The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown

by Julia Quinn

  He flashed a rueful smile. “You know me too well. Liza…you know I have always valued your opinion.”

  Her heart sank. “Which woman is it this time?”

  “Woman?” His smile faded. “Why would you think it’s about a woman?”

  “Because that’s the topic upon which you usually request my opinions.”

  He blinked, as if shocked. “I do not.”

  “Didn’t you ask me about the Pellham chit, the one with the blond hair and the large—” She gestured with her hands at bosom height.

  His ears glowed. “I didn’t think I’d—”

  “Well, you did.” And it was not a pleasant memory at all, now that she thought about it. The girl had been a nightmare; all false smiles and painted cheeks, and Royce had been too besotted to see. Of course, Liza had known his passion wouldn’t last past the second week, it rarely did. Still, it had caused her some alarm, since the whole world knew the Pellhams were desperately looking for a wealthy husband for their only daughter and they possessed rather low connections. It was entirely possible the horrid girl had been pressured into setting a trap for Royce.

  Fortunately, Royce’s attention had waned before that could come to pass. “So, what female is it this time? Not Lady Anne Bishop, is it?”

  “No, it’s not Lady Anne Bishop.”

  “There’s no need to get in a snit.”

  “I’m not in a snit,” he replied stiffly. “I—I didn’t realize I spoke to you about such inappropriate subjects.”

  “Lord yes. You even asked me if you should purchase a ruby necklace or ear bobs for an actress you were pursuing. You had enough sense to point her out to me when we were at the theater one evening, which was a very good thing, for I’d been thinking garnets would be just the thing, and it turned out she was quite an insipid blond.”

  Royce opened his mouth, then closed it as if unable to decide how he should reply.

  Liza thought that perhaps he didn’t remember the woman. After all, it had been four months ago. “Surely you remember her. Blue eyes, blond hair, and a large posterior. Oh, and I think she had a bad habit of wearing a beauty patch, which is quite out of fashion nowadays.”

  Royce leaned back in his seat, too stunned to speak. Meg was right—he did treat Liza abominably. He looked at her now, noticing how the cold had pinkened her cheeks and nose. She pushed an errant curl from her cheek with a gloved hand, the tips of her fingers tracing the slope of her cheek. His gaze followed every move. “Liza, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “For subjecting you to such inappropriate confidences. You are just so easy to talk to.”

  Her smile dimmed for the briefest second, then returned. “So I’ve been told. But that’s neither here nor there. You wished to ask my advice? What about?”

  “Oh. That. It’s not about a female. At least, not about another female other than—” The words simply would not come, and Royce cursed himself for prevaricating. He apparently could tell Liza about his infatuation with a completely unsuitable actress, but could not find the words to ask her about a man she was rumored to care for.

  Royce rubbed his neck, wondering when it had gotten so difficult to talk to Liza. This was Liza, for God’s sake. Liza, who knew him better than anyone else. Liza, who laughed at his faults and teased him when he was low and always, always understood him.

  Yet here he was, stammering like a tongue-tied boy of six. He wracked his brains trying to think of a subtle way to lead the conversation toward the unknown Lord Durham.

  It was becoming increasingly imperative to discover what attraction, if any, Liza felt for the mysterious man. Royce straightened in his seat. “Meg and I had an interesting conversation this morning.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, and, ah, well…she mentioned you. You and someone else.”

  There was an instant reaction in Liza’s green eyes. But she gave a quick shrug, as if to reject an unwanted thought. “Sounds as if Meg is matchmaking yet again,” she said calmly. “I can’t imagine why she persists in doing so.”

  Royce thought it was very promising that Liza didn’t immediately claim or deny knowledge of Lord Durham. Perhaps it was all Meg’s imagination after all. Yes, of course it was all Meg’s doing—it always was. Relief poured through him, and he grinned. “You know my sister! She delights in setting everyone on edge.”

