“Did you enjoy investigating the hedgehog, Mr. Cassidy?” Lady Bankham asked solicitously.
Hugh slowly raised his head cautiously.
Perhaps this was a euphemism or a code of some kind?
Everyone was looking at him with pleasant expectation.
Lillias was studying her plate.
“Yes,” he decided to say. “Thank you for asking. We don’t have hedgehogs in New York.”
“There’s such a long list of things that are here and not there,” Lady Bankham said.
“I suppose that’s true,” Hugh said, thinking of the list of controversial words Lady Vaughn had suggested compiling in the drawing room at The Grand Palace on the Thames. He did not say, “And the reverse is also true,” because that would make for a very long dinner indeed and it simply didn’t matter anymore. He’d caused enough consternation in the span of one picnic.
Because he could do what he needed to do no matter how battered he’d been, and do it with conviction, Hugh managed to keep aloft for nearly an hour a very uncontroversial conversation about carriages. Men were simple, as he’d said, and it worked a treat, as he’d known it would. All the menengaged in what was apparently a satisfying time reminiscing about their first barouches and their component parts—silver trim and lamps and the like—and about learning to drive a team, horses they had known, races. The ladies interjected now and again to assist with blanks needing filling (“Do you recall the name of that groom who . . . ?” and so forth).
Lillias spoke only once, to the footman trying to refill her glass. She said, “No, thank you.”
She managed to appear interested in the conversation, propping her chin on her linked hands, eyes bright. It must have been something of a Herculean feat, but she was a veteran of ballrooms and soirees where almost nothing real was said.
When a lull set in, and stomachs were patted and napkins plucked from the collars of shirts and the footmen had ferried away the empty dishes, Hugh said, “I wondered if I can interest Giles in a game of billiards?”
Lillias stared at him then.
He met her gaze full on, because only a fool would miss an opportunity to gaze at her in candlelight.
As usual, it was like taking a dart to the solar plexus. If his soul was a target, the very essence of her hit that red center every time. He’d once resented it, and now he knew it for the magic it was. For the loss it would be.
But there was no hope for his soul if he played any part in her unhappiness. And there was redemption in playing a part in giving her the life she wanted.
Giles poured brandy for the two of them.
Balls were racked. Cues chosen.
And then Hugh leisurely reached out and closed the door.
Giles froze in chalking his cue and eyed the closed door for a moment, somewhat warily.
He continued.
They shot two rounds before Hugh spoke.
“Bankham... I’d like to ask for your opinion about something.”
“Definitely the barouche,” Giles said absently, lining up a shot.
“It’s about women.”
He all but felt the man go rigidly still.
After all, Hugh was large and he was holding a long stick and they were alone in the billiard room.
“A confounding topic to be sure,” Giles said lightly.
Hugh nodded. He eyed the table for his next shot.
“What would you do...” he leaned forward and took aim “...if you were concerned that the affections of the woman to whom you were engaged were... more strongly engaged elsewhere?”
