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Gregory laughed merrily. “Ah, that is Danny for you. Horribly forgetful. Though,” he continued, sending Margery a melting grin, “I can see why it might have slipped his mind, with such enchanting company.”
Daniel, in the process of cringing at the use of his boyhood name in front of everyone, squeezed his hands into fists at the blatant flirtation. Margery merely nodded her thanks.
It should not have been a relief that she didn’t seem to notice the man beyond polite acknowledgment. She was not for Daniel, after all. He had one duty, and one duty only: to secure a wife so he might continue the family line, and without marrying someone who affected his emotions in such a frighteningly intense way. He would not risk his heart again, especially as it seemed that, should things turn sour, he would be hurt even more desperately than he had been before. For, as Gregory had been inferring since he was a boy, and as had been proven with Erica’s betrayal, who could possibly love a clumsy beast such as himself?
And yet he could not help the small exhale of relief as she purposely turned back to her soup.
Which, of course, did not discourage Gregory one bit. He was nothing if not tenacious.
“My dearMrs. Kitteridge,” he said, his eyes heavy with interest though she was not looking his way to see it, “you are a saint for dragging my poor cousin about. It could not have been easy.”
“There was no difficulty in it, I assure you,” she said. Was it Daniel’s imagination, or was there a slight tightness to her tone?
Gregory chuckled. “Come now, madam. I’m certain you’ve gotten to know him well enough these past weeks.”
Margery, in the process of taking a sip of her soup, lowered the spoon back into her bowl and looked fully at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh now, there’s no need for prevarication. I assure you, Danny here is all too aware of his shortcomings, and so it will not surprise him one bit. Isn’t that right, Cousin?”
Daniel, drawing upon years of practice in subduing any desire for retaliation against his cousin, pressed his back teeth tightly together. Margery, however, was not so reticent.
“I assure you, Mr. Hayle, if there are any shortcomings you might be conscious of, they are all in your head. His Grace has been a delightful companion.”
“Goodness, Danny,” Gregory drawled, eyeing Margery with new interest, “what a champion you have.”
“I am no one’s champion,” she said, turning away from Gregory, yet frustratingly keeping her eyes well away from Daniel as well. “I merely state the truth.”
Daniel’s mother, no doubt hoping to smooth things over, as she always had in an attempt to keep peace in her home, spoke up then. “How long are you visiting Synne for, Gregory?”
“That depends entirely on you and my cousin, dear Aunt Helen,” he said with a syrupy sweet smile. “I’ve a mind to join you in London after your visit here is done, and so why not wait for your own departure? My equipage is sadly out of date, after all, and may not make the trip back to town. I’ve been of a mind to sell the blasted thing off and purchase a new one. And so why not relieve myself of it while I’m here, and purchase something shiny and new once we reach London? Surely you have enough room for me in your carriage.”
“No.”
The word exploded from Daniel on an exhale quite without him meaning for it to. But the very thought of being trapped for days on end with his cousin was making him faintly ill. “That is,” he said, flushing as every eye swung his way, “sell off your carriage if you like, but surely you would be much more comfortable in your own equipage; I would be happy to pay for the rental of a post chaise for you.”
But the man, as ever, did not get the hint that he wasn’t wanted. “Oh, you’ve no need to worry about taking up too much space with that lame leg of yours, Danny. I’m slender enough that I won’t mind the lack of room a bit.”
Daniel, his appetite gone at not only his cousin’s subtle jab but also at the thought of being forced into company with him in the close confines of a carriage with no means of escape, pushed his untouched bowl away. Mayhap he could postpone the trip to London and still escape Gregory’s company. If things went as planned, he would soon be taking a wife, after all. And so there was no reason whatsoever to allow the man to affect him in such a way.
But as his gaze strayed to Margery, who was still resolutely staring at her soup, he found that the idea of taking Miss Pickering as his wife did not give him a modicum of comfort. Any path that did not have Margery beside him on it was no path he wanted to tread.
Breaking into Daniel’s shocking thoughts—for hadn’t he been doing his best to nip any affection he might have for Margery in the proverbial bud?—Gregory spoke up again.
“Besides,” he said, “Danny here will need as many allies as he can in London. Not only is the man horribly awkward, but there is a certain lady in residence there who he will not wish to run into.”
Daniel sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he managed.
Gregory tsked. “You’ve never been to London, Cousin. You could not know just how small the circle is for polite society. Though,” he continued, giving Daniel a pitying look, “seeing as she’s in a delicate way, you may be able to avoid her.” He turned to Margery, who was gaping at him. “When he was younger our Danny here was lucky enough to engage himself to a stunning creature, Lady Erica. She had been a neighbor of ours at Brackley Manor, and we’d known her since we were children. Danny had pined over her for years, though she didn’t pay him the least mind. Their engagement was a shock to me, let me tell you, for you never knew two people so different. But she sadly broke things off with him after he returned.” He winced and motioned to his cheek. “Though now she’s quite happily married to Viscount Thrushton.”
If fire had shot out of Margery’s eyes to smite Gregory on the spot, Daniel would not have been surprised. “Mr. Hayle, do you enjoy torturing your cousin?”
The room went still. Gregory, for his part, barked out a laugh. “Why, Mrs. Kitteridge, I don’t know what you mean.”
“If you had any regard for the duke you would not talk to him or of him in such a way. Though,” she continued, her eyes narrowing as she took him in, “I daresay you are fully aware of what you’re up to.”
“Mrs. Kitteridge,” Gregory said, his persona still in place though a surprising amount of uncertainty was present in his eyes—and no wonder, for no one had ever dared stand up to him before, “you’ve got me all wrong.”
“No,” she murmured, “I don’t think I do. And I find your attempts to undermine your cousin despicable.”
