“A screaming fit? Good God. What for?” Owen ventured. “Or do I want to know?”
“I believe Daphne said that Lady Houghton had failed to serve the salmon puffs that Lady Lavinia preferred after Lady Lavinia had clearly expressed her desire for them when she’d met Lady Houghton on Bond Street not two days before the ball.”
Owen braced his elbow on the table and let his forehead drop to his hand. “You must be joking.”
Swifdon shook his head. “I wish I were.”
Claringdon plucked another card from his hand. “She sounds charming.”
“She sounds half mad!” Owen barked.
“No wonder she’s on the shelf,” Cavendish offered with a snort, poking out his cheek with his tongue.
Owen tossed his cards to the table, no longer interested in the game. Instead, he picked up his brandy and took another fortifying gulp. “Yes, but apparently, my father has decided that I must be the martyr who marries the chit.”
“She does have impeccable lineage,” Claringdon said.
Owen arched a brow at him. “So does my horse. I don’t want to marry it.”
“Her lineage may be impeccable, but it seems her temper is quite pecked.” Cavendish tossed another card on the table.
“Ah, there you are.”
The four men looked up to see Garrett Upton striding toward them. Upton was Claringdon’s cousin by marriage, and Upton’s wife, Jane, was a close friend of the other men’s wives.
“Upton, have a seat.” Swifdon stood and clapped his friend on the shoulder as he approached.
Upton quickly settled in and ordered a drink. “I was visiting my friend Berkeley today but couldn’t convince him to come to the club. He’s a sort of solitary chap, Berkeley. Not to mention he’s not much for drinking … or gambling.”
“Pity, that,” Owen mumbled, cradling his brandy glass in his hand.
“What have you lot been up to?” Upton asked as the footman returned and handed him his brandy.
Cavendish elbowed Upton. “We’ve been lamenting Monroe’s upcoming nuptials.”
Garrett Upton’s glass nearly slid through his fingers. He fumbled to catch it. “Monroe? Don’t tell me you’re engaged. Why, I’d never believe it.”
“Not engaged. Not yet,” Owen replied, handing his empty glass to the footman and promptly ordering another.
“No, not yet,” Swifdon echoed. “But told in no uncertain terms by his father that he must be engaged before the month is out. And to a particular lady. In fact, it turns out she’s quite particular.”
“Is that so?” Upton said, lifting his brandy glass in salute. “Sounds as if congratulations are in order, then. Who is the fortunate bride?”
“Lady Lavinia Hobbs,” Claringdon told him.
Upton’s face fell and his glass sank back to the table.
“What? Don’t tell me you’ve another horrid story to tell about her,” Owen said.
“Well, I…” Upton glanced away.
“You might as well say it,” Cavendish said. “He’s already learned a bit about her temperament.”
“Yes, go ahead. Tell your worst. It cannot be more awful than the stories I’ve already heard,” Owen said.
Upton cleared his throat. “I was at the Kendalls’ dinner party last year when Lady Lavinia became so enraged by the attentions of a certain gentleman that she tossed a glass of red wine in his face and then ripped a tapestry from the wall and stormed from the room.”
Swifdon’s eyes widened. “Was the chap offensive in some way? Did he say something indecent?”
“No,” Upton replied. “He later told Kendall that all he’d said was that he thought their hostess was looking very fine and in good spirits that evening. Seemed Lady Lavinia doesn’t appreciate other ladies’ looks to be praised in her presence. Lord Mertle had been sitting on the other side of her and confirmed that that indeed had been what set her off.”
Owen gulped and tugged at his cravat. Seemed the thing was smothering him today. “I take that back. It was worse. I wish you hadn’t told me.”
“It’s a wonder she continues to be invited to Society events given her behavior,” Swifdon added.
“Being the daughter of a duke probably explains it to some degree,” Claringdon added. “Though I daresay I’d think twice before inviting her to my home.”
Upton gave Owen a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, old chap. I’d no idea your father would pick her of all the ladies in Society. The good news is that she’s quite beautiful.”
Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even remember what she looks like.”