Petra’s hands clasped so forcefully she thought her knuckles would snap. While the information was identical to the stories Lady Cupps-Foster and Morwick had imparted to her, the retelling by Lady Pendleton was far different.
“Morwick’s brother, Spencer,” Lady Pendleton continued, “is a horse of a different color altogether, isn’t he Katherine? The bully turned into a rogue.” Mother and daughter exchanged looks. “A bigger rake I’ve never seen, except for his father, of course. Kelso is likely terrorizing society in India as we speak. He’s not been back to England in years.” She tapped her upper lip. “Mayhap he’ll never return. Look at me.” Her eyes widened at Mother. “Gossiping away. Pray forgive me. I’ve not had the opportunity to converse with another lady in quite some time.”
Petra struggled not to roll her eyes. Simon’s mother knew exactly what she was doing. Mother was practically salivating, both at the gossip as well as Lady Pendleton’s appreciation of her company. She would repeat Lady Pendleton’s version of the events which painted Morwick and Lady Cupps-Foster’s tragic past with less sympathy. Which, she supposed, was exactly Lady Pendleton’s intent.
“And of course, Lady Cupps-Foster’s family is as infamous as they come. The old duke struck terror into the hearts of London and I’m told his nephew, the current duke is no better. I understand you are now related to the Devils of Dunbar through marriage?”
Mother’s throat worked. “My niece, Jemma, married His Grace some time ago.”
A calculated look entered Lady Pendleton’s eyes. “I must know how such a thing came about.” She patted Mother’s hands. “I’ve heard from my friends in London, of course, but that is only gossip and conjecture.”
Mother’s cheeks pinked.“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in such a tale.”
“But I am.” Lady Pendleton said. “We arefamily, dear Lady Marsh, after all.”
Lady Pendleton knew her audience well. Mother’s eyes glistened with the compliment that Lady Pendleton considered them family. “My niece, Jane Emily, and the duke met…” Mother’s voice lowered as she related the tale to their hostess.
Petra had to admit. It was a rather juicy story.
Katherine turned sideways in her chair, uninterested in Mother’s tale. She regarded Petra with no small amount of boredom, which she didn’t bother hiding. “Well, I suppose you must tell me about your journey.”
Petra found Katherine to be a most interesting creature. She’d been at turns pleasant, condescending, and intimidating. She seemed determined to keep Petra unsettled. Petra’s hope she might find an ally at Brushbriar was rapidly fading. “Must I? The journey was uneventful until the coach axle broke. Shall I relate the contents of the spoiled stew I ate?”
Katherine’s eyes widened for a moment surprise at Petra’s retort but was soon replaced with a grudging gleam of admiration. “I’m sure we both know I’ve no interest in your tedious journey. I’m far more interested in the occupants of Somerton, particularly Lord Morwick.” Dark eyes flashed with interest. “I haven’t seen him since I first returned to Brushbriar, and, as my mother has related, we were once greatfriends.” Her voice lowered to a purr. “Is he still in need of a haircut?”
“I’m ashamed to say,” Petra kept her voice light, “that I didn’t notice his hair. I was more concerned with the contents of my stomach.”
“So you spent no time with Morwick at all?” Katherine said.
“I’m afraid I didn’t.”Except for the kissing under a tree and a spirited discussion on geology. Oh, and I puked on his boots.
“I’m not surprised.” A throaty laugh came from her. “I can’timagineyou and Morwick in the same room, let alone engaging in conversation.”
“You can’t?”Well, that was rather insulting.
“Well, no.” Katherine laughed softy again. “I meant no offense.”
Petra somehow doubted that.
“What on earth would the two of you possibly find to talk about? I suppose the weather, possibly. Or maybe you could have discussed the spoiled stew. But once the pleasantries were over, I can’t imagine…” Her shoulders moved in a delicate shrug. “Morwick is obsessed with rocks and fossils, things most of us know nothing about. He’s a scientist. An explorer of caves and such. I’ve known him practically my entire life andIbarely understand a word.”
Petra didn’t know which she disliked more, Katherine’s implication Petra was too unintelligent to understand anything Morwick said, or the idea he wouldn’t care to speak to her at all. Her hands tightened once more in her lap.
“Oh, dear me, that didn’t sound correct either. It’s only you are so proper and ladylike, you must find a man like Morwick to be beyond the pale. He doesn’t care for society as a whole, nor any of its trappings. And he can be very blunt in his opinions. I only meant you would not tolerate him for long. You are too much like my brother.”
“Appearances can sometimes be deceiving, Lady Whitfield.” Petra shook off the shield of decorum wound around her and fixed her stare on Katherine, uncaring if Mother noticed. She refused to allow Katherine to assume her no more than a bland bit of fluff from London incapable of attracting a man like Morwick. “Take for instance, Lady Whitfield, your dress.”
“My dress?” Katherine’s dark brow knit in confusion.
“It’s beautiful, of course, and as I said, the color suits you much more so than black.”
The barb struck home, politely said though it was. Katherine’s eyes hardened into bits of onyx. “How kind of you to say.”
She gave Katherine a perfect, ladylike smile. Petra already possessed the most difficult sister-in-law in all of London, and didn’t feel the need for a second, should things come to that.
Before Katherine could offer a rebuttal, her brother was announced.
Simon strolled into the drawing room like a king, resplendent in formal evening wear, his dark hair brushed back from his temples and gleaming in the candlelight. The light aroma of his soap wafted from his freshly shaved cheeks, scenting the air. His waistcoat sparkled with silver thread and his cravat had been tied into an expert knot. Every inch of Simon was burnished and shiny, like a newly minted coin. Not a curl out of place, nor a wrinkle in his clothing.
