Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

“Oh dear, Douglas, I don’t wish to visit that thought at this moment. My lord, you dance as gracefully as ever.”

“More than three decades of inspiration keep the spring in my step,” Douglas said.

An hour later, the entire Sherbrooke family sat at three tables in the lovely dining room off the ballroom, eating shrimp patties, drinking champagne, and delighting in the Grimsby’s cook’s incredible olive bread, a recipe she claimed had come from Sicily itself, from her grandmother the ancient Maria Teresa. Lady Grimsby was heard to say that every olive in a twenty-mile radius would be residing in her guests’ bellies before the night was over.

“Father,” Jason said, “tell me why Lord Grimsby is giving a ball in Lord Renfrew’s honor.”

“Hmm. Lord Renfrew seems a pleasant enough man, despite his need to be shot,” Douglas said, nearly sighing over another bite of the olive bread. “Fact is though, Lord Grimsby and Elgin’s uncle—Bartholomew Sloane—were first cousins on the mother’s side. Grew up together. One of Barty’s sons died in Greece some ten years ago. Grim told me the boy traveled with Lord Byron.”

Hallie said, “My lord, perhaps a large dinner party with whist afterward would be more appropriate than a ball. Why would Lord Grimsby go to this sort of expense for his cousin’s son?”

“Ah, that’s an excellent question,” Douglas said. “Didn’t I hear that after you gave Lord Renfrew the boot, Hallie, he married a girl up north? Her father was a wealthy merchant or such? And she died?”

“How did you know that, sir? I swear I never told a soul.”

Douglas shrugged as he snaffled the last slice of olive bread off his wife’s plate. “And now he has no money. It all makes very clear sense, don’t you think?”

“But I’m living with Jason!”

There was only a bare moment of appalled silence.

“You’re his partner, Hallie,” Corrie said. “You’re not his mistress.”

“Of course I’m not his mistress,” Hallie said. “I am too rich to be any man’s mistress.”

“Be that as it may,” Douglas said, “it would appear that Elgin Sloane wishes to see if he can’t reattach you, my dear.”

“But I found out he was marrying me for my money, my lord. Do you know what else he was doing? He was sleeping with another woman.”

“Not quite so loud, Hallie,” Alex said, patting her hand.

Corrie said, “That doesn’t make much sense, does it? He was doing both? Doesn’t he have a functioning brain?”

Hallie said, “He must have believed he could get away with it.”

“All girls except Corrie are stupid at eighteen,” Corrie’s mother-in-law said. “Did you know that she saved James’s life?”

“She’s got more guts than brains,” James said.

Hallie said, “Well, no, and I should like to hear all about it. Didn’t Lord Renfrew get a good look at Jason, sir? Is the man blind?”

Jason waved away her words. “He thinks I’m poor, jealous of my brother, and something of a buffoon.” Jason grinned. “It was quite an enjoyable visit with him, as a matter of fact.”

“You’re wicked, my boy,” Lady Lydia said, staring at the shrimp patty that lay in the center of her daughter-in-law’s plate. She wanted that shrimp patty. Alex knew it. She speared the entire patty on her fork and raised it to her mouth. Then, cursing herself, she cut it in half and set one half on her mother-in-law’s plate.

Lady Lydia eyed the half shrimp patty. “I’ll wager you licked it, didn’t you? You did it very fast so I could see only the shadow of movement of it, so I’d know what you did, but not be able to prove it. And that’s why

you gave it to me. You want Douglas to believe you are selfless, but you licked it.”

“Yes,” Alex said. “I licked it.” She stared the old woman down until she ate the shrimp patty. “It tasted strange,” Lady Lydia said as she set down her fork. “I don’t know your particular taste as my poor son does, but—”

“Mother,” Douglas said, his voice icy enough to freeze the champagne, “If Alex licked the shrimp patty, it will bring you luck.”

“All this dancing, I must keep up my strength,” the dowager said.

Her fond son said, “You’ve more strength than two prize bulls, Mother. You’re quite remarkable.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Lydia, do visit Lyon’s Gate tomorrow. You and I can oversee Cook making nutty buns. You said she still doesn’t do it right.”