Free Sheri Cobb South by The Weaver Takes a Wife Page B

and made his excuses to his host, then set his feet in the direction of the ballroom. He reached his destination while a waltz was in progress, and thus discovered Lord Waverly clasping Lady Helen in an embrace more intimate than any her own husband had as yet enjoyed. They made a very pretty picture as they whirled about the floor with practiced grace, both tall, slender, and elegantly costumed, but Mr. Brundy, waiting impatiently along the wall, took no pleasure in the sight. He might have been much heartened to know that, even as she smiled up at her partner, Lady Helen was covertly scanning the crowd for the one face noticeably absent amongst the crush.
    At last the lilting strains of the violins came to a halt, and Lord Waverly led Lady Helen back to her chair, where her next partner, Sir Toby Granger-Hughes, was waiting to claim her. No sooner had she laid her hand on Sir Toby’s arm than it was snatched away by her husband, who drew it firmly through the crook of his elbow.
    “Time to go, me dear,” he said in a voice which brooked no argument. “Gentlemen, I bid you good night.”
    Lady Helen held her tongue with an effort while they collected their cloaks and quit the glittering house for the gaslit street.
    “Pray tell me, Mr. Brundy, just what do you think you are about?” she demanded, fairly quivering in outrage.
    “I consider meself a reasonable man, ‘elen, and you will find me a tolerant—nay, even an indulgent!—’usband, but I’ll not stand idly by while me wife makes me the laughingstock of London,” he informed her roundly.
    “You don’t do yourself justice, Mr. Brundy,” she replied sweetly. “You were the laughingstock of London long before you married me.”
    The drive back to Grosvenor Square could not be deemed a congenial one. Lady Helen being sunk in what, in a lesser female, would have been called a pout. She dared not voice her grievances, however, or the oaf beside her might think she had wished him to sit in her pocket all the evening long. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, but there was a wide gulf between sitting in her pocket and spurning her company altogether. Did this vulgarian not know that he was supposed to dance attendance on her so that she might spurn him?
    Of course he did not. One of the most galling aspects of this unequal marriage was the fact that Mr. Brundy failed to recognize its inequality, or if he recognized it, certainly failed to acknowledge her superior status. Yes, it was high time Mr. Ethan Brundy of Manchester was made aware of the inferiority of his position—and she, Lady Helen Brundy née Radney, knew just how to put him in his place.
     

Chapter 6
     
    The force of his own merit makes his way.
    WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, King Henry the Eighth
     
    While his wife plotted his downfall, Mr. Brundy, all unknowing, called in Harley Street and sent his card up to Emily, Lady Randall. Within minutes, her ladyship’s butler returned to request that he wait upon her in the green saloon. Mr. Brundy was duly ushered to this chamber, where he took a seat on a striped satin chair and mentally rehearsed his speech while he awaited her ladyship’s pleasure. He was relieved that she was willing to receive him at all, for although he had seen her often enough in Lord David’s company, his own acquaintance with her could hardly be called intimate.
    Still, he needed a lady’s assistance, and he was more nearly acquainted with Lady Randall than with any other lady in London, with the arguable exception of his wife. He was not at all certain as to the propriety of such a visit, but if, as Lady Helen had insisted, it was acceptable for married women to be squired about by gentlemen other than their husbands, then surely calling upon a widow, even a young and pretty one, in broad daylight could not be so heinous a crime. At any rate, he had not long to debate the matter before Emily wafted into the room in a cloud of lavender jaconet muslin.
    “Mr.