s the spirit, Gilbert. I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you.”
Gilbert’s jaw fell open. “Christ, Fairmont. You’re mad, you know that?”
Not yet, no, but he likely would be before the season was over and Harriett was safely wed. “Yes, yes, it’s all very shocking. Now, are you going to invite me in, or not?”
Gilbert glared at him, but then he shrugged, opened the door wider, and stood back. “I suppose I have to, now that you’re here.”
He did, indeed, and James would have to accept, and God knew what further ridiculousness this would lead to, but heloved Harriett dearly, and if Viscount Gilbert was the only gentleman who would make her happy, then…
So be it.
At least Euphemia Templeton would be pleased.
Not that he’d done it to pleaseher. Not at all.
Another sigh escaped him as he mounted the steps and followed Gilbert into a rather dark, cramped hallway, his nose wrinkling. “What is that ungodly smell?”
Gilbert sniffed. “The wind must be coming from the east today.”
“The wind? What does the bloody wind have to do with anything?”
“There’s a fishmonger’s just down the road.” Gilbert closed the door, and made his way down the hallway, gesturing to James to follow him.
James reached into his pocket, withdrew his handkerchief, and pressed it to his nose. “Of course, there is.”
“What doyou think of this ribbon, Euphemia?” Lady Fosberry selected a length of midnight blue velvet ribbon from the selection spread out on the glass counter of Madame Dubois’ shop, and turned to Phee.
“Oh, it’s so pretty!” Harriett caught the ribbon and brought it to Phee, who’d exhausted the last of her patience for ribbons and laces, and taken a seat on a bench by the window overlooking Bond Street. “What a delightful blue! It’s the perfect color.”
“It is very pretty.” Phee traced her thumb over the nap, which was as soft as a rose petal under her touch. “Very fine, too, but I thought you were wearing your green silk to Lord Powell’s ball. I don’t think you want blue ribbons with it, do you?”
“My dearest Euphemia, it’s not for Harriett, but for you.” Lady Fosberry marched across the shop and took the seat beside her on the bench. “Before Mathilda left for Oxfordshire, she gave you that divine blue silk and velvet ballgown. It’s the ideal garment for the ball. I thought we might persuade you to wear it.”
Her, dressed up in velvet and silk? No, indeed. “I don’t think?—”
“Yes, you must wear it, Phee!” Harriett cried. “You’ll look positively smashing in that shade of blue!”
