Bath Scandal by Joan Smith Page A

glass of wine, Duke? How about some dessert?”
    The waiter’s head slewed around to the ungainly guest. In his snuff-brown eyes there was more doubt than amazement that this buffoon was a duke.
    “Whatever you are having,” the duke said. “To drink, I mean. I’ve just had dinner.”
    “Another cup,” Southam informed the waiter.
    “How long have you been here? Why did you not send a note and let me know you had arrived?” Tannie said. In his shyness he directed his words to Gillie, the least intimidating of the group.
    “We arrived late this afternoon. We just changed and came straight down to dinner.”
    While they were discussing the trip, the waiter returned with another cup and the cheese. Later Gillie asked the duke, “What are you and Duncan doing this evening?”
    “A bunch of us are poking around town to see who is here for the races. We will be stopping at all the inns, I expect. We came across my uncle Horatio. He is putting up at the Carlton with some friend who stays there year around.”
    “Good! I look forward to seeing him. There is a rout being held at this inn,” Gillie said.
    “Do you have to go?”
    The duke, as usual, spoke in his normal voice. Bea used her chaperon’s prerogative to join the conversation. “You must know Gillie cannot knock about town with a bunch of gentlemen. We shall visit the rout here for an hour. I do hope your friends can spare you to us for that long?”
    “They would be honored, ma’am. That is to say, I would be honored.”
    Bea and Southam exchanged a satisfied look. The instant Southam put down his fork, Bea said, “Let’s you and I take our coffee to the sofa, Southam. I never like lingering at the table after dinner, with all the confusion of used plates.”
    “I haven’t had my cheese.”
    She picked up a slice and put it on his saucer.
    He looked confused, but followed her lead. Bea caught Miss Pittfield’s eyes and beckoned her from the table as well. Miss Pittfield was no stranger to the plan of nabbing the duke. She joined them, wearing a cagey smile.
    “He didn’t put up any resistance to staying for the rout,” Miss Pittfield said, smiling.
    “As he had already acceded to that, why are we here, juggling our cups on our knees, when there is a plate of cheddar on the table?” Southam demanded.
    “Because we want to leave them alone, ninnyhammer,” Bea explained. “Nothing will develop with three chaperons staring at the poor boy.”
    “He will hardly fall to his knees and crop out into a proposal at the dinner table.”
    “One would think he had never been young,” Miss Pittfield said to Bea. She would not normally be so familiar in front of her employer. Her weeks with Mrs. Searle had lent her behavior a more casual air, though she was never less than a lady.
    “Nor ever even had a cap flung at him in his life, since he does not recognize the most basic elements of catching a husband,” Bea added, shaking her head at his naiveté. “The idea, Southam, is to throw the couple alone together as often as possible, and let nature take her course.”
    “If nature don’t oblige you, then I expect you have a few more tricks to prod her along?”
    “There! He is moving to sit next to her,” Bea exclaimed, but in a lowered voice. “Even Tannie, that awkward colt, knows the moves.”
    “He just wants more sugar for his coffee,” Southam said, when Tannie reached for the sugar bowl.
    “That is the pretext, Southam, not the reason. Really, I begin to wonder how you ever managed to get a ring around Deborah’s finger, you are so uninformed in flirtation.”
    “I daresay she engineered the whole affair.” He laughed. “Though to be fair, I cannot remember her pulling off such stunts as this.”
    Miss Pittfield took a deep breath and uttered a speech that shocked her for its boldness. “Why do you think Miss Swann suddenly developed an interest in old sermons, Lord Southam, and you with two hundred of them in your library? Did you