The Scoundrel and the Debutante (The Cabot Sisters #3)

“The hunt?” Roan repeated uncertainly, as if he suspected Penfors had the wrong Aurora.

“That’s it!” Penfors suddenly declared, shoving his forefinger high in the air. “That’s where I’ve heard your manner of speech! I thought it Eton, but no sir, you speak in the way that you do because you’re a Yankee!”

Roan glanced at Prudence. “Yes,” he said curtly.

“A Yankee,” Mr. Gastineau said. “My grandfather was there, you know, in the colonies, in seventy-seven. Harsh winter. Lost two toes.”

“The winters can be brutal,” Roan agreed, and turning back to Penfors he asked, “I beg your pardon, my lord, do you mean to say that Aurora has come and gone from Howston Hall?”

“Oh my, yes, she’s gone,” Penfors said. “When was that, Mother?” he called, rapping loudly on the table to gain his wife’s attention. He succeeded in gaining everyone’s attention.

“Eh, what?” Lady Penfors responded irritably. “What do you bang on the table?”

“The American girl! When was she here?”

“Oh, the American girl! Cute as a button, wasn’t she?” Lady Penfors said, suddenly smiling. “Quite good at the hunt.”

Roan looked at Prudence with a look of pure confusion.

“Yes, yes, but when was she here?” Penfors asked, rapping the table again with his knuckles.

“Here?”

“Yes, here!” he shouted.

“Well, you needn’t shout, Penfors, we all hear you very well indeed,” Lady Penfors said crossly. “I can’t recall when she was here, precisely. When the Villeroys were here. She returned to London with Mr. and Mrs. Villeroy, you will recall. Cyril! When were the Villeroys here?”

“They’ve been gone a fortnight, madam,” the butler said.

“A fortnight!” Lady Penfors yelled down the table, as if no one had heard the butler but her.

“She’s gone to London?” Roan repeated, his brow furrowing.

“She took a fancy to Albert, do you recall, Penfors?” Lady Penfors said, then giggled like a girl, pursing her lips naughtily.

“Albert who?” Roan asked.

“Al-ber, Al-ber,” Penfors said, and to Roan, he added, “she almost drove the poor young man to drink with all her insistence on calling him Albert.”

“My sister?” Roan asked, confused.

“Lady Penfors!” his lordship exclaimed, clearly annoyed that Roan wasn’t following his line of thought.

“What?” Lady Penfors called out.

“Never you mind, Mother, have your pudding. We’ve worked it all out. The American girl took a fancy to the Villeroy boy and returned to London with him and his family! Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, that is so,” Lady Penfors confirmed. “Albert!”

“Al-ber,” Penfors shouted back at her.

“Christ Almighty,” Roan muttered, and sat back, staring into space.

“There’s no call for alarm, sir,” Penfors said congenially. “The French aren’t as randy as they once were. Rather sufferable now, aren’t they? And the boy is no threat to your sister. I doubt he could lift a linen without a bit of perspiration.”

Mrs. Gastineau laughed at that. “Albert Villeroy. He’s a whiff of a boy, isn’t he, with high cheekbones and fine, slender hands,” she said to Roan.

“I don’t care if he has hands like mutton chops,” Roan said.

Penfors laughed and pointed at Roan. “Look here, Matheson’s in a snit! Our American girl has gone off with the Villeroy boy, has she? Lovely girl your sister, Matheson. Lovely. Quite good at cards.”

Roan looked as if he might come completely undone. Prudence pictured him unraveling, starting with his neckcloth, spinning off like a top. “Pardon, my lord,” she asked quietly, “but would you happen to know where in London the Villeroys might have gone?”

“Well, of course I know! I’ve dined there often. Not in the fashionable part of Mayfair, mind you, but on Upper George Street. Do you know it?”

“Yes,” Prudence said absently.

“There you are,” Stanhope said, and looked at Roan. “Your cousin knows where the Villeroys are, Mr. Matheson. You might send her in after your sister with a shield and a sword.”

“Cousin!” Lady Penfors echoed incredulously.

A silence fell over the table. Prudence felt the rush of heat to her face, the fluttering of her heart. This was the moment Stanhope would expose her lie and she would be humiliated before everyone gathered.

But Lord Penfors suddenly howled. “You devil you, Stanhope! She’s much too young for Matheson, I grant you,” he said, indicating Prudence, “but don’t malign the good Mrs. Matheson with your jesting.”

Stanhope graciously nodded his head. “I should rather cut out my own tongue than malign the good Mrs. Matheson,” he said. “Forgive me, madam, I misunderstood. I thought you were cousins in addition to...your arrangement.”

“Goodness, my lord, you should know better than anyone, shouldn’t you? They are your friends,” Lady Penfors said.

“Indeed they are, my lady,” he said.