Amy Lake by Lady Reggieand the Viscount

was not so low.   I did not find it impossible to believe that a man could enjoy my company. 
    I also had the advantage of feeling Lord Davies’s lips against mine only a few evenings past.  I had not imagined that interest.
     

Chapter 11: Mother and Sisters
     
    The Viscount Cardingham slept little the night after the Larkinton ball.  His dreams, when he did drop off for a brief spell, were not peaceful.  He dreamed of a green-eyed young woman, with fair skin and a slender waist, he dreamed of words whispered under a silent moon, he dreamed of kisses shared in a bed.
    He accomplished little during the course of the next day, finally escaping to Whites after a nuncheon taken alone.  The talk at the club, predictably, centered around Peter Wilmott and Alice Montvale.
    “She is taking him back,” confided Lucien Cranfield.
    “So we will be spared more weeks of such moping?”
    “One hopes.”
    Lord Peter arrived shortly thereafter, and confirmed that Miss Montvale might be agreeable to a resumption of their engagement.
    “She is willing,” he said, “provided that there are no similar . . . activities in the future.”
    He did not seem quite as happy as one anticipated, thought Talfryn.
    “Well, you’re in for it now, my boy,” said Cranfield.  “One broken engagement is bad enough; a second time will be impossible.”
    Lord Peter was shocked.  “I would never cry off!”
    “Good.  That will spare her father the trouble of shooting you.”
    * * * *
     
    Lord Peter gradually adopted a cheerier frame of mind, influenced no doubt by the brandy he was consuming.  Talfryn did not mention the cause of his own present discomfort, but as it happened he did not need to.
    “So—Reggie Knowles?” said Cranfield, turning his way with a wink.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    Lord Peter laughed.  “Don’t try to spin us a tale.  Everyone saw you waltz with her last night.”
    “I’ve waltzed with many young women in London.”
    “You have.  But did you take any of them out onto the Larkinton’s terrace?”
    There was only one reply a gentleman could make.  “I did no such thing.”
    “Oh, very well,” said Lucien, grinning. 
    But Lord Peter was not finished.  “Besides,” he said, “I daresay none of the others had a brother looking to wed the Lady Celia Brompton.”
    Talfryn frowned.  “The Duke of Wenrich’s daughter?”
    “The very one.”
    “What of it?”  But the viscount remembered hearing something, there was a story about that duke, and the East India Company—
    “He hasn’t a feather to fly with,” said Lucien, taking up the story.  “For a duke, that is.  And of course Knowles is in the same boat.”
    “Gods, Lucien, your metaphors are atrocious,” complained Peter.
    “Well, ’tis true.  Freddie—”
    “Lady Regina’s brother,” Peter reminded him, seeing Talfryn frown.
    “Yes, Freddie Knowles.  At any rate, he wants Celia, and Celia’s father wants money, and the earl—”
    “Freddie’s father.”
    “—doesn’t have any.”
    “I hardly see why any of that is my concern,” said Lord Davies, but ’twas a lie.  He saw it exactly.
    * * * *
     
    Gods, thought Lord Davies later that night, in bed and restless.  ’Tis bad enough that the viscountess is hell-bent on marrying Isolde to some poxy marquess’s son.  And now this —
    But if he started thinking about Lady Regina he would never get to sleep.  Better to focus on the problems facing one’s own family.  Heaven knew there were enough of them.
    The increasing tension between Isolde and their mother had concerned the viscount for much of the past month.  The viscountess worried about Carys, as was natural, but her insistence on a brilliant marriage for both of the twins was causing no end of trouble.
    Her latest scheme was to promote a match between Isolde and Lord Adrian Cathorn.  The young man in question was unobjectionable, as far as Talfryn could judge—his conversation was not as intelligent