The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) (19 page)

No one seemed to notice them leaving. Meg was chattering loudly to Liza, while Shelbourne settled into his seat as if planning a nice snooze. Susannah, meanwhile, was engaged in speaking to Renminster over the partition.

Royce held the curtain and allowed Durham to pass through.

Liza’s beau was dressed like a country squire. From his plain, functional boots to the faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip, he looked uncomfortable and out of place. Quite the opposite of Liza, who, in her unmatched clothing and sparkling jewelry, always seemed to fit, no matter where she was or what she wore.

What
was
Liza thinking? The man was little better than a farmer. He would drag her to the country and bury her there, a fate worse than death for someone like Liza, who thrived in the excitement and elegance of London.

As they made their way to the routunda, Durham cleared his throat. “Sir Royce, I wanted to speak to you about a matter of great importance.”

Royce found a table filled with champagne glasses. He offered one to Durham who refused with a brief shake of his head. Royce chose one for himself and took a sip. “I’m not sure why you’d have anything of importance to say to me, but by all means, speak away.”

Durham pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I must apologize for seeming a little nervous, but I…Sir Royce, I wanted to talk to you about Miss Pritchard. She sees you as part of her family. Almost as a father—”

Royce choked, champagne going down his throat and up his nose at the same time.

Durham gave a muffled curse, then pounded Royce on the back, causing more damage than the champagne.

Royce held up a hand in an effort to stop the onslaught. “I think I can breathe now. I was just—Liza does
not
see me as a father.”

“An older brother, then,” Durham said easily. “Ever since I first met Liza…well, you know what she is. She’s unique. Strong willed. And has a delightful turn for business, which could be handy if I wish to expand my farm. She’s exactly what I’ve been looking for in a wife.”

Royce’s chest began to burn with something other than champagne gone wrong. The man was looking for a wife. And he’d settled on Liza. Damn the man for his impertinence. Royce barely managed to keep his tone civil. “Durham, have you said anything to Liza about this?”

“Not yet. The time hasn’t been right.” A smug smile curved the farmer’s mouth. “I believe I am fairly safe in saying that Liza does not view my suit with indifference. Sir Royce, you see Liza every day, so you are immune to her, but for me…she’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s wonderful.”

The man appeared completely besotted. Royce finished his champagne in one swallow and set the glass on the table, then grabbed another. He tossed it back without tasting a drop.

Durham watched, shifting from one foot to the other. “Sir Royce, are you well?”

The champagne was working its magic, and slowly, Royce’s chest and throat loosened. “I’m fine. Just answer one question, Durham.”

“Anything. I’m at your disposal.”

“What do you have in common with Liza?”

“In common? Well, we—” The man clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the ornate ceiling, his thick brows lowered. “She, ah…hm. In common. I hadn’t really—in common, eh?”

Royce waited for the man to realize the dismal truth; the only thing he and Liza had in common was…nothing. Not a damned thing.

Durham’s gaze suddenly focused. “Liza loves animals and I have a farm with over a thousand cows.”

Cows? Royce shook his head. “Liza loves horses and monkeys. Actually, to be more precise, she likes horses and one
particular
monkey.”

“I have horses, too,” Durham said hurriedly. “Several, in fact.”

Plow horses, every one. Royce would wager money on it.

“But my cows…Sir Royce, do you know much about cattle?” Durham’s eyes positively glowed. “My cows are specially bred. My father began to develop a slightly larger breed before I was born and I have carried on his work.” A faint color touched Durham’s face. “This may sound silly, but my cows are heirlooms in a way. They are my most prized possessions.”

Good Lord, the man was serious. Royce tried to imagine Liza in the country, surrounded by cows and perhaps a dozen or so thick-waisted children, all carrying butter churns or some such nonsense. The thought was so nauseating that he had to press a hand to his stomach.

Bloody hell, it was madness. And he’d be damned if he’d just stand aside while Durham ruined Liza’s life. Liza
and
Royce’s lives, for she was
his
best friend and he couldn’t live without her.

Thus it was that he heard himself saying in a firm voice, “Lord Durham, I fear only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s—” Royce bit his lip as if uncertain to continue. He watched Durham out of the corner of his eye, waiting.

