“Mama,” Hetty said politely. “Might we have a moment, if you please?”
Lady Tolliver blinked, pausing her embroidery mid-stitch. “A moment? Oh! Yes, yes, of course. I believe I have… a most urgent letter that simply must be attended to at once. Terribly pressing. Positively dire.” She offered a vague, fluttering gesture, which might have signified anything from “curtsy prettily” to “accept his proposal without delay,” and promptly swept from the room. The door clicked shut behind her.
Hetty gave a long sigh. “God help us all.”
Indeed. Theo’s thoughts were churning. He knew he ought to apologise or offer some earnest explanation, but such candour felt dreadfully dull – far less entertaining than risking her temper or her wit. It was far better to provoke a laugh or coax a shout.
Hetty turned back to Theo. “Well, my lord, it appears you have succeeded in making me the heroine of every marriage-minded mother’s most cherished parlour tale.”
“Ah,” he said lightly. “Then I presume the parade of eligible suitors begins at noon?”
Hetty narrowed her eyes.
He tilted his head. “Should I have brought flowers? A poem? A ring, perhaps?”
Her glare sharpened, and so he continued. “No doubt your dear Mama is even now selecting wallpaper for the breakfast parlour at my country estate.”
“Do you want to be expelled from yet another townhouse?” she asked, folding her arms tightly.
Theo smiled. “Only if you would be so obliging as to strike the blow yourself.”
“I have half a mind to, Theo Winslow!” she hissed. “We had a plan! Or did it not lodge itself in your pea-brained skull? I intended to be a scandal! Not some darling romantic heroine thetonmight fawn over. Do you have the slightest notion of what you’ve done? Every eligible bachelor from here to Yorkshire is likely composingverse as we speak! The Dowager Countess of Carroway sent round a note of congratulations, Theo. She says your display reminded her of a duel once fought on her behalf in Naples!”
“Naples, you say?” he mused, taking a seat beside her on the settee. “Gracious. Well, I do hope the Countess wasn’t terribly disappointed I failed to draw pistols. The fern was quite enough carnage, I thought.”
Hetty let out a sound of exasperation. “Do not jest. I am being pursued, Theo. Hunted like a prize filly! As though I were some sort of soft-eyed debutante waiting for her first proposal. I received eight calling cards before breakfast. Eight. One of them included a poem – rhymed, no less – and Mama has already begun consulting the pattern books for my wedding china! Do you comprehend the severity of this development?”
He nodded gravely. “It means, I suppose, that you ought to begin pretending you care for tea.”
“It means,” she snapped, “that we have veered entirely from the agreed course. This was not the plan!”
Theo wondered, fleetingly, whether he might be pressing her too far, but the mischief was already in motion. “Not entirely off course. You remain unwed.”
“For now, but at this pace, I shall be engaged by Thursday and immortalised inThe Timesby Saturday.”
“A precipitous fall, indeed. Do keep me informed – I should like to attend the wedding. I imagine the poets will weep into their gloves.”
“You find this amusing, do you not?”
“Entirely. Why else, pray, would I have agreed to your preposterous little scheme? You wished to be ruined, Hetty. And ruined you are – though not, perhaps, in the fashion either of us anticipated.”
“Oh yes,” she said, throwing up her hands. “A romantic icon! A symbol of timeless honour and irresistible virtue! Utterly ruined.”
Theo could not help but stifle a wry smile at her vexation; she was positively incandescent with indignation. “With so many admirers clamouring at your feet, do you find yourself yearning for the blessed state of matrimony?”
Hetty’s nostrils flared. “Oh, do be silent, you insufferable wretch. And why is it that you may go about sleeping with whomsoever you please and striking gentlemen about the face with nary a consequence?”
“Well, I was most unceremoniously ejected from the ball last night.”
“Oh, how very tragic,” Hetty scoffed. “Whilst I was condemned to endure the company of that insufferable Marchmont, endure his endless prattle and the most dreadful of dances. Pray, tell me, which fate do you suppose is worse?”
“I had thought you rather liked Lord Marchmont.”
“I accepted his dance out of sheer good-breeding, and to vex you, since your countenance plainly betrayed your distaste for the man. You must one day divulge the true cause of your antipathy. But enough of that tiresome bore. Tell me what compelled you to strike a man during a ball! It could not have been for the sake of my honour, particularly when the very aim of my design is to bring it low.”
Theo huffed. “Believe me, Hetty, I could not abide the man’s licentious tongue. The fellow spoke with a vulgarity so base that to suffer it in silence would have been a far greater ruin than any you might devise. You cannot possibly understand the wickedness that festers in the minds of some men.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly well how wicked some men can be,” Hetty said with an arched brow and a pointed look. “Now, pray tell me exactly what that scoundrel said. I beg you – do not leave me to imagine.” When Theo folded his arms and tightened his lips, she went on. “Do not treat me like an innocent child who cannot hear such things, Theo Winslow. I am quite capable of handling vulgarity!”
