Ridiculous (30 page)

And just that quickly the tension in the room vanished. Millicent exchanged a confused look with Simpson, but both were too grateful to have the calm and cheerful duke back to risk comment.

“For what else do you require him?” asked Shoffer.

“I only wished to know to whom and for how much I should make out a note of hand for the carriage and its upkeep. Mildred settled the matter with Mr. Simpson without my being aware of the details.”

“I shall write it out for you immediately, Mr. North.”

“I should pay for the carriage as soon as possible, I think,” said Millicent. “I expect the person who sold it is in need of the funds.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” murmured Simpson.

 “Very well. Will tomorrow suit you, Mr. North?” asked Shoffer. “For visiting lawyers and setting up a trusteeship for the Boarder family? There should be something formal in place to defeat your brother.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

“Very well. I shall … I shall collect you about ten and after we have dealt with your issues at the bank, I am taking you to meet with my tailor. Again. This time I will not permit you to delope.”

“You are most kind, Shoffer.”

She waited for a moment, certain that she had been dismissed, but uncertain as to why Shoffer was suddenly cheerful once more. Shoffer did not explain and she could not work it out. Confused, Millicent bowed and departed. Today was a most unusual day. She could think of no reason for Shoffer to behave as he had. It was more likely that it was nothing to do with her at all. After all, he attended the House of Lords which meant other, greater responsibilities than the petty concerns of a country gentleman. She should limit the demands she and her family put upon his time. It was only right.

Quelling the hurt in her heart, she walked home, not noticing that some of the Quality who saw her crossed the street or stared at the sky instead of running the risk of meeting her eye and creating the need for an exchange of greetings.

* * *

The season rolled on its merry way. Millicent attended events at Felicity’s direction trusting that her mother had sense enough to choose events which were most appropriate for the ambitions of Mildred and Maude. Lady Beth and her chaperone attended most with them, although Millicent noticed that the little girl was coming out of her shell more and needed familiar faces less and less.

But most of all, Millicent noticed that Shoffer was not there. Beth explained that while Parliament was in session her brother was busy during the day and could not give up all the hours of the night to entertainments. Millicent accepted that reason with a smile even though she missed him like a lost limb. The pain of his absence weighed on her so much that one hostess was moved to comment – with a frown – about Mr. North’s morose expression, reminding Millicent that her family’s acceptance by the
ton
depended a great deal on her foolery.

Millicent shook herself out of her pensive mood. Worrying about her friendship with the duke gained nothing. Since that one strange night, Shoffer was polite enough on those rare occasions she saw him.

She was standing on the sidelines for a change, watching the dance, when the Earl of Trentonlie and the Comte of Le Forhend approached her. Millicent frowned as the two men circled her like hawks hovering over a freshly harvested field. For a few circuits the men did nothing more than circle until they gathered the undivided, if surreptitious, attention of the guests nearby. Their intention, Millicent did not doubt, although she had no idea why they were making such a show of themselves. Millicent watched their progress with a blank expression on her face.

Benson, Earl of Trentonlie, tilted his head as he passed behind Millicent and examined her pantaloons.

“My dear Mr. North, did not His Grace advise you on the fit of your trousers? You should enhance what nature has given you.”

“I prefer comfort to fashion,” replied Millicent coolly, “and make my own decisions regarding my clothing. In consultation with my tailor.”

“It is clear you do not take your tailor’s advice.” Standing before her the comte raised his lorgnette to his eyes as he scanned Millicent from head to toe.

The urge to raise her arms across her breasts had her hands trembling. Millicent flushed and kept her hands at her sides through will alone. Her disguise had survived for months, but she had never been subjected to such intense scrutiny. The comte glanced down at her hands and smirked at this proof of her nervousness. Turning away from his examination Millicent smiled at one of the nearby ladies and with a bow appropriated her fan. By now no lady would consider refusing Mr. North’s request for a fan. This lady would boast to her friends for weeks and probably save the fan as a memento, such was Mr. North’s current reputation. For now waving it gave Millicent a little confidence and helped calm down the flush that threatened to become a wholesale burning blush.

