Page 103 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Uh-huh.” Andrew didn’t believe that he’d forgotten for a second. The news of his financial downfall was scandalous enough that Mr. White would certainly remember who had told him, which meant he didn’t want to admit to it for some reason.
“Well, I can recall,” Chautner blustered from across the table. He was leaning back in his chair, bored with theconversation and eager for play to continue in earnest. “Several of the chits were giggling about it, including that nasty little blonde who’s always got a face like she’s sniffed the nearest chamber pot.”
The women.
Andrew sighed. Of course Florence would choose to disperse gossip through young society misses. All it would have taken was a few words to the most loose-lipped of the bunch, and the story would have circulated within an hour. She had relatives within the ton courtesy of her late mother, so perhaps she’d started with one of those. A cousin or aunt, maybe.
“You kept it all very quiet,” Mr. Falvey remarked, gesturing for Andrew to make a move. “For it to have come out now, you must have upset a woman.”
He winced, not having expected the man to be so insightful. It was easy to dismiss Mr. Falvey as a gossipy toff.
Mr. Falvey’s face lit up when he noticed Andrew’s expression. “You did,” he exclaimed. “Was it your wife? Did she not know why you married her?”
Andrew cleared his throat, ignoring the burning in his chest. “It wasn’t the countess.”
Mr. Falvey leaned forward, revealing his cards, which he’d apparently forgotten, more interested in whatever tidbits Andrew might be willing to share. “How can you be sure? You know there is no creature more revenge-minded than an unhappy woman.”
“And how, exactly, would this situation please her?” Andrew demanded. “Our marriage will become an object of ridicule. My affection for her is being questioned. She has nothing to gain by spreading vicious rumors. Even if she did, she wouldn’t. She’s a better person than that.”
All three men stared at him.
“Dear Lord.” Mr. Falvey spoke first. “You’re smitten with her.”
“Why?” Mr. White sounded baffled. “She’s a—”
Mr. Falvey clapped his hand over Mr. White’s mouth and glared at him. “Did you not learn your lesson with Ashford? Speaking poorly of a man’s wife when the fellow in question is a besotted fool will only end with you suffering another bloody nose.”
Andrew’s lips pressed together. “Thank you,” he said to Mr. Falvey. “I’m not of a mind to listen to anyone denigrate my wife.”
“Besides,” Mr. Falvey added,sotto voce, “if the countess is not to blame, then the culprit is obvious.”
Andrew pushed his chair back and stood before Mr. Falvey could continue. “Please excuse me, gentlemen.” He hesitated. “If I hear that any of you have spoken of my wife with anything less than respect, you’ll discover that I’m not always so easygoing.”
Mr. White instinctively touched his nose.
Mr. Falvey nodded.
Chautner rolled his eyes. “Go, man. Let us get back to our game.”
Andrew strode away, uncertainty consuming him. He’d now ascertained that Florence had carried through with her threat. The question was, how on earth was he going to explain this to Amelia?
The knife chinkedagainst the plate as Amelia sliced through an egg and scooped it onto her fork. She took a mouthful and glanced across the breakfast table at Kate, who’d joined her for the meal. Lady Drake was still abed, and Andrew had been gone when she’d woken.
A knock at the morning room door caught their attention.
“My lady.” Boden stepped inside, his chin high, bearingregal. “Mr. and Mrs. Hart have come to call on you.”
Amelia looked at the clock. “So early?”
“I can tell them you’re not at home, if you’d like, my lady,” Boden offered. “But Mrs. Hart was quite insistent that they speak with you.”
“What do you think it’s about?” Kate asked, her head cocked curiously.
“I’ve no idea.” But she did know that if her mother wanted something, she wouldn’t leave until she got it. She ate another forkful of egg, set her cutlery down, and pushed the plate away. “Boden, can you have Mrs. Baker send tea and scones to the drawing room, please?”
He bowed. “As you wish, my lady. Shall I ask Mr. and Mrs. Hart to wait for you there?”
“No, I’ll do it.” If she delayed, she’d only worry about what had brought them here. If they’d called during more social hours, she might not be concerned, but it was unlike her mother to leave the house in the morning, unless it was to shop.
