The Bluestocking and the Viscount (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 10) by Regina Darcy

Author:Regina Darcy [Darcy, Regina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Clean and Wholesome Romance
Published: 2016-10-23T21:00:00+00:00

By the next morning, however, her uncle’s humour had altered and over breakfast he was once again his usual even-tempered self. He would not rise to any of Phoebe’s speculative queries no matter how skilfully she phrased them, dismissing his thoughts from the night before as an excess of Madeira and too much spice in the sauce. Phoebe gave up her attempts to probe him for more information but when Lord Billingham called in the afternoon to suggest that she join him for a walk in the brisk air, she pleaded the absence of an abigail. Thus prodded, her uncle added his belated refusal to the suggestion, although Phoebe knew that he regarded the convention as foolish.

“Lord Glastonburg, will you and Miss Stanford be my guests at the theatre tomorrow night? There’s a devilishly funny comedy playing, I’m told, and it’s sure to be enjoyable.”

Phoebe knew that her uncle loathed modern plays, but as he had already denied her the opportunity to take a walk, he was obliged to agree to make one of the company to the theatre.

“Capital!” said Lord Billingham, his pleasant young face alight with anticipation. “I’ll tell my uncle. We’ll all sit in the family box. It’ll be most jolly, I’m sure.”

After he left, her uncle sighed and turned to his niece. “I was unaware that having a beautiful female of marriageable age would place such a burden on me,” he noted.

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I know this is not how you would have chosen to spend an evening, but perhaps the play will not be so bad.”

“Oh, it’s not the play, although that will take endurance. No, I’m not at all sure that I want to be seen spending an evening in the Chessington family box.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. This turnabout, after only this morning protesting that he had overreacted the night before to the topic of conversation at the Chessington supper, was puzzling but revealing. Her uncle was without artifice and he was keenly sensitive to his own intuition. His reluctance to spend time with the Earl told her that while he did not wish to express his doubts about the Earl’s intentions, he did not wish to be exposed to them either.

“Nothing, my dear,” he said as if he had made a decision. “You are a young woman and you must have entertainment. I shall accompany you and find something to laugh at, even if plays nowadays are paltry things. ‘The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.’ “

“Uncle, Hamlet is not a comedy.”

“No,” he agreed. “What I wouldn’t give to see a rousing production of As You Like It. Drury Lane offers nothing of interest to men my age.”

“You sound as if the only ones who appreciate the works of your beloved Bard must be moulding in their graves, Uncle. The Earl of Chessington is your age, is he not?”

“He’s somewhat younger than me by a half dozen years or so. I have no idea what he favours in the theatre.

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