“My tailor requires that I enter from the alley and not reveal his name,” said Millicent, smiling at a nearby wallflower. “I do not blame the fellow as I do not display his works of art to their best effect.”

“Oh, I think with a little effort you could be improved,” purred the comte. He pointed at Millicent’s thighs and crotch with his lorgnette. “A little padding here and there and you would receive the acclaim of the crowd.”

There were a few snickers from those listening.

“I believe I am receiving as much acclaim as I can accommodate,” said Millicent, “there being only so many hours in the day and so many days in the season. Poor mortal that I am, I can attend only so many functions.”

 “You have a high opinion of yourself for one of such low estate,” murmured the comte.

“Oh, sir, you are mistaken. At least two of my estates are at the top of hills and my hunting box is on one of the higher mountains of the Pennine Chain! They are not low at all.”

The listeners laughed louder at that.

The comte flushed at that since every member of the
ton
knew that he was title proud and penny poor since the Grande Revolution had robbed him of all material goods.

“I suppose,” continued Millicent, as she waved the fan under her chin, “when considering padding one’s clothes, I prefer honesty, since at some point in one’s life one is required to provide proof and one does not wish to disappoint under those circumstances…” She allowed her voice to trail off, then continued, “as you well know, my Lord Comte.”

His flush deepened as those mature ladies within earshot either giggled or nodded. The débutantes pretended they did not understand the jest.

“I would be willing to testify as to your honesty, Mr. North, after a suitable period of examination,” said the earl.

Millicent permitted the fan to still and she regarded the earl through narrowed eyes.

“I have no need of
your
testimony on any subject, nor at any time,” she said in the most chilling tones she could summon.

Before the earl could manifest his offense at her reply Millicent noticed one of Lady Beth’s young admirers hurrying through the crowd toward her.

“Mr. North! Mr. North, you must come at once!” He clutched Millicent’s arm and turned her about. “She has gone quite pale and he will not listen to any of us. This is to be my dance and he dismissed me. Me!”

By this time Millicent recognized the lad as being the heir to a respectable baronetcy. As far as she could tell from the lad’s babble there was some quarrel about precedent within Beth’s circle. Since Shoffer had given Lady Englethorpes a list of those who were approved to dance with Beth, Millicent was tempted to refer the lad back to the chaperone, but at that moment the crowd parted and she could see Attelweir looming far too close to a cringing Beth. Her approved suitors were hovering a few feet away watching with expressions of distress, but making no move to rescue her.

Lady Englethorpes was wringing her lace handkerchief, frowning. Obviously, she lacked the spine to dismiss a duc on the hunt.

Millicent took one step forward, then halted as her arm was caught in a surprisingly sharp grip. She glanced down first at the beringed hand that held her, then up to meet the comte’s glittering gaze.

“Uh, uh, ah,” said the comte, waving a finger under her nose. “No, you will not. It is not for you to interfere in the concerns of your betters.”

Millicent seized the littlest of the comte’s fingers and yanked it back, hard. The man screamed shrilly and released her.

“There are pigs in their wallows who are better than Attelweir,” Millicent hissed, then crossed the room at as close to a run as she could manage, given the crowding.

Millicent did not bother with subtlety or jests. She pushed through the watching crowd and placed herself firmly between Attelweir and Lady Beth. As soon as she was in place, Lady Engelthorpes moved in, hartshorn in hand, to support the girl who was, from what Millicent could assess, actually near fainting.

Millicent turned her back on Attelweir, a move sure to set him to fuming and leaned close to Beth.

“My dear girl, whatever is the matter?”

Beth’s only reply was to close her eyes. Her lips were pale and tightly clenched and she shivered in the embrace of her chaperone.

“His Grace has been speaking to Lady Elizabeth of matters unsuitable for a girl of her age,” Lady Englethorpes glanced toward Attelweir and away, “When His Grace’s conversation grew too warm, I chastised him and reminded him of Lady Elizabeth’s youth and innocence and his response was quite crude.”

