Free Sheri Cobb South by The Weaver Takes a Wife

glances in their direction from the other guests. “Did he, now? Then I fear you are doomed either way, my friend, for I shall have you horsewhipped if you do not! White’s is a duller place without you, Brundy.”
    “Why, thank you, sir. What a ‘andsome way of saying I made a spectacle of meself!”
    “A most welcome one, I assure you. Do you know, I have just read a most thought-provoking treatise by Mrs. More on the subject of education for the lower classes. I should be most interested in hearing your opinion of it.” The colonel paused awkwardly, then asked, “You do read, do you not?”
    Mr. Brundy nodded. “Although I ‘aven’t the advantage of an Oxford education, I am not completely illiterate, Colonel.”
    “No, no, of course not,” muttered Colonel Pickering, embarrassed at his own faux pas. “No offense intended, I assure you.”
    “And none taken,” replied Mr. Brundy, grinning broadly. “I’d be more than ‘appy to see what Mrs. More ‘as to say.”
    “Capital! The pamphlet is in my study, if you will follow me.”
    “Of course. If you’ll excuse me, ‘elen, me dear.”
    And to her chagrin, Lady Helen for the first time in her life found herself completely sans male companionship. She was still shooting dagger-glances at her husband’s rapidly retreating back when a familiar drawl interrupted thoughts which were hardly shining examples of wifely submission.
    “Poor Mrs. Brundy! Has the weaver tired of you so quickly?”
    Turning to answer the challenge, Lady Helen was forced to pause in order to catch her breath. After almost two weeks in the company of the badly tailored Mr. Brundy, the sight of Lord Waverly in full evening dress was indeed awe-inspiring. White pantaloons were molded to his well-muscled legs, and his dark cutaway coat caressed his broad shoulders like a lover. Nor could any fault be found with his dove gray waistcoat or pristine cravat. Indeed, the only thing marring this pattern-card of British manhood was the fact that Lord Waverly was perfectly well aware of the picture he presented. Fortunately, Lady Helen’s tongue had not grown dull since her marriage, as she had taken every opportunity to sharpen it on her husband.
    “Lord Waverly.” Lady Helen acknowledged his presence with a regal nod. “I was under the impression that you considered balls a deadly bore. What brings you here? Are you dancing attendance on Miss Pickering, or have they stopped taking your vouchers at White’s?”
    Waverly bared his straight white teeth in a grin, but the steely look in his eyes told her she had struck too close to the mark for the earl’s comfort.
    “As you have no doubt deduced, I am up the River Tick,” he confessed. “But at least you need not fear a similar fate, my dear. I understand your husband is a paragon of virtue. He neither gambles nor takes snuff, but spends each day from dawn to dusk in the noble pursuit of Mammon—unless, of course, he is favoring the membership of White’s with his enlightened views on the governing of the Empire.”
    Lady Helen unfurled her spangled Chinese fan and raised it to her mouth to hide a yawn—a gesture which somehow called attention to her ennui rather than concealing it. Lord Waverly knew her well enough to recognize a deliberate set-down when he saw one, and grinned appreciatively.
    “But I should never dream of boring you. May I hope that, in the absence of your husband, you will condescend to accept your humble servant as a suitable partner for the quadrille which is about to begin?”
    “Since Mr. Brundy’s virtues thankfully do not extend to sitting in his wife’s pocket, I should be pleased to accept your generous offer,” replied Lady Helen, and allowed the earl to escort her onto the floor.
    Once it became known that Lady Helen was back in circulation, and with no sign of her husband in sight, she found herself much in demand. All her former suitors came flocking back to be abused by her waspish tongue, and