Page 44 of How to Ruin a Duke
“Then call him out.”Edith dodged left only to again be blocked by a wall of fine tailoring exquisitely fitted to the ducal person.“That’s what Lord Jeremiah would do.”Then his lordship would probably delope, have a drink or six with his opponent, and go carousing onto the next potentially fatal lark.No wonder the duchess had been a woman easily vexed.
“Alas,” Emory retorted.“My detractor, who stands before me in the most horrid shade of pink I have ever beheld, is a female.One cannot call out a female, which said female well knows and likely exploits at every turn.”
“Are you tipsy, Emory?”Many wealthy men were seldom sober, but Edith had put Emory in the seldom drunk column.“Fevered, perhaps?Have you suffered a blow to the head?That must be it.”
“I have suffered a blow to my reputation, and well you know it.”
This conversation was attracting notice, which Edith could ill afford.“I’ll thank you to spare me a litany of the slights you image yourself to have suffered, Emory.Having already earned the notice of a satirist, you should be reluctant to accost women on the street, much less lecture them about your supposed miseries.Good day.”
She made it past him, but he fell in step beside her.
“Have you no escort, my lady?”
“Why would I need an escort when I can fly from one destination to the next on my broomstick?”
The hordes of pedestrians made way for Emory, and thus for Edith.Even an indignity as minor as getting jostled on the street had been an adjustment for her, an insistent reminder that she’d come down in the world, far down.She hated that Emory could see what she’d been reduced to, and resentment gave her tongue unladylike sharpness.
“And there,” Emory said, “we have a pathetic gesture in the direction of the feeble wit that has apparently inspired you to make a living with your pen.”He tipped his hat to a dowager mincing along on the arm of a young man.“You should have an escort because a lady does not travel the streets alone.”
“And who made up that rule?”Edith mused.“Instead of limiting a woman’s movements to those times when some hulking bullyboy is available to escort her, why don’t gentlemen of goodwill simply cosh the heads of the parasites who presume to assault the gentler sex in broad daylight?Fellows styling themselves as gentlemen could have a jolly time bloodying noses and wielding their fists while the ladies accomplished their errands in peace.But no, of course not.Englishmen could not be half so sensible.The ne’er-do-wells wander freely, while the ladies are shackled to the company of dandiprats and bores, all in the name of keeping the ladies from harm.”
Emory remained at her side right up to the corner.“What thehellis wrong with you?”He spoke quietly, and if Emory had one virtue—even his mother allowed that he had at least five—it was that he rarely used foul language in the hearing of any female.
Traffic refused to oblige Edith’s need to cross the street.“What thehellis wrong with me?”Cursing felt fiendishly good.“I was nearly knocked on my backside by male arrogance bearing the proportions of a mastodon.That same mastodon has insulted my only warm cloak, and he has made me a public spectacle while accusing me of behaviors that he apparently disapproves of.You clearly need a change of air, Emory.I intend to turn north here, I suggest you strut off to the south.”
She made a shooing motion.
He caught her hand and put it on his arm.“Literary notoriety has gone to your head.Her Grace would despair to hear you spouting such ungenteel sentiments.Perhaps you are the one in need of a change of air, my lady.”
Traffic cleared and as the crossing sweepers darted out to collect horse droppings, His Grace accompanied Edith to the next walkway.
“What I need, sir, is a decent meal, peace and quiet, and to be rid of you.”
“You do look peaked.All that flying about on broomsticks must be exhausting, but then, ruining dukes probably takes a toll on a lady’s energy too.Perhaps your conscience keeps you awake at night?”
He sauntered along, tossing out insults like bread crumbs for crows, while the crowds parted for him as if he were royalty.He was merely 42ndin line for the throne and the last person Edith wanted to spend time with.
“Are you ruined?”Edith asked, untwining her hand from his arm.“You look to be in obnoxiously good health to me.”
Both Lord Jeremiah and His Grace of Emory were attractive men, viewed objectively.Lord Jeremiah was the classically handsome brother, with wavy brown hair styled just so, a mouth made for drawlingbon mots, and a physique that showed the benefit of regular athletic activity.His demeanor was congenial, his manner relaxed and gracious when in polite surrounds.
He could be an idiot, but he looked like a lord ought to look.
Without Lord Jeremiah as a contrast, Emory would have passed for handsome as well.Next to his younger sibling, though, the duke was two inches too tall for the dance floor, his hair a shade too dark and unruly for proper fashion.Those shortcomings might have been overlooked, but he was without his brother’s charm.
And polite society valued charm exceedingly.
Edith had respected Emory when she’d been in his mother’s employ.The duke paid well and punctually, and he did not bother the help.She’d learned to appreciate those traits.She could not, however, recall any occasion when Emory had relented from his infernal dignity, which made the book written about him hard to credit.
“Where are we going?”Emory asked after they’d crossed another intersection.
“You may go straight to perdition.”Edith had another three streets to travel before she’d be home.The thought of some bread and butter with a cup of tea loomed like a mirage on the horizon of a vast desert.
“I find it odd that your pen has sent me to social perdition, and yet you offer me nothing but insults.”
He wasn’t making any sense, or perhaps hunger was making Edith light-headed.“Did you apologize for nearly running me down?For insulting my cloak?For attaching yourself to me without my permission?For accusing me of hatching some scheme to add to your enormous heap of imaginary miseries?For insulting my appearance?”
That last had hurt.Edith had never been pretty, but she’d troubled over her complexion and taken care to always be tidy.If she was looking peaked, that was another step down from the serene pinnacle of feminine grace an earl’s daughter should have inhabited.
