The Six Month Marriage by Amanda Grange Page A

indeed! I was
younger than you are now. Besides, I didn’t create half the scandal you’ve created.
Set London by the ears, you
have. The Earl of Pemberton running off and getting married without even giving
notice in The Times .’
     ‘It will be a seven day wonder,’ said Philip. ‘Especially
now, when the Season is almost over. By the time the ton return to the
capital after the summer it will be old news, and some other scandal will have
taken its place.’
    ‘You’re a cool one, I’ll say that for you, nevvy,’ said
Lady Weatherby with a shrug of her bony shoulders. ‘But I dare say you’re
right.’
     
    ‘Such
a pity the Earl’s marriage is only temporary,’ sighed Matty sentimentally the
following morning as she helped her mistress to dress. ‘If only he wasn’t in
love with Miss Bligh.’ She picked up the silver-backed hairbrush that lay on
the dressing-table and proceeded to brush Lady Weatherby’s still-glorious
auburn hair.
    ‘In love with that cold fish?’ snorted Lady Weatherby. ‘Philip
isn’t in love with Letitia. He thinks she’ll make him a suitable wife, that’s
all.’ A thoughtful look came into her eye, as she recalled Philip’s behaviour
towards Madeline. She had caught an expression on Philip’s face in an unguarded
moment that had given her food for thought. ‘I wonder . . . Tell me, Matty, is
Lord Fitzgrey still in residence?’
    Lord Fitzgrey was an eligible bachelor who owned one of
the neighbouring estates.
    ‘I believe so,’ said Matty, perplexed.
    ‘Good. Send him an invitation,’ said Lady Weatherby. ‘Ask
him to dinner.’
    Matty was astonished. ‘I thought you couldn’t abide Lord
Fitzgrey.’
    ‘And so I can’t. He’s a jackanapes,’ said Lady
Weatherby, not mincing her words. ‘But a handsome one. And he has a way with
women.’
    ‘Is that wise, then?’ asked Matty with a worried frown. ‘What
if he makes love to Madeline?’
    ‘He’d better,’ said Lady Weatherby shrewdly. ‘That’s why
I’m inviting him.’
    ‘But won’t Philip object?’ asked Matty, forgetting to
brush her mistress’s hair in her confusion..
    ‘A hundred strokes!’ commanded Lady Weatherby, reminding
Matty of what she was meant to be doing. ‘Will he object?’ she repeated, her
eyes shrewd, as Matty plied the silver-backed hairbrush once again. ‘I don’t
know. That’s what I want to find out.’
    ‘Lord Fitzgrey may not accept an invitation at such
short notice,’ warned Matty.
    ‘Hah!’ snorted Lady Weatherby. ‘As soon as he knows
Philip’s new bride’s here, he’ll come all right.’ She paused as Matty twisted
her hair into a chignon. ‘You’d better invite the Carsons as well,’ she added.
    This time, Matty did not express doubts about their
willingness to attend. Mr Carson and his sister were great admirers of the
nobility. They spent their time travelling from one fashionable spot to
another, ingratiating themselves with anyone who possessed a title, and a
dinner invitation from Lady Weatherby, no matter how short the notice, would
always receive a positive reply.
     
    The Carsons were the first to
arrive that evening. Mr Carson was a small, spare man, but his sister was a
large woman in every way. She was at least eight inches taller than her
brother, and as her girth almost equalled her height she was an imposing sight.
Dressed in purple satin she entered the room like a tent billowing in the
breeze, and made straight for Lady Weatherby.
    ‘My dear Lady Weatherby,’ she said. She made Lady
Weatherby an extravagant curtsey, from which she had great difficulty rising
again. She at last succeeded, however. Once she was firmly balanced again, she
said, ‘What an honour it is to be invited to your table. Mr Carson and I are
quite overwhelmed.’
    Mr Carson professed himself similarly gratified by the
invitation.
    Lady Weatherby’s eyes sparkled mischievously, but she
welcomed the couple with otherwise perfect gravity.
    ‘Good of you to come.