“She wouldn’t have dressed that way if she’d thought it would result in him boring her to death about a dead language,” said Killarney.
“We don’t know that it bored her, just that she didn’t want to discuss it at that moment,” said Dook, growing. “I mean, yes, William had an odd turn while in the orangery, but I don’t believe it’s a lost cause.”
“Hieroglyphics,” repeated Conway with considerable disgust but then suddenly looked thoughtful. “I say, it might prove a useful way to deter the unwanted attentions of some old Paphians I can think of. Quick, William! Tell us precisely what you said!”
“Not again!” Killarney groaned loudly, one hand clasped to his face. “Won’t you leave the poor man alone? He feels bad enough as it is!”
“Agreed,” mumbled William. He didn’t feel drunk despite the shocking amount he’d imbibed, although it did seem as though his face had become stuck to the table.
“This was our fault for making William pretend to be dashing,” said Dook. “We should have found a way for him to engage Amelia in a more comfortable setting. Like a library, or a monastery, or something of that nature.”
Half of William was quite offended at the easy way their friends accepted Dook’s assessment of his nature. It was too much effort to respond, however, so he slipped back into a fit of melancholy.
“He’s attended more lectures and scientific demonstrations with Amelia than I’ve had hot dinners,” complained Conway. “I laid a monkey that he’d have come up to scratch by the end of the Season, but it’s starting to look like I threw that money to the wind.”
“We all did,” murmured Louis. “Alas, it is not the certain wager I was promised.”
“Since it was my money you wagered, it’s hardly a loss for you,” muttered Killarney. “Damn and blast it, William. We all know you and Amelia are a perfect match. If you can’t make it work, then what chance do I have when my marriage was arranged for me in childhood?”
“Or for me, who loves a woman who thinks me a worthless fool,” added Conway, looking morose.
“I’ve yet to meet a woman who sees me before the title,” sighed Dook. “They love the idea of being a duchess, not of being my wife.”
“And who would marry a penniless aristo whose entire family was beheaded by his own countrymen?” asked Louis.
The hum of conversation in the Subscription room concealed the approach of Lord Fellowes and his companion until it was too late for the friends to avoid them.
“Oh, look, it’s Dick Turpin and his gang of never-do-wells,” sneered the baron as he approached. He looked them all up and down and then turned his attention to Roehampton. “A word in your ear, Your Grace, the company you keep will impact your standing in society.”
“Actually, we’re—” began Killarney, but Dook silenced him with a slight movement of his hand. Experience had long taught the group that the older members of the Ton wanted nothing more than to separate the duke from his friends, and likely his fortune to boot.
“Mr. Haddington, how delightful to see you,” said Fellowes, accepting that Roehampton would not respond as though it were of no matter. “You left the masquerade before I had a chance to converse with you.”
William gave a resentful groan as he forced himself to a sitting position. The world swam as he did so.
“What do you want, Fellowes?” he muttered, trying to focus his gaze.
“Nothing at all, simply to pass a few minutes with one of my stepmother’s favorites.”
The baron’s companion snorted as though he had made a great joke. William would have glared at them in disgust, but it took too much effort.
“I’m surprised to see you in here, for I could have sworn you were a Tory,” said Conway, not hiding his dislike for Lord Fellowes. “Wandered into the wrong club again?”
The baron looked amused by this. “My dear, Lord Conway, I am hardly the first man to have a membership at more than one establishment. Besides, the suppers here are superior to any other in the city.”
“Wonderful, it’s being served in half an hour, so you can go partake of it and leave us in peace,” said the earl.
Lord Fellowes chuckled, and William wondered whether it would be polite to advise the older man that he should never again do that in public. Everyone knew the baron had fancied himself to be something of a Macaroni back in the day, and that neither his age nor the sweeping change in style were going to dissuade him from adhering to unflattering fashions. His face and hair were both powdered, and while he had not held onto his generation’s love of ridiculous wigs or giant mouse-skin patches on his face, he had evidently determined that a striped, silk coat of pink and yellow, complete with matching buttons and decorated with delicate white daisies, was a style he could not part with.
On Louis, lace at the collar and cuffs looked elegant, even dashing. On Lord Fellowes, it was utterly ridiculous. William decided it was best to stay silent.
“How droll!” the older man said before turning his sneer to William. “Perhaps you will consider joining me for a drink, Mr. Haddington. I’ve heard whispers that you may be looking to make an offer of marriage to my mother. I laughed at such nonsense, of course, but I am willing to look the other way if you discreetly offer her carte blanche. It is not as though she is good for anything else.”
William balled his hands into fists.
“You are a dog, Fellowes,” he said slowly, careful to ensure that his pronunciation was impeccable. “No, you are lower than a dog, and not fit to lick the boots of your stepmother.”
He felt, rather than heard, his friends hold their breath in anticipation of William being called out, but he knew better than they did what type of creature the baron truly was at heart.
Fellowes, his cheeks going red beneath his powder, restrained his reaction.
“Perhaps you are stupid enough to consider marrying her, but the exquisite expression of idiocy on your face implies that she turned you down. Are you genuinely surprised? Amelia is a great many things, but an idiot is not one of them. She’d marry Roehampton here by tomorrow if he’d have her, but a mere heir to a viscount? I’m afraid that she considers herself above your touch.”
William knew the words were intended to do damage, that they had no substance, but they hurt, nonetheless. He staggered to his feet, using the table to keep his balance, and was gratified to see Fellowes take a step back in response.
His friends remained in their seats, but all of them, even Louis, looked ready to pounce if needed.
“It is a great pity,” said William, aware of how quiet the room had become now that everyone was watching the drama unfold. “Indeed, an exceedingly great pity that I am not truly a highwayman, for I would rob you of everything that you own and then still point my pistol at your heart. Perhaps I would not shoot, but it would depend very much on whether you soiled yourself first.”
All trace of mockery was gone from Fellowes’s expression and instead replaced with the hard cruelty that Amelia had so often described.
“You fancy yourself a land pirate? You’d be about as successful in that career as you have been in pursuing Amelia,” he replied with a mocking laugh. He looked around at William’s companions and frowned. “None of you could do it, not if a fortune depended on the outcome. You all like to think that you are so dashing, so heroic, just because you raced a curricle to Brighton, or because you were once foolish enough to jump into the ring with Jackson.”