  “I’ve noticed. Her penchant for matchmaking makes her dangerous. Perhaps we should flee London to protect ourselves. That would be easier for me than you, I’m afraid. I can change my name and hire myself out as a governess, but what would you do? Hire yourself out as a tutor?”

  “I don’t suppose anyone who’d ever heard my Latin would believe that.”

  “Never. Plus you need a more adventuresome trade. Perhaps you can make your way to the Indies aboard a ship. I’ve heard they are in dire need of cabin boys.”

  “Cabin boy? What about captain?”

  “I’m afraid you’d have to work your way up to that position. It should only take seven or eight years.”

  “You are most unkind.”

  “But sadly truthful. You’ve never been to sea a day in your life, and I daresay you wouldn’t know starboard from port.”

  “I know my port very well, thank you. I drink a glass every evening before bed.”

  “I take it all back, then. Obviously you would make an excellent sea captain.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  Royce grinned. “Always ready to put me in my place, aren’t you?”

  “Only when you need it,” she said with a faint smile.

  “If that is true, then we’ll never have a civil conversation.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve ever had a civil conversation, but then that’s one of the things I like about our relationship.” Liza’s gaze dropped to the stack of invitations in her hands. “I know Meg means well, but it is a pity we will have to run away to sea to get away from her efforts. She really should leave us to settle our own lives as we see fit.”

  “She worries about you. You are like a sister to her.”

  Liza’s smile seemed a little strained. “Meg is like a sister to me as well. I don’t know what I would have done without her friendship. Or yours, for that matter.”

  “I cannot speak for Meg, but I am always here for you. I always have been.”

  Her gaze flew to his. The silence deepened, intensified. Liza bit her lip and then lifted a corner of the leather curtain to look out the window. The bent feather on her turban flopped onto her shoulder. “They say the Thames is a solid block of ice.”

  Royce hesitated a moment, then accepted the change of topic. The quicker things were back to normal in their relationship, the better he’d like it. Damn Meg for stirring things up to begin with. It was obvious that there was nothing to this Durham man or Liza would have already told Royce about it—they were friends, after all. She told him everything.

  But Meg had been right about one thing, and that was that Liza seemed vulnerable somehow. Beneath Liza’s usual blithe manner lay a pool of sadness. He could see it in her eyes, especially when she attempted to smile. He watched her for a moment, wishing he could think of something to say.

  She dropped the curtain and turned to face him, settling back in her seat. He couldn’t help but notice how innately elegant she’d become. Sometime between her seventeenth birthday and her twenty-fourth or -fifth, she’d found her own peculiar sort of beauty. One that had little to do with her features, and more to do with the way she held her head and gestured with her hands.

  Royce wondered if other men noticed the same things about Liza that he did. The idea made him shift restlessly in his seat. Damn it, he hated to think of someone harming Liza. She was special, different from all other women, and far more delicate in her own way. He eyed her with determination. Perhaps it would be better if he just took the bull by the horns and asked the question that had been hovering on his lips for the past half hour. “Liza, tell me about this Dur
ham fellow.”

  Hot color flooded her cheeks, and Royce’s heart lurched. Bloody hell, but Meg had been right—something was going on. Whatever it was, Royce knew he was not going to like it.

  “Damnation!” Liza said, smoothing a gloved hand over her forehead as if to rub away a frown. “I suppose you read Lady Whistledown this morning. I was never so mortified as when she mentioned that I was older than Lord Durham, as if that matters—”

  “Older?”

  She blinked. “Didn’t you read the paper?”

  “Meg burned it, so I didn’t get the opportunity.”

  “Heavens! Even I wasn’t that upset. Yes, I’m a little older than Lord Durham. Only four years, which isn’t that much. I don’t know why Lady Whistledown made such a fuss.”

  That made Lord Durham more than ten years younger than Royce. The alarms in Royce’s head intensified. That insolent pup. “Who the hell is this man?”

