Country Flirt by Joan Smith Page A

looked around expectantly, but no one was willing to hazard a guess.
    “For taking the nawab’s measurements and ordering him a jacket from London,” he said, and laughed raucously. “I was the nawab’s head man for a few years. Clerking didn’t pay worth a tinker’s curse. Any gentleman with his wits about him dropped it after a month. I gave it up as soon as I found where the real blunt was to be made. Come and try it on, missie,” he said, holding the piece out to Mrs. Tucker, and using it for an excuse to leer at her ankles. The Sutton ladies and their husbands had been beckoned to the affair, though Clifford was excluded.
    Mrs. Tucker emitted a shocked croak and recoiled in horror. “On your arm then, if you’re shy,” LordHoward said, and hung it on her wrist.
    Lady Monteith took the notion he might be planning to give each lady guest a gift, and quickly snatched it back. Over a peculiar luncheon at which each dish was heavily spiced and odd tasting, Lord Howard drank a good deal of wine and regaled them with details of his variegated career in India. He had apparently offered his talents to assorted highly placed Indian princes whose aim in life was to ape English manners.
    “I must have ordered more silver and china from England than the whole royal family put together. I got a cut of ten percent from Rundell and Bridges when they discovered what I was about, raised the price by five hundred percent plus shipping when I sold it, and still got a hefty bonus from the nawabs for each purchase. Itis a license to make money, being a nawab’s man. They have more blunt than they know what to do with.”
    “They’d do better to spend some of it on their people,” Monteith said. “From what you’ve said before, the lower class lives in dire poverty.”
    “They’re used to it. What can you do with people who go on breeding like rabbits and won’t eat beef?” he replied.
    “Perhaps that is why they practice that dreadful suttee,” Mrs. Bright said. “To control the population.”
    “Damme, it has nothing to do with that,” Lord Howard corrected her. His face was flushed and his eyes glazed, but he filled his glass again and continued. “It has to do with propriety. No man of taste would eat another man’s leftovers. I’ll be dashed if he should —”
    “Do try some of this lovely chutney on your meat, Howard,” Lady Monteith said rather quickly, and passed the dish along. “So tasty. I must get the recipe from Suwani.”
    “I’ll have him mix up a batch for you. It has fruit and lemon and seasonings and spices. Try a little, Irene. You’ll find it makes even this tame ragout edible.”
    Lady Monteith put a dab on the farthest edge of her plate, and Lord Howard was off on another spiel of having outwitted a prince.
    “Well, ladies, you must excuse me,” Lord Howard said when lunch was over. “I still have the Indian habit of taking a snooze in the heat of the day, though I’m getting over it. The noonday sun was like the blast from a furnace. And myriad mosquitoes! They come in clouds to carry off your blood.” Shortly after he left the room, the high-pitched squeal of a servant girl under attack was heard.
    It was obvious to everyone that the nabob was more than ready for bed. How he had drunk two bottles of wine and still stayed on his feet was close to a miracle. The company smiled politely and settled in to discuss affairs. Samantha was relieved to get away when Monteith suggested a walk through the park.
    “I think your mother might have included Mr. Sutton without arousing Howard’s suspicions,” she said idly.
    “That is one good effect of Uncle’s visit,” Monty countered. “I wouldn’t be sorry to see a little cooling in that quarter.”
    “I didn’t know you had anything against the match!”
    “I am not so outspoken as Uncle, but there are some few ladies a man is reluctant to see in the hands of another man. His mother, sisters —you,” he added, with a quizzing