The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown

by Julia Quinn

  Good Lord, the man was serious. Royce tried to imagine Liza in the country, surrounded by cows and perhaps a dozen or so thick-waisted children, all carrying butter churns or some such nonsense. The thought was so nauseating that he had to press a hand to his stomach.

  Bloody hell, it was madness. And he’d be damned if he’d just stand aside while Durham ruined Liza’s life. Liza and Royce’s lives, for she was his best friend and he couldn’t live without her.

  Thus it was that he heard himself saying in a firm voice, “Lord Durham, I fear only one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s—” Royce bit his lip as if uncertain to continue. He watched Durham out of the corner of his eye, waiting.

  The man’s expression darkened with concern. “Come, Sir Royce, we are to be family, for I know Liza thinks of you and Meg as such. You can tell me anything.”

  “Oh. Well! If we’re to be family, I suppose I should at least mention…I was just wondering how your cows will take to Liza’s monkey? George can be quite fierce when he chooses. He bites, you know.”

  Durham blanched. “Bites?”

  “Indeed. Of course, he only does so when frightened. But a small monkey like that is bound to be frightened of a cow. Especially a very large cow.”

  “Oh dear. I’ve heard it said that a monkey’s bite can be very painful.”

  “In some instances, I believe they cause death. And if he began to prey on your cows…” Royce supposed he should feel bad laying so much on George’s tiny shoulders, but he felt he had to do something. Something dire. Something to save Liza. He turned away and replaced his empty glass on the table behind him, wondering if he’d yet said enough.

  Durham was silent a moment, mulling this over. After a bit, he said, “That creature has always made me a bit nervous. Perhaps Miss Pritchard can be persuaded to leave him in London.”

  “Never. She’s mad about that silly animal.”

  “Oh dear. I was hoping…” Durham collected himself with a visible effort. “Well! That certainly makes one think. But no matter. I’m certain we’ll be able to work something out. Sir Royce, I know you and Lady Shelbourne are quite close to Liza and I find myself…that is, I want you to know that my intentions are entirely honorable.”

  Royce fisted his hands and shoved them into his coat pockets.

  Unaware of how close he was to being beaten into dust, the farmer continued, “Furthermore, I am well able to take care of Liza. She will want for nothing,” he said proudly. “Sir Royce, is there anything you wish to know about my circumstances?”

  Lord, yes. Royce wanted to know how Durham would deal with Liza’s penchant for doing as she pleased. And her sad addiction to shopping. What would she shop for out in the country? Certainly they wouldn’t have the quality of clothing she was used to. And where would she get her shoes? Certainly they’d have to come to London once a week, perhaps more.

  But most importantly, Royce wanted to know how the hell was he going to live without Liza. She was such an intrinsic part of his life—always there for him, no matter what ailed him. He looked down at the champagne glasses on the table, watching the bubbles dance to the surface, bright dots of light that disappeared the instant they hit the surface. “How often will you come to Town once you are married?”

  “Several times a year, and I daresay we’ll stay for a week or so each time.”

  Only a week? Royce didn’t think he’d ever heard a more horrible statement. He wracked his brain to think of something else he could say about Liza to show Durham how they didn’t suit. Something to make the besotted fool realize that marrying Liza was the last thing he should do. “Have you mentioned this to Liza? She may have a differing opinion, and she’s not a woman to take suggestions well. She’s as stubborn as they come.”

  “So is my mother. I’m quite adept at dealing with strong females.”

  “Liza is strong for a reason—she’s had to deal with life’s difficulties in a way few understand.”

  “Which is why one should never give a female too many decisions to make. It goes to their head.”

  Royce lifted his brows. “Liza likes making decisions.”

  “Only because harsh circumstances have prevented her from developing in the delicate way nature intended. Fortunately I’m blessed with an affectionate mother who will be more than happy to show my wife all the courtesies necessary to correct such unfortunate tendencies.”