  She opened her mouth as if to reply and then just as quickly shut it. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Why? What do you mean, why? Meg is like a sister to you. Therefore, I have every right to ask you such questions.”

  “Royce, in the fifteen or so years we’ve been friends—”

  “Twenty-one.”

  She frowned. “It can’t be!”

  “Well, it is. We met in August at the Chathams’ house party. You were ten and I was eighteen. Meg and I arrived just as you and your aunt pulled up in your carriage.”

  She seemed astonished. “You remember all that?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Frankly, no.”

  A low grumble of dissatisfaction threatened to overset Royce’s hold on his temper. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me about this Durham fellow.” He hadn’t meant to snap the words, but they came out clipped and forceful.

  She stiffened, her friendly demeanor disappearing in an instant. “I’d rather not. Especially not if you’re going to be disagreeable.”

  The carriage rumbled to a halt. They must have reached Royce’s lodgings, but he was too irritated to pay much heed. It wasn’t like Liza to be so reticent. “Why won’t you tell me about Durham? What’s wrong with him? What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with him. It’s just none of your business.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” He reached over and captured her hands and held them tightly. “Liza, I’ve been your best friend for twenty-one years. Surely it is natural for me to ask you about your beaux.”

  She looked down at where he held her hands, a strange expression passing over her face. “Royce, I am not a child. I will come to no harm at Lord Durham’s hands or anyone else’s. Besides, Lady Birlington speaks very highly of him.”

  “Your godmother speaks very highly of Lord Dosslewhithe, too, and he talks with his mouth full and has had fourteen illegitimate children.”

  Liza’s lips twitched. She gently freed her hands from his. “Lady Birlington says Durham is a prosy bore, which means he is of exemplary character.”

  The door opened, and icy wind swirled into the carriage box. The footman fought to hold the door open as he waited for Royce to alight.

  Royce struggled to find something to say—something significant that might protect Liza from…from what? Perhaps Lady Birlington was right and Lord Durham was as pure as driven snow. But Royce knew without any proof whatsoever that Durham was not the man for Liza. “Just promise you won’t rush into anything.”

  Something flickered behind the mossy green of her eyes, only to be quickly hidden behind a bright smile. “You had better rush inside before you freeze.”

  “We haven’t finished our conversation.”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m afraid we have. Besides, George is waiting, the poor monkey. He has a cold, you know, and won’t allow anyone else to give him his medicine.”

  There was nothing more to be said. He was being dismissed in a cool, friendly fashion, and he hated every minute of it. But what could he do? He alighted, nodding once to the footman, who promptly closed the door.

  The curtain was almost immediately lifted and Liza leaned out into the cold wind. An especially sharp breeze careened up the side of the carriage and blew tendrils of her hair from the edges of her green turban and tossed them about her flushed cheeks. She looked fresh and healthy, pleased with herself and the world. “Royce, if you’d like to meet Durham, then come to the theater with Meg and me tomorrow evening. There’s a new actor playing—Kean. They say he’s quite good.”

  “I’d love to,” he answered promptly. Anything to gain access to this Durham character. “I like a good play.”

  Liza chuckled, her eyes crinkling. “Oh, I know how you love the theater. I watched you sleep though A Midsummer Night’s Dream just last month. Then you snored ever so gently through Lord Kipperton’s Last Request, and that was a murder mystery with a smashing good ending. Try to stay awake this time, will you?”

  He managed a mechanical smile, which she returned with such a bright, laughing look that he took an involuntary step forward. But she waved her hand and then dropped the curtain back over the window. The carriage jerked to a roll and moved down the street before Royce could compose his mind enough to speak.

  What was there to say, anyway? Until he met this Durham fellow himself, Royce had nothing more than an uneasy feeling to use as a warning for Liza. And she was far too pragmatic to pay attention to such flimsy reasoning.

