What’s the good of being Juliet when Romeo shows no sign of killing himself for love, but instead prances off with Rosalind?
She felt as stupid as Oyster.
There was an audible hum of interest in the room, just as she sensed someone at her shoulder. “Astley,” came the drawling voice of the Duke of Villiers. “Your Grace.” He was bowing before her mother.
The duchess held out her hand to be kissed, doing a magnificent job of pretending that Villiers’s appearance meant little, and that every pair of eyes in the tent wasn’t focused on their little group. “I understand that we might well see each other in the country,” she said, dimpling. “I’m not certain that I can spare the time for such frolicking, but I always try to please my daughters.”
“London is so tiresome at the tail end of the season,” Villiers said. “And you are so much in demand, Duchess. You must long to escape the throngs of your friends and admirers.”
Since her mother loved nothing more than an admiring horde, Eleanor thought he was overdoing his praise. But her mother giggled, and might even be blushing underneath the permanent blush she had painted on earlier in the day. “That is so true,” she agreed, fluttering her fan madly.
“You’re planning a trip to the country, Duke?” Gideon said in his measured, formal tones.
“I have some business in Kent.” Eleanor held her breath. She was hoping to break the news about his motley family to her mother at some later date. Preferably after the duchess had drunk two brandies. But Villiers said nothing further.
She caught sight of Gideon’s still-clenched jaw out of the corner of her eye. “We are meeting at a house party,” she said, favoring the three of them with a huge smile.
“I expect you’ll be busy in the House of Lords,” Villiers said to Gideon. “Such a pity; the countryside is beautiful at this time of year. But there you are…we grasshoppers will frolic, and the ants must needs keep slaving.” There was a trace of scorn in his voice. Just a trace.
A second stretched to twenty before Gideon said, “Exactly so.”
“What a pity you’ve never taken up your seat, Duke,” Eleanor’s mother said to Villiers, showcasing her profound deafness to conversational undercurrents.
“I can’t imagine why I would,” Villiers said lazily. “I don’t see myself in a room full of bantam roosters strutting and squawking at the dawn.”
“One could describe them as caring for the business of the country,” Gideon snapped.
“Nonsense. The business of the country is shaped by two forces: the king and the market. As it happens, I know a great deal about the market. I can assure you, Astley, that quite frequently the market trumps the king.”
Gideon’s jaw worked. “The market can do nothing when it comes to serious problems. In the House of Lords we fight ethical lapses such as the slave trade.”
“The slave trade is entirely governed by money: those with it, and those who wish they had more. And it has long been my opinion that the only way to end it is to cut it off at the root. You can make all the proclamations you wish, but it’s only by cutting profit that that damnable practice will end.”
“Wonderful!” Eleanor’s mother said brightly. “I can see that you’re both working toward the same goal.”
“So to speak,” Villiers said. His eyes slid to Eleanor, and suddenly she knew that he had guessed her most private secret. He knew.
“I doubt we have ever had similar goals,” Gideon said.
“Given that my intentions are entirely honorable, I believe you,” Villiers said with a faint smile.
Gideon drew in his breath sharply. The insult flashed by like a poison dart, so sleek and so pointed that Eleanor almost missed it. Her mother just smiled.