The Duke Knows Best by Jane Ashford

Author:Jane Ashford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2017-09-26T04:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

“She was drunk as a wheelbarrow, and she threw a disgusting bucket of slops over us,” said Lady Hilda Stane, demonstrating the action with vigorous gestures.

“Ugh,” replied Beatrice Townsend, wrinkling her nose at the idea.

Verity and Olivia walked behind them along a path in Hyde Park. Roses nodded on either side.

“My pelisse reeked,” Hilda added with relish. “And the hem of my gown has the most dreadful stains. Georgina says we will see what the laundress can do.”

“I wouldn’t ever wear them again,” said Beatrice with a grimace.

“Well, I won’t if they’re not clean.”

“Quite an adventure,” said Olivia.

“Hilda was only splashed,” Verity replied. “The duchess got the brunt of it. She was drenched.”

“That must have been a sight.”

“She took it extraordinarily well.”

“Have you joined the ranks of Her Grace’s admirers?” asked Olivia with one of her sly smiles.

Verity acknowledged her friend’s familiar bantering tone. “Is there a regiment?”

“Oh yes. And troops on the other side, who find the Duchess of Langford insufferable.”

That was difficult to imagine. “I suppose no strong character is universally liked.”

“How philosophical of you.”

Verity gave her a sidelong look. “Have I offended you somehow?”

She got an exasperated sigh in response. “No, Verity. Am I not allowed a bit of a joke? Among friends?”

“Of course.” She hadn’t sounded like she was joking, but Verity didn’t want to quarrel. It was difficult to know how to take Olivia sometimes, and how to respond. When Verity had considered asking her about Lord Randolph and the archbishop, she’d realized that she didn’t trust Olivia with the information. Olivia could probably find out the truth. She seemed to have inexhaustible sources. But then she’d spread whatever it was all over London, with satirical commentary. Verity didn’t believe Lord Randolph had done anything so bad. The man she’d come to know simply wouldn’t have. But he’d looked mortified when he spoke of the archbishop. She didn’t want people laughing behind their hands at him.

Verity noticed something odd up ahead. “What is that man… Is that Mr. Wrentham?”

Olivia looked. She snorted, then loosed a peal of laughter. She walked faster, overtaking the younger pair. “Stop dawdling,” she said as she passed them. “We came out for a bit of exercise.”

She led the group closer to the bridle path, where Mr. Wrentham was riding along with other equestrians. Unlike them, however, he sat facing his mount’s tail rather than its head. His saddle had been put on backwards, his reins pulled along so he could still grasp them, though he couldn’t see where he was heading. He bounced awkwardly in the unfamiliar position. His horse looked bewildered and uneasy, despite an extra padding of blankets over its back.

Carriages and riders stopped to watch. People laughed and pointed. Wrentham set his jaw and proceeded. He looked pained but determined.

Olivia was overcome with laughter.

“Do you think he’s paying off a bet?” Hilda asked at Verity’s side. “Men are always doing idiotic things for a wager.” She sounded like she rather admired that fact.

“I don’t know,” Verity responded, though she suspected she did.

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