Page 14 of Oddity of the Ton
“The cleverest of women can erode a man without his noticing it,” Thorpe said. “And your mother is nothing if not a clever woman. She’s determined to see you provide her with an heir.”
“She’ll have a long wait before I submit myself to incarceration,” Monty replied.
“What about Lady Arabella Ponsford?” Sawbridge asked. “You’ve danced with her a few times.”
“Lady Arabella’s a harpy,” Monty said. “She finds fault in everything. When she marries, she’ll spend the entirety of her wedding night criticizing the groom’s performance.”
“There’s Juliette Howard. She’s uncommonly pretty.”
“The one Colonel Reid’s been following around with his tongue hanging out?” Thorpe asked. “My Henrietta says she has a worse temper than Lady Arabella.”
“Your wife’s a gossip,” Sawbridge said. “Is this what I can look forward to when I marry—a woman plaguing me with tattle morning, noon, and night?”
Thorpe smiled, satisfaction twinkling in his eyes. He didn’tlooklike a henpecked husband. In fact, he looked replete, as if he indulged on the finest delicacies on a nightly basis.
Lucky bastard.
Monty gave a start. From where hadthatnotion come?
“She has an older sister,” Marlow said.
“Who?” Monty asked.
“Juliette Howard. Her sister Eleanor is two years older.”
“I know of no sister,” Monty said. “They were at the Fairchilds’ ball last week—Sir Leonard, Lady Howard…” He pictured the exquisitely beautiful Juliette gliding across the dance floor on the arm of the unfortunate Colonel Reid, the purple-clad Lady Howard on the arm of the even more unfortunate Sir Leonard. And…
The dowdy-looking creature who spent the evening sitting in a corner…
“What does the sister look like?” Monty asked.
“She’s as plain as Juliette is beautiful,” Sawbridge said.
“She’s not plain,” Marlow said. “But she rarely wears bright colors. She prefers to blend into the background.”
“A girl has no right attending a ball if she’s not going to look her best,” Sawbridge said. “Sir Leonard’s known for procuring the finest silks. His daughter must be soft in the head if she won’t wear them.”
“Eleanor Howard is merely reserved,” Marlow said, an edge to his voice.
“There’s no place in Society for a reserved woman,” Monty said. “Who wants a dullard who says nothing?”
“I recall Lady Fairchild saying the same aboutyou, Whitcombe,” Marlow replied. “My Lavinia heard her complaining that you sat next to her at dinner and said barely two words throughout the meal.”
“I had nothing in particular to say to her.”
“Perhaps Miss Howard has nothing in particular to say to anyone either,” Marlow said. “She’s disinclined to exchange the usual inane comments one’s subjected to at social events, but I like her all the more for it. And she’s my wife’s particular friend.”
“But I doubt she’ll find a husband,” Sawbridge replied. “No dowry would be enough to tempt a man to bore himself to death.” He turned his gaze on Monty, a sly smile on his lips. “Perhaps she’ll do foryou, Whitcombe. By the time you get around to taking a wife, Miss Howard will still be in want of a husband—and a desperate woman would be willing to accommodate your every whim.”
Monty let out a laugh “Heavens no! My wife must be presentable at least. I’ve no wish to bepitied.”
Sawbridge let out a chuckle, but Marlow frowned. “You should stick to your doxies, Whitcombe, if you merely want an ornament for your arm and a willing body to rut—for a price, of course.”
Monty flinched at the anger in his friend’s tone. Marlow pulled out his pocket watch and flipped open the lid. “It’s time I returned to my wife.”
“Back to your gaol?” Sawbridge laughed.
“Not at all,” Marlow replied. “I merely find myself in want of congenial company.”
