Laura, watching James, thought she would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of his icy smile. Unsurprisingly, after that dampening exchange, conversation limped forward in spurts of polite chitchat. The chill around James was almost palpable, though Salstone, at least, seemed not to notice it. Patricia kept up a resentful silence, and Claude was politely distant.
It was a relief when the meal ended and the women left the men to their port and cigars. Laura, pleading fatigue from the day’s journey, retired to the sanctuary of her bedroom. It was, she found, large and furnished with equally massive dark furniture, embodying both grandeur and gloom. But at least it offered solitude, which she badly needed at the moment. With a sigh, Laura plopped down in the chair by the window and rested her head against the back.
What a strange, eventful day it had been. Her wedding day.
Thank heavens it was over.
chapter 8
When the butler left the room, having set out the gentlemen’s port, James fixed his brother-in-law with a glacial gaze. “Salstone . . . if you ever presume to condescend to my wife again, you will be out of this house on your backside. Do you understand?”
Salstone gaped at him. “I—I—intended no insult.”
“Even you are not that stupid. You knew exactly what you were doing and so did Patricia. But no one—” His eyes swept around the table. “No one who insults Laura will remain in this house.”
“J-James, I would never . . .”
“Not you, Walter.” James’s glance dismissed him and lit on Claude.
“Unlike Archie, I’m not an idiot,” Claude replied scornfully.
“I say, Claude . . .” Salstone began.
“I thought not.” James gave his brother a nod before turning toward Salstone. “Archie?”
“Well, of course, beg your pardon. That is to say, misspoke, all that.” Salstone took a gulp of his drink.
James turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Salstone’s expression shift to a sullen sneer, but he ignored it. He didn’t care if the man hated him. Indeed, he rather enjoyed it. “Well, Walter . . . what brings you down from Oxford this time?”
As Walter began to shift in his seat and hem and haw, Claude asked drily, “Tell me, will it be my turn to be lectured next?”
James gave him a cool look. “Not unless you’ve done something irredeemably foolish. Nor am I about to lecture Walter.” He looked back at the young man. “I was simply curious what rule he’d found to break that he hadn’t already.”
“Oh, well, it wasn’t exactly new. It was just that Ned and I . . . well, you know his brother?” Walter began a convoluted story involving a pig, a don, and an upper-floor room, which James did not try to follow. His head was throbbing and his joints ached, and he worried that his hand might begin to shake in front of the people he would least like to witness that performance.
James wondered how soon he could leave. He had never enjoyed this postdinner ritual, its only advantage being that it meant fewer minutes spent in the company of Adelaide and Patricia. Thank God Cousin Maurice and his mother’s admirer had gone with the women.
“Who’s this fellow dangling after Mother?” he asked abruptly.
“Our future Byron?” Claude snorted.
“I thought his name was Netherly,” Salstone said.
James would have laughed if his head hadn’t been throbbing so. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing, Salstone’s puzzlement or Claude’s pained expression. Too bad Laura wasn’t here; he would have liked to meet her eyes and see the laughter brimming there.
“I think he’s talking about the poet, Archie,” Walter explained.
“Oh. Ha! Never much for poetry myself.”
“Astonishing,” Claude murmured, then said to James, “Surely you’ve met Netherly. He’s one of Mother’s admirers. At least he merely skulks around being moody and ‘interesting.’ It could be worse; Major Bellingham threatened to escort her back from the city.”
“Gad.” James could see that Salstone was working up to say something, but he gave him no encouragement. He knew the sort of subject the man wanted to broach with him.
“I’m glad you returned, James.” Unfortunately, Salstone needed no encouragement.
“Are you?”
“Yes. Benbroke—you know Benbroke, don’t you?” he said in a hearty tone. “Cecil’s cousin.”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“He’s on to something capital. I knew you’d want to hear it. It’s a canal. In Australia. Brilliant idea, but of course one has to act quickly.”