The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(25)

On that thought, Lucy raised her glass of wine defiantly and stared at the viscount sitting across from her. A puzzled look flashed across his face before his habitual expression of ennui resettled.

“I could give you a colorful description of the pleasure gardens at Vaux Hall,” Lord Iddesleigh mused, continuing the topic Eustace had brought up. “Been there on too many nights to recall, with too many people I’d rather not recall, doing too many things . . . well, you get the picture. But I don’t know that it’s a description quite fit for mixed company.”

“Ha. Then I suggest you not give it,” Papa rumbled. “Not that interested in the sights of London anyway. Good English countryside is the best place in the world. I should know. Been around the world in my day.”

“I quite agree, Captain,” Eustace said. “Nothing is so fine as the English rural landscape.”

“Ha. So there.” Papa leaned forward and fixed a gimlet eye on his guest. “Feeling better tonight, Iddesleigh?”

Lucy nearly groaned. Papa’s hints that the viscount should leave were growing more and more explicit.

“Thank you, sir, for inquiring.” Lord Iddesleigh poured more wine for himself. “Except for the stabbing pain in my back, the unfortunate loss of sensation in my right arm, and a sort of nauseous dizziness when I stand, I’m as fit as a fiddle.”

“Good. You look well enough. Suppose you’ll be leaving us soon, eh?” Her father glowered from beneath his furry white brows. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Papa!” Lucy cut in before her father had their guest out the door tonight. “Lord Iddesleigh just said he’s not fully recovered.”

Mrs. Brodie and Betsy came in to remove the soup dishes and serve the next course. The housekeeper took a look around at the uncomfortable faces and sighed. She met Lucy’s eyes and shook her head in sympathy before she left. Everyone started on the roast chicken and peas.

“I once went in Westminster Abbey,” Mr. Fletcher said.

“Were you lost?” Lord Iddesleigh inquired politely.

“Not at all. Mother and the sisters were on an architectural binge.”

“I didn’t know you had any sisters.”

“I do. Three.”

“Good God. Excuse me, Vicar.”

“Two elder,” Mr. Fletcher said chattily, “one younger.”

“My felicitations.”

“Thanks. Anyway, we toured the Abbey about ten years ago now, in between St. Paul’s and the Tower.”

“And you but a young and impressionable lad.” The viscount shook his head sorrowfully. “It’s so sad when one hears about this type of debauchery at the hands of one’s elders. Makes one wonder what England is coming to.”

Papa made an explosive sound beside Lucy, and Lord Iddesleigh winked across the table at her. She tried to frown at him as she raised her wineglass, but however awfully he behaved, she found it hard to censor him.

Next to the viscount’s magnificence, Eustace was a dusty sparrow in his usual brown broadcloth coat, breeches, and waistcoat. Of course, Eustace looked quite well in brown, and one didn’t expect a country vicar to go about in silver brocade. It would be improper, and he’d probably seem merely silly in such splendor. Which made one wonder why the viscount, instead of looking silly, appeared downright dangerous in his finery.

“Did you know if you stand in the middle of the Westminster nave and whistle, there is quite a nice echo?” Mr. Fletcher said, looking around the table.

“Absolutely fascinating,” the viscount said. “I’ll keep that in mind should I ever have occasion to visit the place and feel an urge to whistle.”

“Yes, well, try not to do it within sight of a female relative. Got my ears boxed.” Mr. Fletcher rubbed the side of his head, remembering.

“Ah, the ladies do keep us in line.” Eustace elevated his glass and looked at Lucy. “I don’t know what we would do without their guiding hands.”

She raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t certain that she’d ever guided Eustace, but that seemed beside the point.

Lord Iddesleigh toasted her as well. “Here, here. My dearest wish is but to lie prostrate and humble beneath my lady’s iron thumb. Her stern frown makes me tremble; her elusive smile causes me to stiffen and shake in ecstasy.”

Lucy’s eyes widened even as her nipples tightened. The wretch!

Mr. Fletcher started coughing again.

Papa and Eustace scowled, but it was the younger man who got in the first word. “I say, that’s a bit bold.”

“It’s quite all right—” Lucy attempted, but the men weren’t listening to her, despite their flowery words.

“Bold?” The viscount lowered his glass. “In what way?”

“Well, stiffen.” The vicar blushed.

Oh, for goodness’ sake! Lucy opened her mouth but was interrupted before she could get a word out.

“Stiffen? Stiffen? Stiffen?” Lord Iddesleigh repeated, sounding uncommonly silly. “A perfectly nice English word. Descriptive and plain. Used in all the best houses. I’ve heard the king himself employ it. In fact, it describes exactly what you are doing now, Mr. Penweeble.”

Mr. Fletcher was bent double, his hands covering his reddened face. Lucy hoped he wouldn’t choke to death in his amusement.