officer?” she sneered. “In my day, only gentlemen could be officers.”
The duke handed Belinda his empty plate and licked his fingers. “Madam, I’ll have you know that Dev is a gentleman,” he said angrily. “His father’s a baron.”
Lady Bamph’s eyes widened. “You are that Mr Devize?” she gasped. “The son of Lord Devize?”
Julian smiled faintly. “I have that honor, yes.”
“You are the odious wretch who broke Child’s Bank!” she accused him, rising to her feet majestically. “Infamous cur! How dare you show your face among civilized people? You, sir, have been the means of ruining some of my dearest friends! I know your mother,” she went on, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Odious, grasping female! She must be so proud of you.”
“Of course she’s proud of him,” said the duke. “Aren’t you proud of your son? Speaking of which, where is he? The sooner he marries my sister, the sooner I get my nephew.”
Forcing a smile, Lady Bamph sat down again. “I’m sure Rupert is on his way, Your Grace,” she said pleasantly. “He is most eager to meet you…and Lady Viola, too, of course. What a pity her ladyship could not come to London.”
“No, Dev,” the duke said firmly as Julian opened his mouth to speak. “I’ll handle this. My sister is not a traveling exhibit,” he announced as he sponged cake crumbs from his waistcoat with his fingers. “She flatly refuses to come to London. If your son wants her, he must go to Yorkshire and do the pretty. Now, don’t ask me why a man should go all the way to Yorkshire to make love to a girl he’s already engaged to. I couldn’t tell you if you did ask. But Viola is not a man, and we can’t expect her to behave like a rational human being.”
Concluding his speech, he licked his fingers.
“It was I who suggested Rupert invite Lady Viola to London,” Lady Bamph answered. “I thought her ladyship might enjoy the delights of the Season with us. I see now my interference has led to infelicity all around. I see no reason why Rupert, Belinda, and I could not go to Yorkshire with you for an extended visit, if that is Lady Viola’s preference.”
“But Mama!” Belinda protested. “Rupert said if Lady Viola didn’t obey him, he’d make her very sorry indeed when they married. Rupert has a very bad temper when he is crossed,” she confided to Julian, who was taking notes again. “And besides, Mama, it is the height of the Season! We shall miss some very important plays and assemblies. I do not suppose there are plays and assemblies in Yorkshire. Rupert says that Yorkshire is the back end of beyond.”
Lady Bamph watched anxiously as Julian scribbled in his notebook. “Nonsense!” she snapped. “Rupert would never dream of saying anything so offensive. For myself, I long to see my future daughter. We will gladly go to Yorkshire as soon as it can be arranged.”
Resigned to exile, Belinda asked hopefully if Mr Devize would be accompanying them.
“I’m afraid my work keeps me in London, Lady Belinda,” Julian replied gently.
Belinda pouted. “Work! Haven’t you made your fortune already?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, putting his notebook away.
“But you broke that silly old bank!” she protested.
“I make fortunes for other people, not myself,” he explained. “It’s how I earn my living.”
“Oh, how sad,” she sighed, full of pity. “I think you must be very brave, Mr Devize. Why, if I had to earn my living, I think I should die, or else starve.”
“So that’s settled,” said Lady Bamph, smiling at the duke. “We shall pass the spring in Yorkshire, then travel back to London for the wedding.”
The duke spoke up. “Viola wants to be married from York Minster. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” said her ladyship agreeably. “I’m sure York Minster is very nice.”
“And the first week in June is out of the question,” said the duke, rather surprised that he was having such an easy time of it. “That’s our holidays. Then there’s the shooting, of course.”
“Oh, yes,” said the dowager. “There’s a hunting lodge in Scotland, isn’t there?”
“No, there isn’t,” said the duke, growing red in the face.
“I believe it’s called Lyons,” the dowager insisted. “Lady Viola inherited it from her mother, Louisa Lyon, the famous beauty.”
“I tell you, you’re mad!” the duke barked at her. Abruptly, he got up and went over to the window, beckoning for Julian to join him. “Lyons, Dev!” he whispered urgently. “The she-Bamph has found out about it somehow.”
“She’s just trying to rattle you,” his advisor explained. “Leave everything to me, Duke.”
But the duke could not be calmed. Indeed, he was on the verge of leaving the house when the doors of the drawing room were flung open suddenly.
“My son!” Lady Bamph announced proudly as Rupert Belphrey, the 3rd Marquis of Bamph, strode into the room tapping his thigh with a pair of yellow kid gloves. A proud, pretty fellow, he wore with distinction a garnet-colored coat and a pair of clinging buckskin breeches. His cravat was algebraic in its complexity, and his waistcoat was loudly figured in scarlet and gold. His sideburns were as carefully arranged as the red-gold curls on his brow, and he was as handsome as his mother, though a little less masculine. Gleaming black Hessian boots with long silver tassels and high heels completed the picture of a fashionable London dandy.
The duke’s eyes were dazzled, and he dug his elbow into Julian’s ribs. “Not bad, eh?”
“Isn’t it wonderful, Rupert?” said Lady Bamph. “His grace has invited us all to Yorkshire for a nice, long visit.”
“By all means, take Belinda to Yorkshire,” the marquis said haughtily. Consulting the mirror hung beside the door, he painstakingly adjusted one of the red-gold crescents that made up his left sideburn. “If you think she has a chance of landing him. I shall stay in Town, of course. This Season is the best ever, and I am in great demand.”
Lady Bamph fixed on her brightest smile. “But, Rupert, dearest, this trip will give you the opportunity to know Lady Viola better before the wedding takes place at York Minster in the fall. Surely that is more important than a few parties and balls.”
“If my future wife wants to know me better,” he replied petulantly, “she must come to London as I command. I can’t be bothered to go to Yorkshire. Why, the society there must be primitive! And the wedding will take place at St George’s in June,” he added obstinately.
The Duke of Fanshawe suddenly remembered that he had a part to play in the scene unfolding before him. “But Viola was baptized at York Minster,” he interjected. “And she ain’t a traveling exhibit, you know.”
The marquis turned to stare at the duke. “Who the devil are you?” he asked coldly.
“I’m the Duke of Fanshawe, but you can call me Dickon, if you like.”
“No!”
