Page 9 of Miss Dashing
“Do you own satin knee breeches, my lord?”
From any other woman, Phillip was sure the question would have been scandalous. “I’m having the requisite articles made up. You sent orders, I followed them, and my exchequer will be considerably lighter as a consequence.”
“And you are working on your waltzing?”
What was she about? “Not until I master the rubbishing quadrille. I want to get the worst ordeal behind me.”
“I’m afraid the ordeals are only beginning, my lord. If you haven’t received it already, you will find in today’s post an invitation to a summer house party out in Hampshire. The Earl of Nunn is the nominal host.”
Phillip had done his homework, at least where Hecate Brompton was concerned. “He’s related to you, a cousin at some remove.”
“Second cousin, though everybody calls him Great-Uncle Nunn, or Uncle Nunn. Not a bad sort, but hands-off when it comes to his side of the family. Charles Brompton, another cousin of sorts, made the Marchioness of Tavistock’s acquaintance when she was plain Amaryllis DeWitt. Charles is hoping to mend fences with the marchioness by inviting you to the family seat.”
Phillip let Herne plod along on a loose rein. The horse was pouting—he did so treasure his mud puddles—while Hecate Brompton was executing a strategy of her own devising.
“How many lies did you just tell, Miss Brompton?”
He expected her to stiffen and descend into lecturing. Instead, she kept her gaze straight ahead. “No true bouncers, a few prevarications.”
“Are you feeding me to the lions so soon?”
“The Bromptons aren’t lions, though they fancy themselves as such. Charles is up to something, of that I have no doubt. Perhaps he wants to invest in Tavistock’s beer-making scheme, or he’s decided you should marry one of his sisters. I’m not entirely sure what’s afoot, but I’ve been managing the Bromptons for years. If you agree to attend, I’m fairly confident I can keep them from troubling you too sorely.”
“And if I refuse this gracious invitation from virtual strangers?” At least one of whom, Phillip suspected, had toyed with Amaryllis’s affections, if not her virtue.
“If you refuse, they will try again when the shooting starts in August, or they will mutter and whine about your rejection.”
“I’d best get it over with?”
She nodded, and that single, terse gesture yielded an insight. The Bromptons were relying on Hecate to get him to this house party. If he refused, their muttering and whining would be directed againsther, the one family member he knew.
“I have two conditions,” Phillip said. “Well, three, though I assume you will attend for the duration?”
“I will.”
“Then my other two conditions are as follows: no quadrilles, and Mr. Gavin DeWitt will attend with me.”
“Miss DeWitt’s younger brother?”
“A lifelong friend, a gentleman, and an accomplished charmer. He’ll be a credit to the gathering.” Also a towering pain in the arse some of the time. Needs must.
Miss Brompton studied Phillip as the horses plodded along. “Mr. DeWitt will be a decoy, distracting everybody from your presence by spreading his peacock feathers at your command.”
“He’ll also be my second if I have to call this Charles Brompton out. I’d do so, Miss Brompton, not because your cousin offended the marchioness long ago. She has her own champion to fight that battle. I will call Brompton out if in any way he shows the least inclination to disrespect you.”
Miss Brompton gathered up her reins. “Violence is not on the list of entertainments I’m devising, I assure you. One other question: Why did the old marquess insist you be raised in obscurity?”
She’d been bound to ask, sooner or later, and yet, Phillip still wished she hadn’t. “Is that truly relevant?”
“The gossips will find it very relevant. Forewarned and all that.”
“I did not resemble the mardy old poltroon, and he used that evidence to question my patrimony. I was slow to speak, clumsy, and could play for hours with the simplest toys. Papa added mental deficiency to my store of sins and washed his hands of me.”
“You are not mentally deficient or noticeably clumsy, and you speak as well as any man, if a bit too honestly. Are you legitimate?”
“In the biological sense? Haven’t a clue, nor does any other living soul. I am legally legitimate. I am of a height with my brother, we have some mannerisms in common, and we seem to be in sympathy regarding our view of the world generally. Are you legitimate, Miss Brompton?”
He asked the question merely to be impertinent, but her posture acquired yet another increment of rectitude.
