He left the surprised boy behind and ran forward to hail a hack.
Chapter 9
I hear from several sources that Lord Tender has been running amuck again, acting oddly at Mr. Sterne’s dinner party and assorted other gatherings. But as he’s held up so well under my interference and appears to perhaps be thriving under the influence of certain others . . . we must forgive him.
--Whispers from Lady X
“Lord Bardham,” Hope said with a sigh. “I am just on my way to speak with Miss Nichols.”
“Where is your gallant suitor, Lady Hope?” Bardham asked with a sneer. “I hear he has a bigger fish on his line these days. Has he deserted you?”
“If you speak of Lord Tensford, I have not seen him this evening.” A wicked idea occurred to her. “But if you speak of Miss McNamara, I could hardly be angry if he has decided to pursue her. Who could compete?”
“With a merchant’s daughter?” he scoffed.
“A pretty merchant’s daughter who brings forty thousand pounds. I could hardly begrudge him for being interested.”
“Forty . . . thousand?” he whispered.
“Yes. I heard Lady Tensford say so, to one of her friends. I daresay they hope it doesn’t get around right away or the girl will be swamped.”
“That’s her, is it not?” Bardham asked. “By the French doors?”
She looked. “I believe so.”
“Tensford is not there,” he reflected.
“No doubt he’ll be here soon enough. Lord Bardham?”
But the coarse, predictable man was already drifting away. Hope moved on, shaking her head, until she reached Miss Nichols.
“How do I look?” she asked her friend, nervously smoothing her skirts.
“Stunning. And frightened half to death.” Miss Nichols patted her arm. “Calm down. All will go well.”
“I hope so. But I cannot be sure.”
“I can. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
“He might be angry.” It was just one of the risks she’d taken.
“He might. But would you change anything you’ve done?”
“No.” She thought about it. “No. It’s better this way.”
“Then head up there. He’ll be here soon.” Laughing, she gave Hope a push. “And don’t come down until you’ve got him.”
Hope started to go, but paused as several footmen entered, carrying trays of canapés. “Lobster patties,” she said. “Save some for me? They might end up being my only consolation.”
“You can serve them at your wedding,” Miss Nichols told her. “Now go on.”
* * *
Tensford was striding into the Montbarrow’s party when it hit him.
He saw the butler fussing, overseeing the comings and goings of a fleet of footmen, all carrying trays of food and drinks. And he knew what had been nagging at him. Suddenly his mind flashed back to the afternoon at Le Cygne.
He remembered what Madame Hobert had said. Everything is fine, yes? And then, Lady Hope and her friends are always welcome, and they do not pay here.
Why not? Why would the Madame be so grateful?
A familiar laugh rang out and he caught sight of his mother and Miss McNamara. Bardham was standing before them, acting the peacock. And that pulled forth another niggling thread. Two thousand pounds for her dowry, that’s what Hope had told him. And Bardham had been chasing her for it? Or was he chasing her in spite of it? Such a sum might cover the man’s debts, but it wouldn’t set him up for the rest of his life—and it wasn’t like Bardham to choose a smart, pretty girl over his life’s ease.
Was that it? Did she have other money, that only Bardham, as her family’s friend, might know about? Did Madame Hobert show such gratitude because Lady Hope was a benefactress of Madame’s program, feeding the children?
He thought of what Hope had said about the young woman who had opened the newest arm of the project. Was it her? Had she been introducing him to her qualities and concerns, rather than those of anonymous ladies of the ton? But then, what of the other one? The letter writer? Had that been her, too?
But that would mean . . .
He stared up the stairs, but then turned and stalked resolutely into the crowd. He looked around wildly—there. He approached Lady Kincade and bowed.
“Lord Tensford,” Hope’s sister-in-law said sourly.
“How nice to see you again, my lady. I understand you had guests to dinner tonight.”
“Guest,” she corrected. “Weatherby.”
“Ah, of the Stud Book family?”
“Yes. Tiresome, to be so consumed with horses. I vow, we would have been here ages ago, had Hope not quizzed the man on generations of horseflesh. As if one must know all of that history before buying a mount for a young girl. But I suppose she’ll write it all in one those tomes she sends her sister.”
He straightened. “You mean letters to her sister?”
“Yes. She’s lucky her brother can frank them, thick as they are,” she grumbled. “Nothing but dresses and horses.”
“Letters to her lame sister?” he asked tightly.
“Have they another?” the countess asked snidely. “If they do, I remain unaware.”
“Yes. Thank you, Lady Kincade.” His mind was racing. “Good evening.”
He turned on his heel without waiting for a response and nearly collided with a footman carrying a tray.
A tray of lobster patties. He froze for a moment, then reached out and deftly took the platter from the startled servant. “I’ll return the tray, sir, do not worry.” He left the ballroom and took the stairs, two at a time.
* * *
