Page 66 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Your Grace,” Lady Harrington purred, dipping into an unnecessarily deep curtsy that displayed her considerable décolletage to maximum advantage. “How may I be of service?”

“We’re searching for Miss Joanna Dennison and her niece, Lady Cuthbert,” Nathaniel explained, his usual good humor notably absent. “It seems she departed rather suddenly.”

“Oh dear,” Lady Harrington replied with patently false concern. “I believe there was some minor accident with the refreshments. These things do happen, unfortunately.”

“Indeed,” Victor uttered coldly. “I find that many ‘accidents’ occur with remarkable frequency in your vicinity, Lady Harrington.”

Her smile faltered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”

“No?” Victor’s gaze swept over the assembled women, noting how several seemed to shrink beneath his scrutiny. “Then allow me to clarify. I refer to your persistent habit of orchestrating social humiliations disguised as mishaps, particularly directed at those you perceive as vulnerable.”

Lady Harrington’s cheeks flushed an unattractive red. “Your Grace, I would never?—”

“Spare me your excuses,” Victor interrupted, his jaw set. “I witnessed your interaction with Miss Joanna from across the room. Your aim was too precise to be accidental, so I hope you do not think me foolish enough to believe that balderdash.”

“Really, Your Grace,” interjected another woman nervously, “Lady Harrington merely stumbled?—”

“Did she?” Nathaniel inquired, his tone deceptively light. “How peculiar, considering she has been attending balls for long enough. One would think she’d have mastered the basics of walking in public by this point.”

A tense silence fell over the group as Lady Harrington’s companions exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncertain whether to defend their leader or distance themselves from her potential disgrace.

“I had not realized,” Victor continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous register, “that the quality of one’s character had become inversely proportional to the volume of one’s voice.”

Nathaniel chimed in, “Indeed. Miss Joanna and Lady Cuthbert possess intelligence, compassion, and dignity—qualities evidently in short supply among your circle, Lady Harrington.”

Lady Harrington’s mouth opened and closed several times, resembling that of a crimson fish suddenly deprived of water.

“Your Grace, you misunderstand?—”

“I understand perfectly,” Victor cut in. “What I do not understand is why Lord Knightley should continue to extend his hospitality to those who abuse it so flagrantly.”

Nathaniel nodded gravely, his eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. “An excellent point, Westmere. Perhaps future invitations should be more selectively distributed.”

The threat of social exclusion hung in the air like a thundercloud. In London’s rarefied atmosphere, being barred from the home of a wealthy, eligible marquess was tantamount to social death.

Victor leaned slightly closer to Lady Harrington, his voice pitched for her ears only. “I expect you to make a formal apology to Miss Joanna by tomorrow afternoon. A written note expressing genuine contrition, delivered with a suitable gift to replace the gown you ruined.” He straightened, before addressing the entire group. “Furthermore, I suggest you each engage in some serious reflection on your conduct. The ton may tolerate many things, but I assure you, I am considerably less forgiving.”

Lady Harrington’s face had drained of all color. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall call on Miss Joanna. I-I had no idea the wine would cause such damage.”

“Hadn’t you?” Victor’s smile was cold enough to freeze fire. “How fortunate, then, that I am here to educate you on the consequences of your actions.”

With a strangled sound that might have been intended as agreement, Lady Harrington gathered her skirts and fled, her coterie scattering in her wake like startled birds.

Nathaniel whistled low under his breath as they watched their retreat.

“Remind me never to anger you, Westmere. I believe you’ve just sentenced Lady Harrington to social purgatory with remarkable efficiency.”

“She deserves worse,” Victor replied tersely, the image of Emma’s expression when she’d described her aunt’s humiliation still fresh in his mind.

“Indeed, she does,” Nathaniel agreed, his customary levity giving way to sincere concern. “Miss Joanna is a remarkable woman. I had hoped to secure at least two dances with her this evening. I did not realize she had left. I should call on her soon.”

Victor glanced sharply at his friend, noting the unusual solemnity in his expression. “I wasn’t aware your interest extended beyond polite conversation.”

Nathaniel shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. “There are many things you remain unaware of, my friend. Including the state of your cravat, which currently suggests activities far more vigorous than a casual garden stroll.”

Victor quickly adjusted the offending cloth, cursing under his breath.

“I wonder,” Nathaniel mused, “if your sudden championship of Lady Cuthbert’s family might have anything to do with your recent botanical studies?”

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