Page 62 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
“A fortnight!” Lady Penfors yelled down the table, as if no one had heard the butler but her.
“She’s gone to London?” Roan repeated, his brow furrowing.
“She took a fancy to Albert, do you recall, Penfors?” Lady Penfors said, then giggled like a girl, pursing her lips naughtily.
“Albert who?” Roan asked.
“Al-ber,Al-ber,” Penfors said, and to Roan, he added, “she almost drove the poor young man to drink with all her insistence on calling him Albert.”
“My sister?” Roan asked, confused.
“Lady Penfors!” his lordship exclaimed, clearly annoyed that Roan wasn’t following his line of thought.
“What?” Lady Penfors called out.
“Never you mind, Mother, have your pudding. We’ve worked it all out. The American girl took a fancy to the Villeroy boy and returned to London with him and his family! Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, that is so,” Lady Penfors confirmed. “Albert!”
“Al-ber,” Penfors shouted back at her.
“Christ Almighty,” Roan muttered, and sat back, staring into space.
“There’s no call for alarm, sir,” Penfors said congenially. “The French aren’t as randy as they once were. Rather sufferable now, aren’t they? And the boy is no threat to your sister. I doubt he could lift a linen without a bit of perspiration.”
Mrs. Gastineau laughed at that. “Albert Villeroy. He’s a whiff of a boy, isn’t he, with high cheekbones and fine, slender hands,” she said to Roan.
“I don’t care if he has hands like mutton chops,” Roan said.
Penfors laughed and pointed at Roan. “Look here, Matheson’s in a snit! Our American girl has gone off with the Villeroy boy, has she? Lovely girl your sister, Matheson. Lovely. Quite good at cards.”
Roan looked as if he might come completely undone. Prudence pictured him unraveling, starting with his neckcloth, spinning off like a top. “Pardon, my lord,” she asked quietly, “but would you happen to know where in London the Villeroys might have gone?”
“Well, of course I know! I’ve dined there often. Not in the fashionable part of Mayfair, mind you, but on Upper George Street. Do you know it?”
“Yes,” Prudence said absently.
“There you are,” Stanhope said, and looked at Roan. “Your cousin knows where the Villeroys are, Mr. Matheson. You might send her in after your sister with a shield and a sword.”
“Cousin!”Lady Penfors echoed incredulously.
A silence fell over the table. Prudence felt the rush of heat to her face, the fluttering of her heart. This was the moment Stanhope would expose her lie and she would be humiliated before everyone gathered.
But Lord Penfors suddenly howled. “You devil you, Stanhope! She’s much too young for Matheson, I grant you,” he said, indicating Prudence, “but don’t malign the good Mrs. Matheson with your jesting.”
Stanhope graciously nodded his head. “I should rather cut out my own tongue than malign the good Mrs. Matheson,” he said. “Forgive me, madam, I misunderstood. I thought you were cousins in addition to...your arrangement.”
“Goodness, my lord, you should know better than anyone, shouldn’t you? They areyourfriends,” Lady Penfors said.
“Indeed they are, my lady,” he said.
Prudence said nothing. She looked at Roan, whose jaw was as firmly set as the fist that rested next to his plate.
“Oh my, look at the time, Penfors!” Lady Penfors said. “Send for the port.”
Thankfully, the supper ended there, and the ladies were instructed by their hostess to retire to the grand salon to oversee the preparations for dancing, while the gentlemen were similarly instructed to enjoy their port.
It was astonishing to see that the musicians had indeed come up from the village while the Penfors guests had dined, a ragtag group of four men who were busy tuning their instruments. By the time the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Lady Penfors was eager to have the dance get underway, opening with standard country figures.
