Good God, he was going to have a word with the duchess. He was going to tell the woman to alter Mellie’s gowns immediately. Dark, heavy fabrics and a hood from now on. Even knowing the idea was ridiculous, he couldn’t help thinking it. And before he could think of anything charitable to say, he lost the chance. Men surrounded her on all sides, and she was smiling at her next dance partner. Sweet heaven, she was a success, and he was going to be a raving lunatic within the week.
“You always did have a good eye,” a familiar voice drawled in his ear.
Bloody hell. First his mother, now his father.
“No,” he said, hearing the regret in his voice. “I’m just lucky. I had no more idea that she was a beauty than anyone else.”
“So it was Eleanor who was the making of her?”
Trevor nodded, feeling ten times the fool.
“Good, then she’ll be fine once you break it off.”
He jolted turning around to stare at his father. “We are engaged.”
The man gave him a sour expression. The one reserved for especially bad faro hands and miscreant sons. “Come along, Trevor. You need a drink.”
He was parched, but that didn’t mean he would walk willingly into a tête-à-tête with his father. “I think I’ll stay here and watch—”
“Your grandfather is in the card room. He thinks you might enjoy a few hands of loo.”
Trevor did laugh at that. He found loo to be a particularly vicious card game, especially when played by vicious people like his grandfather, the Duke of Timby. “Thank you, but I’m content here.”
His father sighed and weariness appeared on his suddenly haggard face. “Don’t be childish, Trevor. I’m only trying to help. You will have this audience with him, and it’s best if it’s done in public.”
“Have you gone daft? This is not a conversation to be had in public.”
“On the contrary, the more people who know the true reason for your impetuous engagement, the easier on both you and the girl when it dissolves. This way when she cries off, she’ll be seen as an honorable gel since you weren’t truly engaged to her in the first place.”
Trevor ground his teeth. Damn the man for simply assuming the engagement would dissolve. “And why would you think—”
“Because I’m not an idiot,” his father all but hissed as he grabbed his son’s elbow. “Once I heard about your grandfather’s plan, I knew you would do something like this. It was a ridiculous gambit on his part. I told him so, but you know how impervious he is to any ideas but his own.”
“Father—”
“Just talk to the man. Do it in public—politely, of course—and let’s get this resolved in the most equitable way for everyone.”
Trevor had no choice but to agree or cause a scene. It was a hard choice given his already foul temper, but his father was right. Best do this now and in a way that required some sort of restraint. So with a last look at Mellie, who was currently enjoying a dance with a handsome future earl, he followed his father as they maneuvered their way to the card room.
It was slow going. Every few feet someone wanted to congratulate him on his engagement. Only a few were truly happy for him. Most wanted gossip. They tried every conversational gambit they knew to get salacious details of his courtship out of him. But as he’d already been playing this game for two weeks, raising anticipation for tonight, he was able to deflect everyone with an expansive gesture toward Mellie and the words, “I am a lucky man.”
Eventually, they made it through the ballroom and into the parlor for gentlemen to play cards. The duke dominated the largest table and had one of his fellow septarians on either side. Two other seats were occupied by his father’s friends. Trevor’s own friends were too smart to sit at a table with these cutthroats.
“There you are, my boy,” his grandfather boomed. “Been waiting for you to grow tired of that nonsense out there and join the men. Eddie, get up. Let my grandson have your seat at the table.”
“No thank you, Your Grace,” Trevor tried, but Baron Edwin Waite had already risen from his seat. “Please sit down. I haven’t the funds right now to cover your stake.” He turned his gaze on his grandfather. “I’m a bit to let right now since someone has refused to pay his vowels.” His meaning was clear. He’d applied several times to his grandfather’s man of affairs for the money owed him due to his engagement. Each time, he had been refused.
Meanwhile, the baron visibly started. “Refused to pay. The blackguard! Give me his name. I’ll be sure to see him banned from all the London tables.”
“Hmmm,” he mused. “What do you think, grandfather? Should I tell the blackguard’s name?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t possess any vowels from anyone. Everyone knows you don’t gamble.”
That wasn’t exactly true. His whole venture with Mellie was one huge gamble, but the duke was correct. He’d always thought money bet on a turn of a card was a waste of time. “Gentlemen wagers happen all the time, grandfather. And only a blighter would cheat on such a thing.”
“Quite right,” said the baron. “I’m feeling rather parched. Wouldn’t have sat down at all, but your grandfather insisted. Here’s a thought. Trevor, play my stake, and we’ll split the winnings. We all know I’m bollocks at loo.”
That was certainly true, and so with an internal sigh, Trevor took the baron’s seat. But something happened as he settled into the chair. Something dark and angry that had been brewing for a while bubbled up. It was probably Mellie’s influence. Once he’d accepted all the machinations of the peerage as the normal course of affairs, but now he saw them in a different light. He saw that it was pure maliciousness—and greed—that had his grandfather putting the affable baron at the table. And meanness in dismissing the man so cavalierly.