Page 43 of Tall, Dark & Wicked
“Indeed. I’ve not spent much time in London in the last few years as matters here required my attention. And I haven’t enjoyed a Season since I courted my wife.”
Lord Haddon possessed a dry wit, a handsome face, and was a wealthy widower. He should probably be more concerned abouthisSeason rather than his daughter’s. She doubted he’d remain unscathed. Haddon would be like a fat goose dropped into the lap of theton.
“Jordana is beside herself to visit London.” He shot an indulgent glance to the dark-haired girl across the table. “I do hope she’s not disappointed.”
“I enjoyed my time in London immensely,” Petra assured him. It was only a partial lie.
“I assume that’s where you met Pendleton.” Haddon lifted his chin in Simon’s direction. “He’s highly regarded in Parliament.”
“Yes, he is.” The Cornish hen turned to dust in her mouth. She’d not thought Simon’s neighbors would realize Simon’s intent, but of course they would. Why else would she and her mother be at Brushbriar? Petra stared at her plate for the longest time; her interest in the dinner, never strong to begin with, became non-existent.
“Have I said something wrong, Lady Petra?” He shot her a curious glance.
“No, of course not.” Petra chewed slowly. “I was only remembering all Jordana has to look forward to. Some of the Season can be a bit daunting.”
Lord Haddon nodded as if considering her response. “I may seek your mother’s council, Lady Petra.”
“She will be happy to help, I am sure.”
“You know, as long as I’ve known Morwick, tonight is the first time I’ve actually met his mother, Lady Cupps-Foster.” Haddon’s gaze drifted to the other end of the table where Lady Pendleton sat regarding her guests with a regal tilt to her head. His eyes passed over Katherine but lingered on Lady Cupps-Foster. “Are you acquainted?”
“We are related, of sorts, through marriage.” Petra related the rather twisted familial tree which forever entwined the Earl of Marsh with the Duke of Dunbar. “And, of course, Lord Morwick rescued Mother and I when our coach became disabled, and our driver became lost on the way to Brushbriar.” She left out the part where she ruined Morwick’s boots by becoming ill.
“She has a very tragic past, does she not?” Haddon’s eyes never left Lady Cupps-Foster who had lifted her glass.
“I do not think she sees it that way.” Petra looked at Haddon directly, noting his interest. Lady Cupps-Foster was still a beautiful woman, her face remaining smooth and unlined and her dark hair showing only a few streaks of gray. Her eyes, a brilliant blue and so much like Morwick’s, gazed back at Haddon with returned interest.
Katherine’s seductive laughter floated down the table to Petra’s seat.
“Morwick, you haven’t changed one bit,” Katherine cooed.
Petra stabbed viciously at her peas determined not to listen to the conversation at the end of the table.
“Lady Petra, have the peas displeased you somehow?” Simon said next to her, his earlier ire at her gone. “I find coaxing them onto my fork much easier.”
Petra laid down her fork, angry at Simon and having no idea why. She was really angry at herself. She formed her lips into the practiced smile she’d used during two Seasons. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I fear my mind wandered from my plate.”
“Your mother told me you slept through tea today.” He regarded her with an affectionate glance, one which you would bestow upon a treasured pet of some sort. One lacking a brain.
She had the urge to flick her peas into his face. “No, my lord. I simply read late into the night.”
“I knew you would love the book of poetry I selected for you.”
“Yes, thank you, my lord.” He really thought she’d stay up all night to read poetry?
Simon nodded in approval and then turned his attention to Mr. Divet. “Mr. Divet, you were in the United States during an election. Tell me, how did you find their voting process?”
Petra gripped her fork. It had taken him only a moment to forget all about her.
* * *
Brendan didn’t carefor Cornish hen. Nor peas, his least favorite vegetable. And he especially didn’t he care for Haddon at the moment. Haddon’s eyes were lingering on the gleaming tops of Petra’s breasts displayed to perfection in the blasted green dress. And Brendan would know, as he’d admired her breasts in the same dress before. Worse, of course, was listening to the droning of Pendleton about how important he had become in Parliament.
Windbag. Talk about something of importance. Like reparations for injured miners. Or the destruction of the Peak due to lead mining.
Petra laughed at something Haddon said and Brendan’s hold on his knife tightened. He was quite good with a knife. From this distance, he could pierce Haddon’s jugular very neatly. It would be a shame to kill Haddon, since Brendan actually liked the baron. He just didn’t care for Haddon admiring Petra in such a way. You’d think Simon, as her future husband, would do something about it. Or hell, even leer at her himself.
But Simon was busy extolling his own virtues as the self-important ass he was. Lording over the entire room from his place at the head of the table. Petra appeared to hang on Simon’s every word. But Brendan noticed the strain around the corner of her lips. She was viciously attacking her peas and stabbing at her Cornish hen.
