Page 93 of Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart 5)

This diverted Miss Grandison. “Indeed. I agree. But I have not been able to think of a scheme that satisfies me. I had thought to expose John’s opera dancer. But it seems that most gentlemen see her as an…accomplishment of some sort rather than a failing.” She scowled at him.

“Not I,” Arthur said. And then remembered he was supposed to be demolishing his sterling reputation.

“Now that Ada is married and gone, no one cares much about the hussy,” continued Miss Grandison. “Except Gertrude, I suppose. And I don’t really wish to humiliate her.”

Gertrude was her brother’s wife, Arthur remembered, relieved that the dancer was to be left out of this. Teresa would not have liked involving her. “What if you were to subject your brother to the same fate that befell you? And dowse him with a bowl of punch?”

Miss Grandison blinked, startled.

“Before a large crowd, of course,” added Arthur. “At a great society squeeze. I had thought the Overton ball? Next week. That is one of the last big events of the season.”

His hostess appeared dazed by this flow of detail.

“Your…contretemps took place at a ball, after all,” Arthur added.

“Well, I…”

“It seems a kind of…poetic justice. To close the books on the whole matter.”

Miss Grandison gazed at him with puzzled wonder. “Yes, I see. I agree with your assessment. But I’m afraid… That is, I’m not certain I could bring myself to overturn a punch bowl before all those people. I would be all too likely to botch it.” She shook her head. “A lowering reflection. I am quite disappointed in myself. But I don’t think I have the temerity to do it.”

“I’ll do it for you,” declared Arthur.

“You?”

Under her astonished gaze Arthur felt a pulse of excitement. This would work. She couldn’t believe he would to do such a thing. All society would be agog.

As a young man, Arthur had never indulged any of his wild impulses. He’d watched some of his fellows develop unfortunate habits or make fools of themselves, but he’d always been restrained. Not prudish or judgmental, he fervently hoped, but correct. That had simply been his inclination. But now it seemed that he’d had enough of strict propriety. He’d met Teresa and ended up bundling a half-conscious villain onto a ship for the Indies. Which must certainly rise from unorthodox to outrageous. Or worse. Something had ignited his madcap streak at this point in his life, and he gloried in it.

“What in heaven’s name are you up to, Macklin?” asked Miss Grandison.

Fleetingly, he was drawn back into old habits. He started to rationalize. And then realized that he had no idea how to do so. Love was not reasonable. But that was none of Miss Grandison’s affair. He owed no explanations. She could take or leave his aid. If she didn’t want it, he’d think of something else. “Offering to help you? Do you really care what else?”

She took a moment to consider this. “I suppose not,” she said slowly.

“And why should you? If your goal is accomplished.”

“Well, I am very curious,” she answered. “Intensely so.”

“They do say not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Indeed,” said Miss Grandison. “Why is that? I have often wondered.”

“One judges the age of a horse by its teeth,” Arthur replied. “To look in its mouth would be to question the value of thegift.” He emphasized the last word.

Their eyes met for a long moment. Arthur wondered how many people would stare at him with such wild surmise after this. The question made him want to laugh.

“The punch could do,” Miss Grandison said then.

And so his fish was hooked. “There are people who recall what happened to you,” said Arthur. “They will understand the message.”

“You think so?” Her tone was very dry.

“Turnabout is fair play,” he suggested.

“You believe in fairness, do you, Macklin?”

This was not the time for a philosophical discussion. “You could repeat what he said to you years ago, when he is sitting there covered in punch. What was it?”

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