Millicent stared over her shoulder at the duc. “Sir, you should be more careful in your speech.”

“As should you be,” shot back Attelweir, “or do you presume to correct your betters?”

Millicent straightened. “Before God, I swear I do not regard you as the ‘better’ of those gathered here. But our opinions of each other does not matter. Lady Beth does not wish for your company. You should honor the young lady’s wishes and depart.”

“I shall not since a courtship requires a maiden to be persuaded of where her best interest lies, even if at first she does not realize it.” Attelweir smirked and attempted to push past Millicent, but she stepped sideways and blocked him. “Now, get out of my way, you mushroom. You…”

Before he could gain traction for a rousing tirade, Millicent leaned forward and hissed in his ear for a few moments, then leaned back and laughed, full-throated and loud. Attelweir gazed at her in shock.

“What? What did you say?”

Millicent leaned in again and whispered. “You may outrank me, Your Utterly Gracelessness, but you cannot defeat me. I am the joker, the royal fool. I may with impunity mock the pompous, heckle those of High Estate and make light of their pretensions.”

She stepped back and laughed again. All around her the matrons, the débutantes, the young bucks, and older gentlemen laughed with her. Attelweir glared around, confused by their imitation.

Mr. North had not made a joke and they could not possibly have heard what he had said. Why were they laughing?

“What you do not understand,” continued Millicent with a smile, whispering again in his ear, as she stalked around his taller form, “is that I have a reputation for outlandish jokes and subtle insults. No one here wishes to admit they cannot hear my joke or that they misunderstood it.” She broke off to laugh again, echoed by the crowd – louder and longer. “Tomorrow it will be all about the
ton
that I mocked and ridiculed you and you were disgusted at yourself for being destroyed by it.”

“I am not disgusted!” cried Attelweir and colored when all near him burst into gales.

From one side of the hall to the other all the guests were looking at them, all laughing and pointing, some near to tears with hilarity. Attelweir turned burning eyes on Millicent who smiled and bowed.

“Your servant, Your Grace.” Then Millicent took Beth by the hand. “Let me take you in to the supper room, my dear Lady Beth. I think you need a little sustenance to restore you.”

Millicent did not glance behind. She could judge by the stares of those she passed that the other guests continued to watch Attelweir. Lorgnettes turned to follow him as he stalked through the room and away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the comte and earl hurry after him.

More fool them. In Attelweir’s current state, they were likely to receive the toasting that Attelweir was thwarted from raining down on Mr. North.

“He will have his revenge on you,” said Beth, leaning heavily on his arm. “Oh, Mr. North, I am so sorry for being so weak. If only I had a stare like Timothy’s, I would have sent him away, but I am too young.”

“Oh, please Lady Beth, do not worry so. The ducal stare is granted only to the duke. With it he can ignite the coal in the grate when the mood is upon him. If age would grant such a thing, I would have it myself, but, poor, pathetic creature that I am, I cannot even cause a dry leaf to wither.”

It was a feeble joke, but Beth chuckled anyway, and straighted her spine. Millicent glanced about and caught the eye of the youth who had alerted her to the problem. A nod of the head was enough to bring – what was his name? – running to draw out a chair for Beth. Millicent studied the room and caught the eye of a few others of Beth’s approved court. Within a few minutes the chosen table was filled with chattering young men, flattering and gently teasing Beth into a better frame of mind. Millicent did not think for a moment that Attelweir was permanently routed. She would have to consult with Shoffer and determine the best way to go on.

Chapter Thirteen

Millicent reported the exchange in full to Shoffer that night, waiting in the ducal study until near dawn when Shoffer returned from a night’s dissipation. She tried not to feel hurt that Shoffer chose to spend time with other companions when he was supposed to be sleeping off Parliament. While it was a compliment of sorts that he had trusted her with his sister, it hurt to think Shoffer spent time with ladies of a “certain reputation” rather than with Millicent and Beth.

Consequently, Millicent gave a brief report of Attelweir’s actions, and stated that Mr. North was available to offer whatever aid was required and departed.