Free Sally by M.C. Beaton

Stuart? Lady Veronica Chelmsford?
    “Who is this lady?” she asked.
    “Rose Higgins,” breathed the duke, his eyes bulging slightly.
    Sally frowned. “She is not one of your guests?”
    “No,” said the duke. “Rose is the barmaid down at the Feathers in the village. You should see her drawing a pint of beer. There’s a light just above the tap, and it shines on the muscles of her forearms in such a way, don’t you know, makes a chap feel quite weak.”
    “Perhaps it’s just a passing fancy,” suggested Sally hopefully. “How long have you known Miss Higgins?”
    “Two years,” said the duke gloomily.
    “And she is aware of your feelings?”
    The duke looked scandalized. “Of course not! I’m a gentleman. Wouldn’t make approaches to a lady like that unless I were in a position to marry her.”
    “Marry!… Oh, dear. You cannot possibly marry her.”
    “Don’t see why not,” said the duke sulkily. “Divorce is a bit more common these days. Nobody minds. Won’t let you into the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, but apart from that, nobody cares.”
    Sally took a deep breath. Her loyalty was to the duchess. The marquess, furthermore, would surely be distressed if his parents divorced.
    “My dear duke,” she said firmly. “I cannot approve…”
    “Thought you would say that…”
    “
Cannot
approve. Think of your son!”
    “Paul!” exclaimed the duke huffily. “He’s a masher of the first water. Fillies all over the place. At least
my
intentions are honorable! Look here, Aunt Mabel. There’s a lovely little garden at the back of the Feathers. I know it’s a bit cold this time of year, but perhaps you could drive there with me tomorrow, just to meet Rose. Now you’d do that, wouldn’t you?”
    “Yes,” said Sally, more because she wanted to end this embarrassing conversation than to oblige her host.
    “Splendid! Two o’clock, shall we say? Good!” And with that he left.
    Dinner was a most embarrassing affair for poor Sally, who felt quite weighed down with all the dark secrets reposing in her jet-covered bosom. It was not as if she had to make any effort to converse with anyone at the table, because each and every one seemed to be speaking about exactly what was troubling them at the moment without any regard to their fellows.
    “Freddie has got a dickey heart. Did you know?” Mrs. Stuart.
    “I don’t know where they get their cook from. Food’s filth.” The Honorable Freddie Stuart.
    “I say, Miss Wyndham’s in full bloom tonight, eh, what, haw? Makes the old ticker beat faster, what, haw!” Peter Firkin.
    “A rose by any other name…Ah, Rose, Rose…” The duke.
    “… hope it will not be too much work for the servants. Perhaps I should get that chappie Marjie Effingham had to do her ballroom. Chinese, it was. Lengths of brocade and chrysanthemums in pots. So pretty…” The duchess.
    “Servants are not trained properly these days and so uppity. All this Bolshevism.” Lady Veronica Chelmsford.
    “If only people
knew
what little me was thinking.” Miss Wyndham.
    “I say, I’ll have second helpings, since you lot don’t seem to like your food. Disgraceful waste. If you chaps had been in the army like me…” Sir Sydney Chelmsford.
    “For the
fourth
time, I’m driving into Bath tomorrow, if anyone wants to go.” The Marquess of Seudenham.
    “Oh, I would love to go.” Sally.
    Both turned slightly and looked at each other while the other voices rose and fell in their various monologues.
    Then Sally’s face fell. “I can’t.” she said dismally, forgetting to use her Aunt Mabel voice. “The duke is taking me to the village pub.”
    “Really?” said the marquess, looking amused. “Is that
still
going on?”
    “What?” said Sally cautiously.
    “That barmaid, whatsername?”
    “Rose, Oh, you
know
!”
    “Course I do. So does Mother. But what on earth is Father thinking of to trot a lady like you into barrooms?”
    “We’re going to sit in the