The man’s expression darkened with concern. “Come, Sir Royce, we are to be family, for I know Liza thinks of you and Meg as such. You can tell me anything.”

“Oh. Well! If we’re to be family, I suppose I should at least mention…I was just wondering how your cows will take to Liza’s monkey? George can be quite fierce when he chooses. He bites, you know.”

Durham blanched. “Bites?”

“Indeed. Of course, he only does so when frightened. But a small monkey like that is bound to be frightened of a cow. Especially a very large cow.”

“Oh dear. I’ve heard it said that a monkey’s bite can be very painful.”

“In some instances, I believe they cause death. And if he began to prey on your cows…” Royce supposed he should feel bad laying so much on George’s tiny shoulders, but he felt he had to do something. Something dire. Something to save Liza. He turned away and replaced his empty glass on the table behind him, wondering if he’d yet said enough.

Durham was silent a moment, mulling this over. After a bit, he said, “That creature has always made me a bit nervous. Perhaps Miss Pritchard can be persuaded to leave him in London.”

“Never. She’s mad about that silly animal.”

“Oh dear. I was hoping…” Durham collected himself with a visible effort. “Well! That certainly makes one think. But no matter. I’m certain we’ll be able to work something out. Sir Royce, I know you and Lady Shelbourne are quite close to Liza and I find myself…that is, I want you to know that my intentions are entirely honorable.”

Royce fisted his hands and shoved them into his coat pockets.

Unaware of how close he was to being beaten into dust, the farmer continued, “Furthermore, I am well able to take care of Liza. She will want for nothing,” he said proudly. “Sir Royce, is there anything you wish to know about my circumstances?”

Lord, yes. Royce wanted to know how Durham would deal with Liza’s penchant for doing as she pleased. And her sad addiction to shopping. What would she shop for out in the country? Certainly they wouldn’t have the quality of clothing she was used to. And where would she get her shoes? Certainly they’d have to come to London once a week, perhaps more.

But most importantly, Royce wanted to know how the hell was he going to live without Liza. She was such an intrinsic part of his life—always there for him, no matter what ailed him. He looked down at the champagne glasses on the table, watching the bubbles dance to the surface, bright dots of light that disappeared the instant they hit the surface. “How often will you come to Town once you are married?”

“Several times a year, and I daresay we’ll stay for a week or so each time.”

Only a week?
Royce didn’t think he’d ever heard a more horrible statement. He wracked his brain to think of something else he could say about Liza to show Durham how they didn’t suit. Something to make the besotted fool realize that marrying Liza was the last thing he should do. “Have you mentioned this to Liza? She may have a differing opinion, and she’s not a woman to take suggestions well. She’s as stubborn as they come.”

“So is my mother. I’m quite adept at dealing with strong females.”

“Liza is strong for a reason—she’s had to deal with life’s difficulties in a way few understand.”

“Which is why one should never give a female too many decisions to make. It goes to their head.”

Royce lifted his brows. “Liza
likes
making decisions.”

“Only because harsh circumstances have prevented her from developing in the delicate way nature intended. Fortunately I’m blessed with an affectionate mother who will be more than happy to show my wife all the courtesies necessary to correct such unfortunate tendencies.”

“Liza will be glad to discover that,” Royce said, gritting his teeth.

“Sir Royce, you need not fear. Miss Pritchard and I will suit very well. In fact”—the man preened a bit—“I’ve decided to give Liza a very special wedding gift. Her very own bull.”

Royce picked up another glass of champagne and took a hurried drink. “A—a bull. How unique.”

“I haven’t told Liza yet. I thought it might make a good surprise.”

“Oh yes, I think that would be an excellent surprise. I’m surprised right now, in fact. What, ah, is she to do with this bull?”

“Raise it. If she tends it closely, it could easily grow to be worth two or three hundred pounds.”

Which was about how much Liza spent on shoes in a week. Royce had to swallow a reluctant sigh. God, but he’d give his best pair of grays to see Liza’s face when she found out she was to receive her very own bull. But of course, the only way that would happen was if she lost her mind completely and agreed to marry Durham.

