Gail Eastwood by An Unlikely Hero Read Free Book Online Page B

fuss was beginning and would only escalate. It would be ungentlemanly to point out that Lady Adela was most at fault, but Gilbey did not want to see the poor footman lose his position.
    “My fault, all my fault,” he murmured. “No one to blame but myself, please—just what comes of making a wrong move at the wrong moment.” He would make certain to speak to Nicholas and the duke later. With polite apologies to his host and the gathering in general, Gilbey turned tail and fled.
    ***
    Much later, after hours of whist and six-handed loo with various partners, including Lord Cranford, the twins had finally begged leave to retire to their rooms. They had changed into the night rails carefully laid out for them and, after dismissing their maids, were reviewing their evening while they took turns brushing each other’s hair.
    “Netia, you were positively wild this evening!” Vivian said wonderingly, submitting to her sister’s ministrations. “What did you think you were about? Such deep play, for casual card play among our guests. I thought Father would have apoplexy.”
    Venetia laughed, although she did not miss the note of mild reproval in her sister’s voice. “He was not the only one who was disturbed. But did you not think it a good way to discover which of our suitors does not mind dipping into his pockets? It does little good to marry a rich husband if the man is tight-fisted.”
    “I suppose you are right. It is also wise to discover which of them is bitten with the gamester’s habit.”
    “Lord Munslow and Lord Chesdale seemed a bit inclined that way, I thought. We will have to test that out some more.” She paused, working the brush carefully through a tangled bit of Vivian’s hair. “Of course, I like a man with some spirit of adventure. It doesn’t do to be afraid of taking risks.”
    “I think Lord Cranford was relieved not to be at your table.”
    “Do you? Hm. I wonder about him.” Venetia gave Vivian’s hair a final stroke and the twins exchanged places. “You do realize of course that Lord Cranford was not the one who spilled his wine at dinner,” Venetia said, settling herself on the sofa. She handed the hairbrush to her sister.
    “I could not see what happened at all from where I was sitting.”
    “It was all Adela’s fault, but you know she would never admit to it. I saw the whole thing happen.”
    Vivian gave her sister’s hair a mischievous tweak. “Yes, you did seem to be paying attention to that end of the table.”
    “I was trying to guess which of our guests was the secret poet. Or did you forget about that in your efforts to draw out the taciturn Lord Ashurst?”
    Venetia’s back was turned to her sister so she could not see if this sally was met with a blush. “You did seem quite occupied with him, Vivi, or am I mistaken?”
    For a moment the strokes of the brush stopped. “He did not seem so bad as his reputation,” Vivian said noncommittally. “I do not recall that he made any disrespectful remarks, and although he seemed rather solemn, he responded well enough when I asked him intelligent questions.”
    “Well, that is better than it might have been. All of our guests must have been on their best behavior. Lord Wistowe seemed quite charming, although I suppose that comes naturally to a rake.”
    “Did you come to any conclusion about our poet?”
    “No. The only conclusion I have made after the entire evening is that it must not be Lord Amberton. I don’t believe he has the wit to put two rhyming lines together and have them make sense.”
    “Oh, Netia!”
    The two young women lapsed into giggles. Just as they quieted, however, they heard a small sound at the door of their chamber and turned to see that a slip of paper had appeared under it.
    “Oh, no, not another poem,” groaned Venetia.
    Vivian moved to retrieve the folded note. She broke the wax seal and stood by the door scanning the contents.
    “Don’t read it now, Vivi—open the door and see if