  “Liza will be glad to discover that,” Royce said, gritting his teeth.

  “Sir Royce, you need not fear. Miss Pritchard and I will suit very well. In fact”—the man preened a bit—“I’ve decided to give Liza a very special wedding gift. Her very own bull.”

  Royce picked up another glass of champagne and took a hurried drink. “A—a bull. How unique.”

  “I haven’t told Liza yet. I thought it might make a good surprise.”

  “Oh yes, I think that would be an excellent surprise. I’m surprised right now, in fact. What, ah, is she to do with this bull?”

  “Raise it. If she tends it closely, it could easily grow to be worth two or three hundred pounds.”

  Which was about how much Liza spent on shoes in a week. Royce had to swallow a reluctant sigh. God, but he’d give his best pair of grays to see Liza’s face when she found out she was to receive her very own bull. But of course, the only way that would happen was if she lost her mind completely and agreed to marry Durham.

  And that, Royce decided, would never happen. Not while he was breathing. “Durham, are you aware of Liza’s worth?”

  The younger man shrugged. “If you are speaking about her person, then I can honestly say I find her priceless.”

  “I was talking about her fortune. She’s a very wealthy woman.”

  To Royce’s surprise, an actual shadow passed over Durham’s face. “I know. But I will not let it be a detriment. Once we are married, we will live on my income alone.”

  “You would? But…why?”

  “Sir Royce, I am not a man who could accept money from my wife. If Liza loves me, she will accept that. Besides”—Durham pinkened—“I hoped she might put her funds in trust for whatever children we have.”

  Royce turned away under the pretext of setting down his now empty glass. His mind whirled. Liza married. Liza buried in the country. Liza with Durham’s thick-necked children. Good God, this was worse than he’d thought. After a moment, he managed to say, “It sounds as if the play is about to begin. I’m sure everyone is wondering what has kept us.”

  They procured lemonade for the ladies and then made their way back to the box, Durham talking animatedly about how fond he was of London. The pompous ass looked pleased with himself—and he should be, Royce decided sourly. If things worked out for the young peer, he would have secured a wife of infinite intelligence, one guaranteed never to bore him, or wear him down with endless conversations about dressmakers and which pelisses were in style.

  She might, of course, argue with him about politics, or the best way to feather a tight corner in her high perch phaeton. And she’d been known to stomp about when she was angered. But she was never out of temper long, and she always came back with a smile.

  A pang of something uncomfortably like envy went through Royce. Good God, was he actually jealous of a cow farmer? It wasn’t possible. Yet it was with a very heavy heart that he took his seat in the box and watched Durham monopolize Liza to such an extent that even Meg and Miss Ballister looked impressed.

  Royce raked a hand through his hair and wished he was anywhere else but there. God, he’d never hated the theater so much. Still, he felt a sense of relief when the lights finally lowered and the play began, cutting off Lord Durham’s effusive compliments.

  Chapter 5

  Preparations have already begun for the Shelbourne Valentine’s Day ball, to be held (quite obviously) on Monday the fourteenth. This Author has heard rumors that Lady Shelbourne plans a fourteen-piece orchestra, five hundred pots of roses (of pink, whit
e, and red), and ten separate refreshment tables.

  Where she plans to fit all of that in her ballroom, This Author hasn’t a clue, but such accoutrements will certainly guarantee Lady Shelbourne the crush that every hostess desires. Even if only half of her invitations are accepted, the ballroom will be packed.

  Although one can hardly call a party a success when the flowerpots have stolen the dance floor from the guests.

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 31 JANUARY 1814

  Tuesday morning, Meg sat at her escritoire trying desperately to figure out where to place a twelve-piece orchestra and three hundred pots of roses and eighteen refreshment tables so that her ballroom didn’t look quite so cramped.

  The door opened and Royce strolled in.

