footing the bill for this second foray into the Marriage Mart—a second foray that would not ha» a been necessary if you had taken care of business the first time instead of drawing all your little pictures. That didn't get you very far, now, did it?"
Tristram's chest swelled with indignation, but Max beat him to it by saying casually, "True, and it has made me wonder why, my lord, you didn't simply have our father put in debtor's prison after last Season. That was originally your plan, was it not?"
It was the marquess's turn to glare, but he said nothing.
Max smiled and continued, "Why do we not quit our squabbling? Your note said you wished to know about our progress, and I am prepared to enlighten you."
"Exactly," said the viscount, playing his final card with a flourish. "I think we are finished playing piquet for the moment. It is too pleasant an evening to argue."
"What has you in such a good mood, Papa?" asked Max.
It was the marquess who responded instead with a
cackle, and said, "He's happy because he has taken my money and because Lady Anne cannot possibly appear to tell him to stop playing cards, blowing a cloud, or drinking his fill."
"Demmed interfering female," muttered the viscount. "But let's not talk about her. Dinner, I think, and a bottle of their finest?"
With another of his dry cackles, the marquess nodded, crooking his finger at a waiter and growling out his orders for their dinner.
"Your sons are trying my patience, Tavistoke," he said over the first course of mulligatawny soup, a poached salmon, and roasted pears.
"Have they not been trying mine for some thirty years?"
"Only nine and twenty, Papa," said Max. Looking his father in the eye, he added, "I am certain the tables have been turned any number of times."
The marquess chortled happily over this, saying, "This one is a bit too cocky, but the other one ..."
"The other one has a name, my lord. You may use it or not, but I refuse to be spoken about as if 1 vvere not even here," said Tristram, rising out of his seat.
"Ah, so he does have a backbone. Good! I was afraid he was nothing but books and drawing. Sit down, do."
Tristram receded onto the soft leather chair, though he remained tight-lipped. The marquess, however, had returned his attention to Max.
"So tell us, my boy, have you found a likely candidate?"
Lowering his voice so that it did not carry to the other tables, Max said, "Miss Philippa Beauchamp."
"Not Beastly Beauchamp," groaned his father.
"Beastly? What the devil are you talking about, Papa? Miss Beauchamp is an angel, a perfect angel!"
"But the mother, boy. Egads! How can we ever' stomach such a creature in our family?"
"I am not marrying the mother," snapped Max.
The marquess started to laugh and clapped Max on the back. "Good for you, my boy! The mother is a vulgar mushroom, but if you can land the girl, her father's like to pay a pretty penny. Well done!" Snapping his bony fingers, he signaled the servant, saying, "Champagne! We must celebrate!"
With their champagne, they set upon the second remove of braised lamb cutlets, duck a 1'orange, a plum tart, and various side dishes. The marquess—and therefore the viscount—were in such charity with Max that they refrained from asking the same question of Tristram, who sat quietly, his eyes never leaving the plate [ that was put in front of him.
"So tell me, my boy, when can we expect to see an announcement in the papers?" asked the viscount, rubbing his hands together as if already counting the marriage settlements.
"I should think within a couple of weeks. Mustn't appear too eager, you know," said Max. "We are to join them at the theater tomorrow night."
"Capital!" said the marquess. "You and I will attend, too, Tavistoke. My box is opposite theirs, so there's no reason we cannot enjoy the show."
"We will be there to cheer you on, my boy." As if suddenly recalling that he had two sons sitting at the table, the viscount slew around and fixed Tristram
Tristram's chest swelled with indignation, but Max beat him to it by saying casually, "True, and it has made me wonder why, my lord, you didn't simply have our father put in debtor's prison after last Season. That was originally your plan, was it not?"
It was the marquess's turn to glare, but he said nothing.
Max smiled and continued, "Why do we not quit our squabbling? Your note said you wished to know about our progress, and I am prepared to enlighten you."
"Exactly," said the viscount, playing his final card with a flourish. "I think we are finished playing piquet for the moment. It is too pleasant an evening to argue."
"What has you in such a good mood, Papa?" asked Max.
It was the marquess who responded instead with a
cackle, and said, "He's happy because he has taken my money and because Lady Anne cannot possibly appear to tell him to stop playing cards, blowing a cloud, or drinking his fill."
"Demmed interfering female," muttered the viscount. "But let's not talk about her. Dinner, I think, and a bottle of their finest?"
With another of his dry cackles, the marquess nodded, crooking his finger at a waiter and growling out his orders for their dinner.
"Your sons are trying my patience, Tavistoke," he said over the first course of mulligatawny soup, a poached salmon, and roasted pears.
"Have they not been trying mine for some thirty years?"
"Only nine and twenty, Papa," said Max. Looking his father in the eye, he added, "I am certain the tables have been turned any number of times."
The marquess chortled happily over this, saying, "This one is a bit too cocky, but the other one ..."
"The other one has a name, my lord. You may use it or not, but I refuse to be spoken about as if 1 vvere not even here," said Tristram, rising out of his seat.
"Ah, so he does have a backbone. Good! I was afraid he was nothing but books and drawing. Sit down, do."
Tristram receded onto the soft leather chair, though he remained tight-lipped. The marquess, however, had returned his attention to Max.
"So tell us, my boy, have you found a likely candidate?"
Lowering his voice so that it did not carry to the other tables, Max said, "Miss Philippa Beauchamp."
"Not Beastly Beauchamp," groaned his father.
"Beastly? What the devil are you talking about, Papa? Miss Beauchamp is an angel, a perfect angel!"
"But the mother, boy. Egads! How can we ever' stomach such a creature in our family?"
"I am not marrying the mother," snapped Max.
The marquess started to laugh and clapped Max on the back. "Good for you, my boy! The mother is a vulgar mushroom, but if you can land the girl, her father's like to pay a pretty penny. Well done!" Snapping his bony fingers, he signaled the servant, saying, "Champagne! We must celebrate!"
With their champagne, they set upon the second remove of braised lamb cutlets, duck a 1'orange, a plum tart, and various side dishes. The marquess—and therefore the viscount—were in such charity with Max that they refrained from asking the same question of Tristram, who sat quietly, his eyes never leaving the plate [ that was put in front of him.
"So tell me, my boy, when can we expect to see an announcement in the papers?" asked the viscount, rubbing his hands together as if already counting the marriage settlements.
"I should think within a couple of weeks. Mustn't appear too eager, you know," said Max. "We are to join them at the theater tomorrow night."
"Capital!" said the marquess. "You and I will attend, too, Tavistoke. My box is opposite theirs, so there's no reason we cannot enjoy the show."
"We will be there to cheer you on, my boy." As if suddenly recalling that he had two sons sitting at the table, the viscount slew around and fixed Tristram
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