‘Pet?’
Sophie flushed in embarrassment at her slip. She was letting her embarrassment tumble her into just the kind of informal talk that sent her parents cringing.
‘That’s awful of me, isn’t it? She is really being...considerate, in her way. Well, thank you again, I should return Marmaduke before we are missed. Good day.’
She smiled and turned in the direction of Huntley House, tugging at the leash, but Marmaduke had apparently expended all his energy for the day and merely allowed himself to be dragged a few inches. There was a moment of awkward silence and heat licked up Sophie’s cheeks as she bent down to scoop him up.
‘You are a master of contrariness, Duke. That innocent gaze doesn’t deceive me in the least!’ she informed him and with a last nod towards the couple, which she hoped was at least a facsimile of dignity, she headed towards Huntley House, closing her eyes briefly as she realised just how ridiculous she must have appeared to that beautiful, elegant couple. No doubt they were laughing at her behind her back. It was lucky her parents weren’t there to see how predictably she had put her foot in it in her first interaction with human beings outside Aunt Minnie’s domain. Well, she was unlikely to ever see them again. She tucked Marmaduke more closely to her, comforted by his rapid panting. At least she had done some good today, even if only to a pug.
Max watched the young woman until she disappeared into the entrance of Number Forty-Eight and then glanced down at his sister with the remnants of amusement in his eyes.
‘That proves it. Madness is clearly heritable, Hetty.’
His sister laughed again and shook her head as they turned and continued heading eastwards towards Brook Street.
‘Nonsense, Max, I doubt that girl or Lady Huntley are any madder than I. Lady Huntley has just given herself over to the enjoyment of being a famous recluse and eccentric. From what I gather from my maid she is kept fully up to date on all London gossip. And that young woman is probably just bored to tears and happy to talk with anyone if she is the latest of Lady Huntley’s relatives commandeered to attend to her. Really, that woman seems to have more cousins and indigent relatives than anyone I have ever seen. Even with her fortune, if she ever does have to divide it up among them, there won’t be more than a pittance apiece.’
‘Perhaps this latest helpmate is hopeful Mad Minnie’s canines will win her exclusivity on the Huntley fortune. She certainly seems quite happy conversing with that...dog, if you can even call it that. She almost had me convinced he knew what she was talking about.’
‘You are such a cynic, Max. I don’t doubt I’d be reduced to talking to the dogs if I had to spend more than a day in there. I heard Lady Huntley sometimes doesn’t speak to these relations at all, just sends them commands through her butler. And once she sent one of them away on the night mail with only twenty minutes’ warning! I can’t imagine what would happen to that poor child if she lost Mad Minnie’s favourite pug.’
‘She’d probably find herself locked in the cellars, or worse. But I would think she would be grateful to be evicted, even if it is by the night-mail coach. And she’s hardly a child. I would say twenty-three or four.’
Hetty snorted in a very unladylike manner. ‘Of course I wouldn’t dispute the verdict of the connoisseur of all things female. Are you certain you cannot fix the date more accurately? Or wasn’t she beautiful enough to merit that degree of examination?’
‘Don’t be snide, Hetty. She was tolerable, but I don’t favour pert little country misses, not even ones of her undisputed originality. Far too tiring.’
Hetty sighed.
‘You don’t favour anyone, Max dear. Please try and be a bit more positive when we reach Lady Carmichael. She and Lady Penny won’t know what to do with your biting comments. Do behave!’
Max stopped himself from uttering just such a comment about his sister’s current offering for potential spouse. He should really learn to reserve judgement. After all, he had only spoken to Lady Penny once, at a very tedious evening at Almack’s, and he should hardly be surprised if all she had to say for herself was a sampling of the same inanities which young women felt were expected of them in such occasions. And to be fair, she did appear to be, as Hetty pointed out, a pretty, sweet and modest young woman from an excellent family. She would do very well as Duchess of Harcourt and mother of his heirs. And if she really was too boring, Hetty had promised she had three other candidates in mind.
And most of all he should show Hetty some gratitude for being willing to help him fulfil his highly regretted but inescapable promise. The thought of going through the forest of debutantes and potentially marriageable women on his own was more daunting than any military campaign he had ever undertaken. He would almost be willing to face Napoleon again rather than an endless row of Wednesday evenings at Almack’s. And that meant he needed Hetty’s help. She had been by far the most socially adept of his five sisters and until her marriage six years ago she had known everyone who was anyone in the upper ten thousand of London.
‘That is twice I’ve been called to heel today, Hetty. Have pity,’ he replied with a rueful smile.
She chuckled.
‘That was funny! And she did manage to bring a Duke to heel even if it was only you and not the pug. If I ever feel the need to take you down a peg, I shall share that story with your friends. Everyone takes you far too seriously.’
‘If you do, I might be forced to remember some of your more embarrassing escapades from our childhood,’ Max warned. ‘That was bad enough, but to liken that fur ball to Napoleon on St Helena is carrying eccentricity too far. That peculiar girl obviously has no town sense to be talking to strangers like that. She’ll get into trouble.’
Hetty waited until they had crossed Mount Street before replying.
‘I do feel sorry for her. She seemed so eager to talk. Perhaps I should be brave and introduce myself while I am in town. You know I always wanted an excuse to cross the portals of the Huntley mausoleum.’
Max smiled down at her.
‘You’ve a soft heart, Hetty. But remember what happened to Mother when she went to visit Mad Minnie after Lord Huntley died? Are you sure you want to risk a similar rebuff?’
‘Pooh, that was years and years ago. And Mama never had the slightest notion of tact and certainly no sympathy so I’m hardly surprised she was sent packing. You’re just scared of Mad Minnie.’
They stopped in front of the elegant town house on the corner of Brook Street and Max sighed with resignation.
‘Frankly, I would prefer to spend the afternoon with Mad Minnie rather than at Lady Carmichael’s. I wish I had never promised Father I would marry within ten years. Thirty-one seemed like a hell of a long time away back then and a fair price to pay to get his approval to join Wellington in Spain.’
Hetty considered. ‘I think he might have let you enlist even if you hadn’t. I know what Harcourt meant to Papa, but he was a stickler for duty and he saw nothing wrong in your wanting to serve your country. He just wanted to make certain you married eventually. I think he was afraid you might not...after what happened with Serena...’
Max stiffened involuntarily and her voice trailed off.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned her,’ she said contritely.
He shrugged, trying to relax the tension that always took hold when anything brought back memories of Serena. He would have happily traded quite a bit of his worldly goods for a magical remedy that could slice off that year of his life. His father, as stiff as always, had made one of his rare attempts at being paternal and supportive when he had offered him the trite ‘time heals all wounds’ aphorism. But though time had dulled the pain and guilt and all the other emotions he had tried to escape by drowning