  Meg hopped up from her desk, glad for any interruption she could find. “Royce! What brings you—”

  He stalked right past her and took an impatient turn about the room. The early morning light revealed that his cravat was hastily knotted, his hair mussed as if he’d been raking his hands through it, and his eyes underlined with deep circles. “Dear God,” she said, genuinely alarmed. “What has happened?”

  “Liza has—” He clamped his mouth shut and took another swift turn, this time stopping in front of the window. He stood for a second, his gaze fixed unseeingly out at the snowy vista, before he turned back and stalked about the room again.

  “Royce, have a seat and tell me—”

  “Damn it, I cannot be still! Meg, if Liza—” He broke off, obviously in too much of a passion to speak.

  Meg lifted her brows. She’d never seen Royce in such a state. Nothing ever seemed to bother him and, if she admitted the truth, life had been too easy on her handsome brother. He’d never had to worry about his income, and women practically threw themselves at him. But what made it worse was that Royce didn’t find this plentitude the least disconcerting. He was perfectly satisfied to flirt away his life, having no goals, no desires, and leaving a trail of broken hearts so long that one could make a footpath out of them.

  It was really most distressing, Meg decided, thinking of the large number of her friends who had sat in this very room and sobbed aloud, crying over her brother’s indifference. But it was equally distressing to see him so uncharacteristically overwrought. “Let me ring for a hot cup of tea.”

  “To hell with the tea.” Royce turned on his heel and paced to the window and back. “We have to do something about Liza. This…thing with Durham, it’s far more serious than either you or I realized.”

  Meg’s heart sank. She’d had hopes for Durham, especially after last night. “Oh dear. He is a fortune hunter just as we suspected.”

  “No,” Royce said heavily. “No, he’s not that.”

  “He’s not a fortune hunter? Then what did you find out about that makes him an ineligible parti?”

  Royce stopped a moment and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it just as abruptly, and resumed his pacing. He seemed caught in some sort of internal turmoil, striding angrily up and down the room, raking a hand through his hair and making it stand even more on end. Finally, he stopped before Meg and said, “Durham doesn’t intend on touching Liza’s funds. He feels it would be dishonorable. He doesn’t even want her to use them to support herself.”

  “That’s…that’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Royce said in a vehement voice. “Meg, he is wrong for her. If they marry, he will expect her to live in his house in the country.”

  “And?”

  Royce’s brows snapped lower. “Isn’t that enough? Can you imagine Liza living anywhere other than London? This is her home. It’s all she’s ever known.”

  Meg struggled to understand. “Yes, but I’ve known plenty of couples who—”

  “Furthermore,” Royce said without stopping. “Durham is not a man to appreciate independence. He will do what he can to depress her spirits. We cannot allow that to happen.”

  “Liza is a bit unruly at times,” Meg conceded fairly. “She should never have waved to Darington last night.”

  “Why not? She didn’t harm a soul. I daresay no one even noticed it.”

  Meg wasn’t so sure about that. Still…She glanced at her brother, noticing the white lines about his mouth. This was a most unusual turn. Something else must have happened. She bit her lip and tossed about for an answer. “Royce, did you speak to Lady Birlington? She knows Durham’s family. Maybe she—”

  “Oh, I spoke to her,” Royce said in a grim tone. “She believes him above reproach, though she doesn’t think the same of you and me.”

  “What could she possibly think about us?”

  “That we have kept Liza from marrying by chasing off every eligible male.”

  “We have not,” Meg said hotly. “We’ve never kept a truly eligible man from Liza. All we did was remove the ineligible ones.”

  That was all they’d done, wasn’t it? A tiny niggling of doubt tickled Meg. She frowned, trying to remember the reasons they’d dismissed various men who’d burst into Liza’s life.

  Royce waved a hand in the air. “Yes, you and I are painted black as sin, while Lady Birlington suggests that Liza might like fortune hunters.”

  “Liza has too much good sense to like fortune hunters,” Meg said absently. “She doesn’t like fribbles, either; she’s never given you the time of day.”

