Page 26 of Oddity of the Ton
“No. Aninsult.”
“If the footman intended to insult you, he’d do more than spill soup on your napkin.”
“Such as?”
Monty shrugged. “Perhaps your soup had a sharper taste than you might expect.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Or…perhaps it was a little more yellow in color than everyone else’s?”
A snort, followed by a volley of coughing, came from across the table. Sitting opposite, a few places down, was the woman from the park that morning—the eldest Miss Howard—flanked by her father and Westbury’s eldest son. For less than a heartbeat, she looked directly at Monty, a flash of mirth in her green gaze. Then her eyes narrowed and she resumed her attention on her plate.
He’d not noticed her before. She seemed to blend in with her surroundings. Her gown, a light blue muslin, lacked adornment, save a thin lace trim about the neckline. And her hair, fashioned into a simple style, was dotted with what looked like daisies. She was the opposite of her sister—the exquisitely beautiful Juliette—who sat next to Westbury, at the far end of the table, wearing a gown of bright pink silk, a necklace of rubies and diamonds about her throat, her hair studded with pearls.
“Eleanor, what are you doing?” Lady Howard’s voice cut through the conversation. Miss Howard mumbled an apology, her features creased with distress. Then Sir Leonard leaned toward her and whispered something indiscernible, and she gave a quick, tight smile. The young footman Lady Arabella had complained about refilled Miss Howard’s wineglass, and she nodded her thanks.
“Oh,Lord,” Lady Arabella said. “I know we must make allowances for the lower classes, but even the most generous hostess should draw the line when it comes to inviting those who cannot understand proper decorum. Thanking paid subordinates, indeed! I fail to understand her lack of propriety when her sister is so charming. Of course, you know what’s been said about her…”
But before she could tell him what gossip circulated around Miss Howard, Westbury stood and tapped his wineglass.
“Care to join me for a brandy, gentlemen, while the ladies seek respite from our company?”
The men murmured their assent.
“Lady Arabella, please excuse me,” Monty said. “We must continue our conversation another time.”
She nodded, then gestured toward the young footman. “I must have a word with our hostess abouthim.”
“Leave it with me, Lady Arabella,” Monty replied. “I’lldeal with him.”
Spiteful triumph glittered in her eyes. She offered her hand, and he held it close to his lips, not quite able to bring himself to kiss it. Then he rose and followed the gentlemen out. As he passed the footman, he stopped and leaned close.
“May I help you, Your Grace?” the boy asked, his voice wavering with apprehension.
“I wish to commend the excellence of your service,” Monty said. Then he left the astonished young man standing while he exited the dining room. As he reached the doorway, he glanced back to see Miss Howard, her gaze flicking between him and the footman, a smile on her lips. Then she lowered he gaze once more.
Chapter Nine
“You’ll be allright,” Eleanor’s father whispered. “The duchess is a kind woman.” Then he followed the men out, leaving her alone with the women.
“Well, ladies,” their hostess said, “shall we retire to the drawing room while the men congratulate themselves on their prowess?”
Polite titters threaded through the company—the other ladies wishing to ingratiate themselves with the duchess, but only thinly disguising their disapproval. Clearly it wasn’t done to say anything critical of the opposite sex. Across the table, Lady Arabella Ponsford smiled, but her eyes remained cold and hard, discontent in their expression. What that unpleasant harpy had to be so dissatisfied with, Eleanor couldn’t fathom. Independently wealthy, titled, and with the statuesque figure that elicited the admiration of all who saw her, Lady Arabella was like Juliette in that she always seemed to know where to go and what to say to fit into the world and elicit praise from everyone in it.
And she’d been sat next tohimat dinner.
But, rather than appreciate her good fortune, she’d complained her way through the entire meal, wrinkling her pretty little nose while she tasted the soup.
The soup…
A bubble of mirth threatened to burst at what Whitcombe had said. Most likely the footman hadn’t relieved himself in Lady Arabella’s soup, but wouldn’t it have been wonderful if hehad?
And—oh my—Whitcombe had heard her laugh, andlookedat her. Was he disgusted that she’d understood his meaning? Or perhaps he considered her unladylike laugh unfit for Polite Society.
Their hostess stood, and the ladies followed suit. Eleanor winced as her chair scraped along the floorboards, and Mother shot her a look of irritation. But the duchess appeared not to notice. Lady Arabella approached Juliette, and the two exited arm in arm.
Eleanor folded her napkin, placed it on the table, then approached the door where her hostess stood, waiting.
