Page 50 of To Love and to Loathe
“Yes, frightful,” Jeremy agreed, nodding fervently. He picked up his fork, attempting to refocus on the food before him. It was difficult to concentrate on much of anything with Diana’s theatrics on one side and Lady Helen’s on the other.
Because he was now almost certain that Lady Helen’s behavior was indeed just that: an act. He had beaten a hasty retreat away from her door once he had realized just who she was tangled up with—and had tripped rather spectacularly, and sworn even more colorfully at an elevated volume, once he was a bit farther down the hallway. He hoped he’d been sufficiently noisy to interrupt the ladies and at least make them realize that the door was not shut before anyone else discovered them.
He felt oddly protective of Lady Helen’s secret; he had stumbled upon her by accident, she’d no notion that he knew, and it didn’t feel sporting to gossip about her like a mean-spirited dowager, even with his closest friends.
However, he could not stop thinking about what he’d seen. He was not shocked at the existence of sapphists, of course, but rather amazed that Lady Helen counted herself among them. What the devil was she doing, then, dangling after him? Was she trying to catch a rich husband and be done with it, so that she might continue liaising with her maid whenever she wished? He could not fault her for this, in truth; the world of thetonwas a difficult place for any woman, muchless one who wished for something beyond the bounds of a traditional family and home. But why did she behave so dreadfully? It had to be an act; he couldn’t countenance the idea of a servant carrying on with an aristocrat as insufferable as Lady Helen seemed, unless she was being compelled. And Sutton had looked exceptionally enthusiastic that afternoon.
Perhaps she planned to find herself in a compromising situation with an eligible man, but to have made herself so undesirable a companion that he would have little to do with her once they were wed? That would certainly give her plenty of time to make love to her maid instead. If that was her plan, he had better watch his step: just because he felt sympathy for her situation and somewhat admired her cunning didn’t mean he had any wish to make her the Marchioness of Willingham.
He spent the rest of the evening fending off a double set of advances: Lady Helen’s, and Diana’s further attempts to force Lady Helen upon him. The remainder of the dinner passed in a series of mishaps: the remains of a glass of wine spilled onto Jeremy’s thigh, resulting in some highly inappropriate dabbing at the area with a napkin wielded by Lady Helen; Diana repeatedly asking him to move his chair farther to the left, claiming she had nowhere near enough room, so that by the meal’s end Jeremy was nearly sitting in Lady Helen’s lap; Lady Helen offering him a taste of her asparagus, waving a fork in his face with such enthusiasm that he had obediently opened his mouth to ensure she did not poke out one of his eyes.
“Mmmm,” he said weakly, giving Lady Helen a smile that he could only imagine made him look entirely deranged. “Delicious.”
“Jeremy,” Violet said from across the table; he was fairly certain she had interrupted her husband mid-sentence to speak to him, butAudley merely appeared amused. “I had no idea you were so fond of asparagus. You already have a generous portion of it on your plate, and yet you still could not resist?” She blinked at him with an expression of innocent inquiry that Jeremy was not fooled by for a second.
“It is a… newfound passion.”
“Ah, yes,” she agreed, nodding. “You seem to have discovered more than one of those this week.”
It would be too much to hope, of course, that Lady Helen had not noticed that comment. “Oh?” she asked. “What else has caught your fancy this week, my lord?”
“Riding?” Diana asked innocently; it was Audley who choked on his wine this time. Penvale gave his sister a look that was uncannily reminiscent of a maiden aunt chaperone regarding her unruly charge.
“I think Jeremy already enjoyed riding,” Violet said thoughtfully, ignoring Penvale entirely and giving Diana an encouraging smile.
“Fair enough, Violet, fair enough,” Diana agreed, nodding at her friend across the table. “Was it… planting? I know you’ve become very invested in the fates of your tenant farmers, Willingham.”
“Scattering all those seeds about,” Violet said, straight-faced.
Jeremy contemplated the sweet release of death. “I believe it was shooting,” he said firmly. “I never quite appreciated the satisfaction in blood sport before.”
“Ah, yes,” Diana agreed. “Hunting. The pursuit. The chase. It’s most… invigorating.” She smiled at him sweetly. On his other side, Lady Helen’s hand crept to his thigh.
Belfry chose this moment to chime in, leaning around Lady Helen to peer at Jeremy’s face. “Willingham, are you feeling well? You don’t look quite the thing at all.”
“Merely contemplating the virtues of a lengthy stay in the OuterHebrides,” Jeremy assured him. Next to him, Lady Helen tittered. Across from him, Violet—and her husband, damn him—grinned. And, most alarmingly of all, Diana smirked like the cat that got the cream.
It was much later, as the parlor games were breaking up and the party was beginning to scatter for the evening, that Penvale cornered him. Jeremy had just finished bowing over Lady Emily’s hand in an excessive display of gallantry engineered mainly to irk Belfry, who had seemed suspiciously attuned to every move Emily had made all evening. No sooner had Jeremy raised his eyebrows at the dark look Belfry leveled in his direction than Penvale was upon him, a firm hand on his shoulder making escape all but impossible.
“Jeremy,” he said in a tone of false heartiness that had Jeremy on his guard at once. “Fancy a nightcap?”
“I don’t imagine I’ve much say in the matter,” Jeremy said; Penvale barely seemed to hear him, turning to hail Audley, who was hand in hand with Violet, his head bent slightly to listen to whatever impropriety she was whispering in his ear. “Audley!” he called. “A nightcap?”
“I don’t think—” Audley began, but was immediately interrupted by Penvale again.
“Good, good! Violet, I’ll send him along shortly.”
Violet raised her eyebrows at her husband and departed before he could object further, leaving a visibly disgruntled Audley standing alone by the doorway. He moved back toward Penvale and Jeremy, muttering under his breath all the while.
“… late the hour is, and a man just wants to be tucked up with his wife in bed—”
“I’ll return you to Violet’s clutches in just a moment, never fear,” Penvale said blithely, pressing a glass of brandy into Audley’s hand before turning to Jeremy and offering him one as well. Jeremy supposed he should rather object to being treated like a guest in his own home, but he had too many other pressing concerns at the moment.
So, too, apparently, did Penvale. “How, precisely, do matters currently stand between you and my sister?”
Jeremy sighed, lifting his free hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, taking a few steps to sink into one of the armchairs that bracketed the fireplace. Audley joined him, sipping at his brandy in a considering manner, but Penvale remained standing.
“Please don’t waste my time,” Penvale said pleasantly. “I did, after all, see the two of you mauling each other in the woods.”