  Royce’s pacing came to an abrupt halt; his eyes blazed. Meg recoiled a little.

  Never had she seen such a look on her brother’s face. She gave an uncertain laugh. “I—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just meant—” She bit off the word, trying desperately to sort through her thoughts. After a moment, she said slowly, “Royce, do you think perhaps Lady Birlington is right? Have we chased off all the eligible men in our determination to protect Liza?”

  “Of course we haven’t.”

  “But…if Durham is not a fortune hunter and the worst you can discover about him is that he wishes his wife to live with him in the country, then…” Meg shrugged, though she kept her gaze on her brother’s face. “I don’t know how we can stop Liza.”

  “If this Durham fellow loved her, he would accept her for what she is—town life, fortune, even George.”

  “Her monkey? She loves that creature.”

  “Durham cares more for his precious cows.” Royce raked a hand through his hair. The last two nights had been sheer hell, and this morning didn’t seem to be any better. After leaving the theater, Royce had returned home only to find he couldn’t sit still, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Over and over, he’d relived the moment when he’d brushed his arm against Liza’s chest. His reaction had been purely physical. Hot and instant.

  Could he feel that way about a mere friend? Bloody hell, what did he feel about Liza? The answer sent his mind spinning. There were a very few, precious things that were certainties in his life, and one of them was Liza. That she understood him, sometimes better than himself. That she would always be there. Always and forever.

  But now, Durham was determined to rip Liza out of Royce’s life. That selfish bastard. “Meg, what kind of marriage is based on changing the other person?”

  To his surprise, she didn’t immediately answer. She pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side. “In a way, all marriages are based on change. Just being in love changes you. At least, it makes you want to change, and usually for the better.” She sent him a dire look. “That’s something for you to think about, dearest brother, if you ever decide to wed.”

  “I don’t want to marry and I don’t want to change,” he said firmly. The problem was, he didn’t want Liza to marry or change, either. He wanted them to be the same as they always were. What could be wrong with that?

  A flash of irritation marred Meg’s expression. “Royce, if you don’t wish to change, then don’t. Die old and alone. Fortunately, Liza has decided that path is not for her. Furthermore—” Meg stopped, a dawning light in her eyes. “I’m going to do what I can to
help her win Lord Durham!”

  Good God, no! What was this? “Liza doesn’t need your help.”

  “Nonsense. It’s the least we can do, especially if Lady Birlington is right.” Meg bit her lip. “What if we have kept all the eligible bachelors from Liza?”

  “Would you have had her marry that Handley-Finch fellow? The one who owed so much money he was on the verge of being tossed in gaol?”

  “Well, no.”

  “What about the man from Devon, the one who’d had two previous wives who had both died under mysterious circumstances?”

  “There was never any proof.”

  Royce snorted, so Meg added, “What about the widower from America, Mr. Nash? He was very pleasant and was quite heartbroken when you hinted him off.”

  “He had four children. Liza would have gone mad. She can barely handle George. Look, Meg, we’re Liza’s family. It’s our job to make certain she’s happy.”

  “But whose job is it to decide what will make her happy? Royce, unless you have a serious, specific objection to Durham, then it is our duty to help her attach his interest so firmly that he will ask her to marry him without delay.”

  “How? By making her into something she’s not?” Royce turned away from Meg and went to the window. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the frame, wondering irritably why he’d come to Meg anyway. She was too bubbleheaded to understand the importance of what was happening. Outside, the wintry street sparkled under the blue sky, cold air seeping around the windowpane. “I refuse to help Liza ruin her life. If you cared about her, you’d do the same.”

  Meg sniffed. “You’re just upset because you finally realized there is a woman immune to your charms and she was right under your nose the whole time.”

  “Nonsense!” he scoffed. “I’m not upset; I’m worried. That’s an entirely different emotion. Furthermore, Liza is not immune to me whatsoever. And I’m not immune to her—”