Page 93 of Oddity of the Ton
“Ofcoursewe forgive Lady Marlow,” Monty’s mother interjected. “You’re only speaking your mind, aren’t you, my dear? Over the past fortnight, I’ve come to appreciate the value of a woman who speaks her mind, rather than one who says what she believes she must say to flatter another.”
Oblivious to the insult, Lady Howard nodded, shifting her feathered headdress in the air. “I quite agree, Duchess. Don’t you, Juliette?”
Monty’s mother pushed her plate aside with half her dessert remaining. “Take it away, James.”
A footman approached and picked it up.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve lost my appetite. This dinner set is hideous enough to turn even the strongest constitution off a meal. Do you not think so, Miss Howard?”
Eleanor glanced up and colored. “I-I believe so.”
Monty stared at his mother as the corners of her mouth creased into a smile. Who the devilwasthis woman who put a chill in the atmosphere of every room she entered—but now looked at him with something akin to mirth in her eyes, after she had done the unthinkable in publiclythankingthe staff?
The rest of the diners set their cutlery down, and the footman circulated around the room, removing their plates.
“I must compliment you, Duchess, on the elegance of your meal,” Lady Howard said. “I always find that the quality of the meal reflects on the quality of the hostess, does it not? Only last week, when the Fairchilds came to dinner, Lady Fairchild told me that I was the best—”
Monty scraped his chair back and rose to his feet. “Marlow, Sir Leonard, would you join me for a brandy? Ladies—please excuse us.”
Before Lady Howard could resume her speech extolling the virtues of her skills as a hostess, the gentlemen rose and followed Monty out of the dining room.
“Would you excuse me for a minute, Whitcombe?” Sir Leonard asked.
“Of course—James, please attend Sir Leonard, then show him to the library.”
“Very good, sir.” The footman bowed, then escorted Sir Leonard along the hallway.
Monty led Marlow into the library, poured two glasses of brandy, then raised his glass.
“To the good riddance of unwelcome guests.”
“I trust you’re not referring to Sir Leonard,” Marlow said. “He’s good company when not in the presence of ladies.”
“You mean when he’s found his balls?” Monty gestured toward the door. “Perhaps he deposited them in the privy before dinner and has gone to fetch them.”
“Poor fellow,” Marlow said. “Do you suppose he entered the marriage state with his eyes open?”
“Does any man enter the marriage state fully aware of what he’s getting himself into?”
“Idid,” Marlow said.
“Your sickeningly happy state is the exception, Marlow. Marriage, for most men, is an afternoon sojourn to church, a day or two of dutiful rutting, followed by a lifetime of regret.” Monty waved his glass in an aimless gesture. “I find I’m beginning to understand regret myself, and I have no intention of suffering it more than necessary.”
“Regret?” Marlow raised his eyebrows. “Surely you cannot regret attaching yourself to Miss Howard. She’s not the sort of womanyou’dbe expected to wed—but you needn’t concern yourself with the opinions of others.” He sipped his brandy. “This is a very good bottle.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts—there’s no more ’86 in my cellar.”
“There’s many worse that you could have chosen.”
“Like the ’87?” Monty nodded. “A terrible year.”
“No, you dolt—I mean worse than Miss Howard.”
Monty sighed. “I haven’t chosen her. Our engagement is a sham. I won’t be marrying her.”
“Awhat?” Marlow spluttered and wiped his mouth. “After berating me for saying it was kind of you to marry Miss Howard, you now tell me that you have no intention of marrying her at all? Bloody hell, Whitcombe, I thought you were a cad, but I didn’t think evenyoucould stoop to tricking a respectable young woman—and one less capable than most of weathering heartbreak.”
“Miss Howard is aware,” Monty said. “She entered into the agreement with her eyes open.”
