And then..
“Mother!” he hissed. “The undesirable presence of Lord Everston pales in comparison to that of Lady Derby. How can you not perceive that? What of the feelings of Miss Delacourt?” he urged, but Lady Crenshaw had already moved away and did not benefit from his words.
Drawing a deep breath, he took stock of the situation. Ginny had placed herself between the crotchety cleric and Lucinda, who doubtless felt a measure of relief by the act, as she was now wringing out her much-abused handkerchief rather than employing it to stem a tide of tears. Grandmama had wrested herself from the clutches of Everston, who watched her greedily over his snifter of French brandy as she greeted Avery and drew his attention to his woeful wife. Anthony’s mother had disappeared, which left only Lady Derby and the last male guest. With a start, he realized it was Simmons, a much-disliked schoolmate from Eton. As Simmons was the son of a mere baron, Anthony assumed Lady Derby’s flirtations were only useful in marking time.
Realizing what his mother intended for the evening, he felt his hands curl at his sides. Seating at the dinner table was ordered by precedence, dictating that he and Lady Derby should walk into dinner together and be placed side by side. Ginny would be left to sit below the salt with the dour preacher, a man he had never before seen in his life. He wondered where his mother had dug him up. Scotland was as good a guess as any, but he rather doubted even his mother’s reach went quite so far.
He knew Ginny’s wits and charm would get her through any unpleasantness with the prim and prosy preacher, but he was more doubtful about her reaction to his own dinner partner. Memories of the rather strained meals he had endured during the quarantine at Rose Arbor threatened to do away with his appetite altogether, especially when he considered the presence of Lucinda. For some unaccountable reason, dinner at the Barringtons’ almost always involved dropped napkins, clattered forks, or shattered crystal. Perhaps such imbroglios went unnoticed in the provinces, but here in town they were likely to be a matter for much discussion.
Shuddering, he began a mental inventory: napkins, not much to fear there; spoons he could deal with; forks, knives, and crystal goblets, all heavy and inclined to be sharp. Dinner plates! He hadn’t any experience with how far or accurately a laden dinner plate could fly, and though he enjoyed the broadening of his horizons as much as any man, he rather doubted flung china would improve anyone’s character and certainly not his mood.
At risk of being maudlin, Anthony added Avery to the list of possible sources of unpleasantness. One mustn’t forget his penchant for tears a la carte or a la anywhere, for that matter. The fact that their last conversation had involved being called out by Avery-a tiresome habit of his-was a fact that returned to Anthony’s conscious memory in full force. Though he would much rather point a pistol at Avery than endure his tears, he preferred weeping to risking Lucinda’s imagined indisposition becoming the topic of conversation at dinner.
There was nothing for it. It was time to leave. He went immediately to Ginny and took her by the hand.
“The bell has not yet rung,” the preacher protested with a strong burr. “I have been enjoying the company of this fair, wee lass,” he said with a clap of his hand to Ginny’s arm, “and I won’t part with her until I am made to.”
Anthony’s gaze flicked from the preacher’s black-rimmed fingernails, which stood out in strong relief against Ginny’s fair skin, to her face. To his surprise, she gazed steadily back at him with wry curiosity in her eyes. It would seem that Ginny had had enough of tears, as well. Despite her willingness to brave every affront, even the attentions of the loathsome minister, Anthony wanted nothing more than to leave and to do so with as little fuss as possible. Silently, he
“Mother!” he hissed. “The undesirable presence of Lord Everston pales in comparison to that of Lady Derby. How can you not perceive that? What of the feelings of Miss Delacourt?” he urged, but Lady Crenshaw had already moved away and did not benefit from his words.
Drawing a deep breath, he took stock of the situation. Ginny had placed herself between the crotchety cleric and Lucinda, who doubtless felt a measure of relief by the act, as she was now wringing out her much-abused handkerchief rather than employing it to stem a tide of tears. Grandmama had wrested herself from the clutches of Everston, who watched her greedily over his snifter of French brandy as she greeted Avery and drew his attention to his woeful wife. Anthony’s mother had disappeared, which left only Lady Derby and the last male guest. With a start, he realized it was Simmons, a much-disliked schoolmate from Eton. As Simmons was the son of a mere baron, Anthony assumed Lady Derby’s flirtations were only useful in marking time.
Realizing what his mother intended for the evening, he felt his hands curl at his sides. Seating at the dinner table was ordered by precedence, dictating that he and Lady Derby should walk into dinner together and be placed side by side. Ginny would be left to sit below the salt with the dour preacher, a man he had never before seen in his life. He wondered where his mother had dug him up. Scotland was as good a guess as any, but he rather doubted even his mother’s reach went quite so far.
He knew Ginny’s wits and charm would get her through any unpleasantness with the prim and prosy preacher, but he was more doubtful about her reaction to his own dinner partner. Memories of the rather strained meals he had endured during the quarantine at Rose Arbor threatened to do away with his appetite altogether, especially when he considered the presence of Lucinda. For some unaccountable reason, dinner at the Barringtons’ almost always involved dropped napkins, clattered forks, or shattered crystal. Perhaps such imbroglios went unnoticed in the provinces, but here in town they were likely to be a matter for much discussion.
Shuddering, he began a mental inventory: napkins, not much to fear there; spoons he could deal with; forks, knives, and crystal goblets, all heavy and inclined to be sharp. Dinner plates! He hadn’t any experience with how far or accurately a laden dinner plate could fly, and though he enjoyed the broadening of his horizons as much as any man, he rather doubted flung china would improve anyone’s character and certainly not his mood.
At risk of being maudlin, Anthony added Avery to the list of possible sources of unpleasantness. One mustn’t forget his penchant for tears a la carte or a la anywhere, for that matter. The fact that their last conversation had involved being called out by Avery-a tiresome habit of his-was a fact that returned to Anthony’s conscious memory in full force. Though he would much rather point a pistol at Avery than endure his tears, he preferred weeping to risking Lucinda’s imagined indisposition becoming the topic of conversation at dinner.
There was nothing for it. It was time to leave. He went immediately to Ginny and took her by the hand.
“The bell has not yet rung,” the preacher protested with a strong burr. “I have been enjoying the company of this fair, wee lass,” he said with a clap of his hand to Ginny’s arm, “and I won’t part with her until I am made to.”
Anthony’s gaze flicked from the preacher’s black-rimmed fingernails, which stood out in strong relief against Ginny’s fair skin, to her face. To his surprise, she gazed steadily back at him with wry curiosity in her eyes. It would seem that Ginny had had enough of tears, as well. Despite her willingness to brave every affront, even the attentions of the loathsome minister, Anthony wanted nothing more than to leave and to do so with as little fuss as possible. Silently, he
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