Barbara Metzger Read Free Page B

knight’s shining armor took a severe dent when Graydon nibbled on the woman’s ear, and a bad case of tarnish when one of Daphne’s new “friends’’ was quick to inform her at the first intermission that Lord Howell’s “friend” was an actress from Drury Lane. It seemed that friendship meant something different here in London.
    “Mama, I have the headache. May we go home early?”
    *
    “That was not well done of you,” the Earl of Hollister lectured his son the next morning, having called at the Albany for the express purpose of ruining Gray’s day, since Lord John’s own pleasant evening had been cut short with weeping and recriminations. Four women—Daphne, her mother, that man-hating cousin, and his own sister Sondra, b’gad—could get up a deal of caterwauling.
    Graydon didn’t require anything else to make him miserable; his aching head already took its toll. After dinner with Fancine at the Pulteney, and dessert, to put it nicely, at her place, Gray had gone on to White’s. Everyone there had wanted to know if his deliberate insult to Miss Whilton meant the understanding was off. Was the fair lady fair game? He might be able to whistle her fortune down the wind, but other chaps weren’t so fortunate. That’s when he’d heard his Daffy had left the Opera House near tears. Bets were running high against the odds of his winning the Toast’s hand. He had to cover the wagers, of course—his pride demanded no less—and drink to each entry in the betting book. Then he had to stay and drink to show he wasn’t really worried. Then he had a few more brandies at home, because he was really worried. He wasn’t concerned Daffy’d take up with one of those fops who followed her around, but be was deuced sorry he’d hurt her feelings.
    His head was pounding and his position was indefensible, yet he answered his father’s sermonwith: “Dash it, Daphne knows I’m not a monk.”
    “She’s a sweet young thing, still new to the social rounds. It’s her innocence that makes her so appealing, and at the same time so vulnerable. Who knows what she thinks? You could have shown a little discretion, however.”
    “Blister it, I have enough trouble keeping track of my own social calendar. Am I supposed to memorize hers, too?”
    The earl studied his fingertips. “Perhaps it might be a good idea to move the wedding forward, to relieve her worries.”
    “The wedding? We’re not even formally engaged! I’m not ready for leg shackles yet. By Jupiter, I’ve barely reached my majority. Most chaps wait till they’re thirty or so to set up their nurseries.”
    “If you’re having second thoughts about Miss Whilton, you’d do better to bring them out now, when she can make another choice. I’d hate to see it, naturally.”
    Graydon dragged his fingers through his already tousled hair. “Lud, that’s not it. I know my duty to the name and all. You’ve told me often enough that there are no other Howells to succeed me, and Daffy’s just what I’d want in a wife, if I wanted a wife now. Daffy’s a right ‘‘un. She’ll understand. After all, she sat next to that Fanshaw fop all night and I’m not complaining.”
    “But she didn’t sit in his lap. And Fanshaw’s a viscount. He’d never go beyond the line.”
    “And I would, you think?”
    “I think you could break her heart.”
    “Gammon, Daffy’s too downy for that. She knows it’s all in fun.”
    *
    “Fun? Seeing my promised husband making a cake of himself over a…a lightskirt in front of half the ton ? No, I do not consider that fun, Lord Howell.”
    “Cut line, Daffy, we aren’t even engaged yet, and it’s just your pride that’s hurt. I said I’m sorry, and I swear I won’t embarrass you that way again.”
    “You won’t embarrass me by taking your fancy piece out in public, or you won’t take her out at all?” she wanted to know. “There is a big difference, my lord.”
    They were dancing at Almack’s, not the most