Heiress in Red Silk Hunter, Madeline (books for 7th graders .TXT) 📖

be gone already if he had, so at least this way it might be useful for a while longer.” Kevin gestured to Philip’s chest. “Interesting waistcoat.”

Philip preened. “Harrington’s.”

Kevin detested people who told you where they purchased their luxuries. Philip did so all the time, as if expensive garments made him a worthwhile man.

“I suppose that means you have had luck at the tables recently.”

Philip blinked hard. “Of course.”

Hardly of course. If ever a young man had bad luck when gambling, it was Philip. He took after his father that way, as he did in his spendthrift habits and lack of fiscal common sense. He’d gotten in deep with money lenders last autumn, and only God’s grace had spared him a hard lesson. That and the suspicious disappearance of a rare Renaissance sculpture from Whiteford House. Chase had tracked down that small bronze, and the description of the person who had sold it bore a strong resemblance to their youngest cousin.

Nicholas had chosen to ignore the theft and not confront Philip, but this particular cousin no longer had free access to the duke’s house. Or any family member’s residence, for that matter.

“It may have been sewn by Harrington’s, but you chose the fabric,” Kevin said. He gave the waistcoat a long examination. “Nicely made. Too bad it is in bad taste.”

Philip’s face flushed. “As if you would know fashion. I doubt you have been able to afford a new waistcoat in years. That one you are wearing has made so many appearances as to be threadbare.”

“At least it isn’t vulgar.”

Walter had risen and sidled over to watch the show.

“Vulgar?” Philip sneered. “You have no sense of style, clearly.”

“It looks like something a rustic would buy on coming up to Town in the hopes of appearing fashionable.”

Philip was very red now. “You are unbearable. Everyone thinks so. Doesn’t everyone, Walter?”

“Oh, yes,” Walter drawled. “But the waistcoat really is vulgar. That can’t be denied.”

Philip gaped, speechless now. He strode away.

“That was unkind of you,” Walter said. “And of me.”

“I should apologize, but I don’t think I will.”

Walter took a look at his pocket watch. “I assume this Miss Jameson is coming with Chase and Minerva, because they aren’t here either. Deliberately late, I would say, so she is not forced to endure us too long.”

Walter, unlike Philip, was not stupid. He could be just as insufferable in his own way, however. It forever chafed that while he was the eldest cousin, his father had not been the eldest brother of Uncle Frederick. That meant Nicholas, not Walter, had inherited the title. None of that kept Walter from trying to position himself as the head of the family anyway, to little avail.

“My wife says she is not what we expect,” he said. “Miss Jameson, that is. She saw her with you in the park and they had some conversation. She said the woman is quite young and pretty.”

“Pretty” was not a word Kevin would use. Pretty implied something fleeting, dependent upon youth and innocence. Miss Jameson was so much more than pretty.

“Pretty enough, I suppose.”

Walter gave him a long look. “You suppose? I guess when you look at her all you can see is a problem, eh? Her having half of that enterprise must gall you.”

“We have a right understanding about the enterprise. Because the alternative was to have every person in this drawing room as a partner, I count myself fortunate in only having someone as sensible and pliable as Miss Jameson to deal with.” Brave talk. He had no idea if she would prove pliable when the time for such accommodations arrived. Nothing thus far had said so. He enjoyed sowing the seed among the relatives that everything was settled, however. That would gall them.

Indeed, Walter did look disappointed. His attention was averted to the entrance of the drawing room, however. “Ah, Chase is here.”

Chase and Minerva strolled into the chamber, chatting with each other. A few nods aimed their way, but conversations continued. Then, like a slow-moving wave rolling through the space, silence fell.

Nicholas had entered, escorting Miss Jameson. He walked her through the drawing room toward the hostess. Aunt Agnes waited, sitting like the queen at a presentation at court.

Every eye followed their progress. The women appeared interested. The men looked stunned. Miss Jameson wore a beautiful dinner dress, one that Kevin recognized as being commissioned at the modiste’s that day. Its pale lilac hue, subdued but shimmering, had been enhanced by cream embroidery and two tiers of lace near the hem. Someone had dressed her hair differently, so curls dangled somewhat recklessly alongside her face. She wore no jewels.

He tore his gaze away. He looked at Walter, who seemed incapable of blinking, while Nicholas introduced Miss Jameson to Aunt Agnes. He noticed Walter’s wife, Felicity, watching her husband’s reaction, and her smile growing tighter.

Walter must have sensed the attention. He looked over and smiled broadly at his wife. Then he glanced askance at Kevin. “Pretty enough? Damnation, man.”

* * *

It was, Rosamund decided, a very pleasant party. The Radnor family was full of opinionated people, some of whom assumed the entire world ached to hear their views on social and political events. The result was a noisy gathering, with a few arguments making for good theater until the eldest male cousin, Walter, decreed they end.

“Enough of that now,” he would intone, like a schoolmaster calling for order. In most cases he succeeded in ruining a very lively discussion.

Rosamund held to her plan of speaking briefly and carefully. It worked because little conversation was expected of her. The rest of them probably concluded that she was dull. As for her manners at the meal that would follow soon, Mrs. Markland had drilled her in the deployment of all that cutlery upon hearing she would attend a dinner party.

“Let us go down,” Lady Agnes finally announced.

“Time to go down,” Walter repeated, as if doing so required his agreement.

Because all Kevin’s cousins were male, and two others besides him were unmarried, the