he’ll die. I’ll be a widow, and I can do as I please. No playing the slave to a husband-master for me.”
“You’ll make Mother have heart palpitations again.”
“Mother has palpitations when it suits her. They’re useful in getting Father to do what she wants.”
“Mother isn’t like that.”
“Oh?” She raised her brows and wiggled them at him.
He’d always hated Georgiana’s cynical attitude about their parents. When Father hadn’t believed him about Yale, Mother had given comfort. Although she hadn’t been able to stand up to Father on his behalf, Jocelin had understood.
He frowned at his sister. “Women are delicate, Georgiana. And you can’t disgrace yourself with such an indelicate course of action.”
This comment earned him another disgusted look. He sighed and debated with himself as to the wisdom of arguing with Georgiana. Perhaps he should wait. She hadn’t come out yet. He could round up eligible young men and cast them in her way next year. Yes, that was a far more advisable strategy. Arguing with Georgiana usually proved fruitless. His father’s voice broke through his reverie.
“Jocelin has come to his senses, Delia, so you needn’t worry any longer. He’s going to make therounds and look over the new crop next season. He can start with house parties. Old Clarendon has gone to his place up north. He’s got three daughters, each with fifty thousand and good blood.”
“I was thinking of Lucy Lyttleton,” Jocelin said.
The duchess gasped and waved her handkerchief in front of her face. The duke flushed, patted his wife’s arm, and snarled at his son.
“You watch your tongue in front of your mother and sister.”
Jocelin stood, grinning, and buttoned his coat over his snowy evening shirt. Lucy Lyttleton was the scandalous widow of Lord Lyttleton. She’d seduced him when he was sixteen. At least, she thought she’d seduced him. In actuality he’d picked her out and allowed her to pursue him. He’d been at Sandhurst, angry, desperate for distraction.
He went over and kissed his mother’s brow. “I must go. An appointment in the city, Mother.”
Georgiana kissed his cheek. “So, we’re both on the block, up for sale.”
“Georgiana!” cried the duchess.
Jocelin laughed, bowed to his father, and left them. As he entered the foyer and nodded to Vincent for his coat, a footman escorted several men through the vestibule.
“Jos, I’m glad we found you.”
Jocelin smiled a greeting at Asher Fox, who slung his coat at the footman. He shook hands with Alex Stapleton and Lawrence Winthrop. As usual, Stapleton’s nose was red from drink. Winthrop, Lord Winthrop, pursed his lips and nodded to Jocelin as if he were a judge instructing a bailiff. He led them into the library, where Stapleton aimed himself at a liquor cabinet. Winthrop took the chair nearest the fire as ifit were his right, but Asher Fox was too excited to sit. He pounded Jocelin on the back.
“Palmerston has come out for me at last, old fellow.”
“Excellent,” Jocelin said as he sat on the edge of his father’s desk. “Now if he will refrain from antagonizing the queen, his support will mean a great deal.”
Asher leaned on the desk next to him. They both had the tall, muscular build required to be a member of the Heavy Brigade cavalry, but Asher was the taller by a fraction of an inch. He had always reminded Jocelin of an old painting of a Charles II cavalier with his brown curls, heavy-lidded eyes, and crusading spirit. Asher appeared to consider Jocelin’s words, then glanced sideways, causing the hair on Jocelin’s arms to rise. When Asher Fox looked at him that way, it meant Jocelin was going to be hounded into doing something he didn’t want to do.
“What?” Jocelin demanded.
“Speaking of the queen …”
“Oh, no.”
“As the son of a duke, you can request an audience.”
Jocelin pushed himself off the desk and shook his head.
Stapleton waved a brandy snifter at him.
“You’ll make Mother have heart palpitations again.”
“Mother has palpitations when it suits her. They’re useful in getting Father to do what she wants.”
“Mother isn’t like that.”
“Oh?” She raised her brows and wiggled them at him.
He’d always hated Georgiana’s cynical attitude about their parents. When Father hadn’t believed him about Yale, Mother had given comfort. Although she hadn’t been able to stand up to Father on his behalf, Jocelin had understood.
He frowned at his sister. “Women are delicate, Georgiana. And you can’t disgrace yourself with such an indelicate course of action.”
This comment earned him another disgusted look. He sighed and debated with himself as to the wisdom of arguing with Georgiana. Perhaps he should wait. She hadn’t come out yet. He could round up eligible young men and cast them in her way next year. Yes, that was a far more advisable strategy. Arguing with Georgiana usually proved fruitless. His father’s voice broke through his reverie.
“Jocelin has come to his senses, Delia, so you needn’t worry any longer. He’s going to make therounds and look over the new crop next season. He can start with house parties. Old Clarendon has gone to his place up north. He’s got three daughters, each with fifty thousand and good blood.”
“I was thinking of Lucy Lyttleton,” Jocelin said.
The duchess gasped and waved her handkerchief in front of her face. The duke flushed, patted his wife’s arm, and snarled at his son.
“You watch your tongue in front of your mother and sister.”
Jocelin stood, grinning, and buttoned his coat over his snowy evening shirt. Lucy Lyttleton was the scandalous widow of Lord Lyttleton. She’d seduced him when he was sixteen. At least, she thought she’d seduced him. In actuality he’d picked her out and allowed her to pursue him. He’d been at Sandhurst, angry, desperate for distraction.
He went over and kissed his mother’s brow. “I must go. An appointment in the city, Mother.”
Georgiana kissed his cheek. “So, we’re both on the block, up for sale.”
“Georgiana!” cried the duchess.
Jocelin laughed, bowed to his father, and left them. As he entered the foyer and nodded to Vincent for his coat, a footman escorted several men through the vestibule.
“Jos, I’m glad we found you.”
Jocelin smiled a greeting at Asher Fox, who slung his coat at the footman. He shook hands with Alex Stapleton and Lawrence Winthrop. As usual, Stapleton’s nose was red from drink. Winthrop, Lord Winthrop, pursed his lips and nodded to Jocelin as if he were a judge instructing a bailiff. He led them into the library, where Stapleton aimed himself at a liquor cabinet. Winthrop took the chair nearest the fire as ifit were his right, but Asher Fox was too excited to sit. He pounded Jocelin on the back.
“Palmerston has come out for me at last, old fellow.”
“Excellent,” Jocelin said as he sat on the edge of his father’s desk. “Now if he will refrain from antagonizing the queen, his support will mean a great deal.”
Asher leaned on the desk next to him. They both had the tall, muscular build required to be a member of the Heavy Brigade cavalry, but Asher was the taller by a fraction of an inch. He had always reminded Jocelin of an old painting of a Charles II cavalier with his brown curls, heavy-lidded eyes, and crusading spirit. Asher appeared to consider Jocelin’s words, then glanced sideways, causing the hair on Jocelin’s arms to rise. When Asher Fox looked at him that way, it meant Jocelin was going to be hounded into doing something he didn’t want to do.
“What?” Jocelin demanded.
“Speaking of the queen …”
“Oh, no.”
“As the son of a duke, you can request an audience.”
Jocelin pushed himself off the desk and shook his head.
Stapleton waved a brandy snifter at him.
Similar Books
