Page 94 of Oddity of the Ton
Marlow shook his head. “No matter what you’ve said to assuage your conscience, I doubt Miss Howard fully understands.”
“You do her a disservice,” Monty said.
“No, my friend, it’syouwho does her a disservice. Does Lavinia know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re probably right,” Marlow said, “given that you’re still in possession of your balls. Lavinia would cut them off and feed them to our farmer’s prize porker if she knew. She loves Miss Howard—which is more than I can say for that damned family of hers.”
“Ahem.”
Monty glanced up at the sound of the footman clearing his throat.
Shit.
Standing beside the footman, his intelligent green gaze flicking from Monty to Marlow and back again, was Sir Leonard Howard.
How much had he heard? His expression was impassive—though, on recollection, Monty hadn’t seen any other expression on his face. Perhaps that was how he’d succeeded in business—not just for the sharp intelligence evident in his eyes, but for his ability to conceal his emotions. Doubtless he could have earned himself a fortune at the gaming tables. But, instead, he’d chosen to work for his living, earning a knighthood in the process.
Which was ironic, given that the men and women of thetonwere more likely to look upon with favor a man bestowed with luck on the gaming tables than one who soiled his hands with work.
“S-Sir Leonard—may I offer you a brandy?” Monty found himself stuttering, overcome with the knowledge that he was in the company of a better man.
Sir Leonard eyed the decanter, his expression unchanged save for a slight tightening of the corner of his mouth.
“It’s an ’86,” Monty added.
Sir Leonard’s eyes narrowed a fraction, as if he were questioning whether Monty intended to impress him merely by virtue of owning a superior cognac.
“I never acquired a taste for brandy,” he said.
“Then perhaps—” Monty began, but Sir Leonard interrupted.
“Perhaps we should rejoin the ladies.”
Marlow let out a laugh, a tremor in his voice. “Don’t you want a few minutes’ respite?”
Sir Leonard’s eyes darkened, and he set his mouth into a hard line. “I’ve not seen my daughter for a fortnight, Lord Marlow,” he said. Then he flicked his gaze over Monty, and his frown deepened. “I’m anxious to reassure myself that she has been treated well here.”
There was no mistaking the tone of Sir Leonard’s voice, which made it abundantly clear that he’d already formed a conclusion to the contrary.
Monty drained his glass, then gestured to the door. “Shall we?” he said. “I’ve no wish to keep you from Eleanor a moment longer than necessary.”
Sir Leonard raised an eyebrow at the familiar address, then nodded, and the three men exited the library.
As they approached the drawing room, Lady Howard’s voice could be heard cutting through the air. Sir Leonard let out a sigh, and though Monty longed to express his sympathies, he had no wish to subject himself to more of the man’s disdain. He found himself wanting Sir Leonard’s approval. But, unlike his wife, the shrewd man was impervious to flattery.
Monty led them into the drawing room.
Good—Jenkins had followed his instructions to the letter. Fewer candles than usual gave the room a homelier appearance,with a softer light unable to reach the furthest corners of the room.
One of which Miss Howard had placed herself in—coincidentally, or perhapsnot, on the opposite side of the room to her mother and sister—while she toyed with her bracelet. Lady Marlow sat close to the fireplace, engaged in conversation with Monty’s mother.
“Bloody hell, Whitcombe, what’s all this?” Marlow asked. “Do you expect your guests to stumble about in the dark?”
“Some of my guests prefer a softer light,” Monty said, “and a darker room always seems to mute the conversation. Loud chatter is to be abhorred at the best of times—more so after a lengthy meal.”
Sir Leonard glanced across the room at his daughter, and back at Monty.