  He remained standing on the walk in front of his lodgings for a long while, mulling this over. The wind whistled against the shutters of the row of neat houses behind him, bending the branches of the trees that dotted the avenue and swirling a scattering of snow across the frozen stones. There were a lot of things that bothered him about this Durham fellow, not the least was the claim he’d hold over Liza if they married. Chances were high that he wouldn’t welcome his wife’s friendship with Royce.

  Royce hunched his shoulders against the cold. Bloody hell, what would he do without Liza in his life? It seemed as if he’d always had her to talk to, to confide in, to tease and laugh with…once she married, that would all come to an end. So would the easy camaraderie they shared.

  Oh, they might remain acquaintances, and perhaps could engage in a serious conversation now and again, but the freedom that surrounded their current friendship would be lost forever. It was strange, but his whole life already seemed duller, less satisfying.

  How long he stood there, staring down the street at the place he’d last seen Liza’s coach, he didn’t know. But his feet and face were numb before he made his way indoors. His housekeeper clucked noisily at his frozen state and bustled him into the parlor where she ordered a pot of tea and called for a footman to remove Royce’s new boots. In an amazingly short time, he found himself sitting before a brightly burning fire, his feet in a pair of slippers, a cup of steaming tea liberally laced with brandy in his hand.

  His mind thawed along with his toes. He had to find Lady Birlington and see what she knew about this upstart who was threatening the calm order of Royce’s life. And then, armed with what he discovered, he’d go to the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, and confront Liza. Oh yes, a day of reckoning was about to arrive for the mysterious Lord Durham, and Royce would be there to witness the man’s fall.

  Chapter 2

  Speaking of Miss Pritchard, This Author would be remiss if it were not mentioned that she wore the following colors last week, all in the same ensemble:

  Red

  Blue

  Green

  Yellow

  Lavender

  Pink (of a pale shade, it should be noted)

  This Author searched for an accent of orange, but none was to found.

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 26 JANUARY 1814

  Liza entered the sitting room and smiled at the small brown monkey. George hopped up and down on his perch, screeching a welcome.

  “Happy to see me, are you?” Liza stripped off her gloves and tossed them on a side tab
le. “How are you doing this morning? Still sneezing?”

  Poor George had a wretched cold, the product, no doubt, of the chilly weather and a sad tendency to take off his hat at every opportunity. He chattered loudly, making such a comical face that Liza laughed. He was very small, barely the length of her hand in height. She suspected he was the runt of his family, for she’d never seen a smaller monkey, and in the days following George’s appearance in the ton, quite a few replicas had turned up. “Though none was as smart or well behaved as you, were they?”

  George hopped in agreement. Liza opened a small drawer in the table where his perch rested and pulled out a packet of dried figs. He took the fig she offered, then swung up to his perch and nibbled his treat, his eyes fixed on her questioningly.

  “It’s a wretched morning. Far too cold, and I scuffed my new boot on the stoop.” She held out her boot so George could see. He stared at it with polite interest, busily chewing the whole while.

  Liza chucked him under the chin and then pulled the pins from her turban and tossed it onto the arm of the settee. Sighing, she dropped into a large winged chair and snuggled against the cushioned back. It was her favorite chair, purchased at an estate auction on a whim. She bought most of her furniture that way—a piece here and a piece there—which was why so little of it matched. But each chair and settee was unique and overwhelmingly comfortable. And that was the only thing that mattered.

  She raked a hand through her hair, certain the turban had sadly flattened her curls, and wondered what was bothering Royce. Probably a woman of some sort—it always was. The man was a positive menace with all those women languishing after him. It was a wonder someone hadn’t just shot him and put him out of their misery.

  Liza pushed off her shoes and rested her feet on a low yellow and orange footstool. Her house was snug and warm even in this horrendously chilly weather, the fire was snapping merrily, her seat was cozy and comfortable, and there was sweet little George, looking on with an expression of contentment. Liza looked around her and realized that though she had every reason to be happy, she wasn’t. She’d been aware for several weeks now that something was missing in her life—something big.