Page 46 of Oddity of the Ton
“B-but…”
“Might you indulge me?”
His tongue seemed to linger on the wordindulge.
“M-Montague…” She cringed at the familiar address on her tongue, but she couldn’t deny the secret thrill in the pit of her stomach at having his name on her lips.
“Hmmm,” he murmured. “I shall have to be content with that. And now, I believe it’s time for your first lesson. Modern languages.”
“What language?”
“The most puerile language of them all. The language of Society—when one says nothing, but still manages to utter so many words.”
“And when one speaks in riddles all the time,” Eleanor said. “Will you teach me the riddles everyone speaks?”
“What riddles?”
“The other night, Lady Arabella said something to my sister about the Duke of Westbury’s son being born in a—a blanket? I cannot work out her meaning.”
His expression hardened. “Do you perchance mean being born on the wrong side of the blanket?”
“That was it—yes! But the duke didn’t seem to take the remark with favor. Do you know what Arabella meant by it?”
“It means the lad is Westbury’s natural son.” He sighed. “No wonder Westbury was angry. He’s had men horsewhipped for referring to the boy’s birth.”
“Well,Isee nothing wrong,” Eleanor said. “Don’t all men wish for a natural child?”
“A natural child is more trouble than it’s worth, Miss Howard,” he said, his voice stern. “My own father…” He shook his head. “Suffice it to say, my mother never forgave him.”
“Nowyou’respeaking in riddles,” she said. “You’re a natural child, aren’t you? As am I.”
“I’m no such thing! Do you think I’d be in possession of a title if I were?”
“I don’t understand,” Eleanor said.
“I’m saying…” he began, his voice laced with anger. Then he stopped and let out a cry. “Of course!” He laughed. “You assumenaturalto mean a child by birth, instead of, say, a ward.”
First he was angry—now he was making fun of her. Could this day get any worse?
“Is there any other meaning?” she asked, blinking back tears.
His expression softened. “The expression refers to a child”—he lowered his voice—“born out of wedlock.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she averted her gaze. No wonder Westbury had looked so furious—he must have thought she was insulting his son.
“I-I did not know,” she said. “Is that why he’s called Drayton, not Westbury?”
“Drayton is the family name,” he said, “but the title is the Duchy of Westbury. Master Edward can take his father’s surname, but not the title—in that, he’s had to defer to his younger brother.”
Eleanor shook her head. “You must think me terribly stupid not to know these things.”
“The last word I’d use to describe you is stupid, Miss Howard,” he said gently, taking her hand again. “The language of Society doesn’t come as naturally to you as it does to most. Just as, say, the skills of the artist don’t come naturally to most, yet you possess them to a greater degree.”
“Me?”
“I hear you’re an accomplished artist,” he said. “The duchess told me as much the other night. And I saw it for myself that morning, when I encountered…Harrietin this very park at daybreak.”
What must he think of her—using her maid’s name and creeping about the park at dawn?