And that, Royce decided, would never happen. Not while he was breathing. “Durham, are you aware of Liza’s worth?”

The younger man shrugged. “If you are speaking about her person, then I can honestly say I find her priceless.”

“I was talking about her fortune. She’s a very wealthy woman.”

To Royce’s surprise, an actual shadow passed over Durham’s face. “I know. But I will not let it be a detriment. Once we are married, we will live on my income alone.”

“You would? But…why?”

“Sir Royce, I am not a man who could accept money from my wife. If Liza loves me, she will accept that. Besides”—Durham pinkened—“I hoped she might put her funds in trust for whatever children we have.”

Royce turned away under the pretext of setting down his now empty glass. His mind whirled. Liza married. Liza buried in the country. Liza with Durham’s thick-necked children. Good God, this was worse than he’d thought. After a moment, he managed to say, “It sounds as if the play is about to begin. I’m sure everyone is wondering what has kept us.”

They procured lemonade for the ladies and then made their way back to the box, Durham talking animatedly about how fond he was of London. The pompous ass looked pleased with himself—and he should be, Royce decided sourly. If things worked out for the young peer, he would have secured a wife of infinite intelligence, one guaranteed never to bore him, or wear him down with endless conversations about dressmakers and which pelisses were in style.

She might, of course, argue with him about politics, or the best way to feather a tight corner in her high perch phaeton. And she’d been known to stomp about when she was angered. But she was never out of temper long, and she always came back with a smile.

A pang of something uncomfortably like envy went through Royce. Good God, was he actually
jealous
of a cow farmer? It wasn’t possible. Yet it was with a very heavy heart that he took his seat in the box and watched Durham monopolize Liza to such an extent that even Meg and Miss Ballister looked impressed.

Royce raked a hand through his hair and wished he was anywhere else but there. God, he’d never hated the theater so much. Still, he felt a sense of relief when the lights finally lowered and the play began, cutting off Lord Durham’s effusive compliments.

Chapter 5

Preparations have already begun for the Shelbourne Valentine’s Day ball, to be held (quite obviously) on Monday the fourteenth. This Author has heard rumors that Lady Shelbourne plans a fourteen-piece orchestra, five hundred pots of roses (of pink, white, and red), and ten separate refreshment tables.

Where she plans to fit all of that in her ballroom, This Author hasn’t a clue, but such accoutrements will certainly guarantee Lady Shelbourne the crush that every hostess desires. Even if only half of her invitations are accepted, the ballroom will be packed.

Although one can hardly call a party a success when the flowerpots have stolen the dance floor from the guests.

L
ADY
W
HISTLEDOWN
’
S
S
OCIETY
P
APERS
,
31 J
ANUARY
1814

T
uesday morning, Meg sat at her escritoire trying desperately to figure out where to place a twelve-piece orchestra
and
three hundred pots of roses
and
eighteen refreshment tables so that her ballroom didn’t look quite so cramped.

The door opened and Royce strolled in.

Meg hopped up from her desk, glad for any interruption she could find. “Royce! What brings you—”

He stalked right past her and took an impatient turn about the room. The early morning light revealed that his cravat was hastily knotted, his hair mussed as if he’d been raking his hands through it, and his eyes underlined with deep circles. “Dear God,” she said, genuinely alarmed. “What has happened?”

“Liza has—” He clamped his mouth shut and took another swift turn, this time stopping in front of the window. He stood for a second, his gaze fixed unseeingly out at the snowy vista, before he turned back and stalked about the room again.

“Royce, have a seat and tell me—”

“Damn it, I cannot be still! Meg, if Liza—” He broke off, obviously in too much of a passion to speak.

Meg lifted her brows. She’d
never
seen Royce in such a state. Nothing ever seemed to bother him and, if she admitted the truth, life had been too easy on her handsome brother. He’d never had to worry about his income, and women practically threw themselves at him. But what made it worse was that Royce didn’t find this plentitude the least disconcerting. He was perfectly satisfied to flirt away his life, having no goals, no desires, and leaving a trail of broken hearts so long that one could make a footpath out of them.