Free The Bolingbroke Chit: A Regency Romance by Lynn Messina

Nevertheless, he took no offense. Rather, he just shook his head with a fond smile and said to Addleson, “Women! Are they not the most darling creatures? So emotional! We try to enlighten them, but they are far too sensitive for the rigors of education. Yet I believe it’s our sacred duty to at least try to provide them with some edification, for even a dog can learn how to roll over and sit up.” Now he turned to his host’s daughter. “Don’t you agree, Lady Agatha?”
    Her ladyship declined to answer Mr. Petrie’s query directly, but the manner in which she abruptly turned her back on him and walked away implied strong disagreement. Addleson did not blame her, for it was never flattering to be compared with a domesticated animal and found wanting.
    Mr. Petrie was likewise forgiving of Lady Agatha’s behavior and nodded with sympathy. “She is overwrought, the dear girl, which is hardly surprising. My arrival has been a very exciting event for everyone and has caused a minor uproar in the household. Sadly, there was a mix-up with my luggage at the docks, which created all sorts of upheaval, and the first room assigned to me was unsuitable to my needs. I’m sure Lady Agatha understands the need for the temporary disruption, for she is, I think, a credit to Lord Bolingbroke. One hopes for an excess of sensibility in one’s daughter. There is nothing more off-putting than a masculine female.”
    “I don’t know,” Addleson said consideringly. “I can think of at least one thing.”
    But the unknown American naturalist was as inured to implication as he was to interruption or insult. “Lord Bolingbroke has been very gracious to me. When I received an invitation to speak at the British Horticultural Society, I had thought—”
    Addleson did not care what Mr. Petrie thought. In fact, if he heard one more of his well-considered opinions, he might very well bash the loquacious American over the head with the nearest object, which—he glanced around quickly—seemed to be a rather delicate blue-and-white vase.
    For the sake of Lord Bolingbroke’s pottery, the viscount hastily made his excuses. “I must check on Lady Agatha. As you have observed, she’s overwrought.”
    “Of course, of course,” Mr. Petrie said, immediately perceiving the wisdom of this plan. “Emotionally distraught women are unstable and are likely to do harm to themselves or others. I know this well, for I have an irascible old aunt who can wield a cane with unsettling authority. The secret is to use a gentle and calming voice, as if speaking to a small child. Perhaps I should come with you.”
    The viscount was tempted—so very, very tempted—to say yes just for the pleasure of watching Lady Agatha break the blue-and-white vase over Mr. Petrie’s head, for he could not imagine any other response to his offensively soothing tone. It was rather like a prophesy that fulfilled itself: Treat a grown woman like a child and she will react like a child.
    Even Addleson, whose sense of humor was frequently described as perverse, knew better than to subject a lady to that insult, especially in the sanctity of her own home. “No,” he said firmly. “I thank you but no.”
    Mr. Petrie, who was unaccustomed to either being refused or listening to other people, immediately began to plot their strategy, suggesting that he approach Lady Agatha first. “Observe my method and adjust your own accordingly,” he said as he followed the viscount across the room.
    As amused as he was exasperated by the man’s persistence—or was it resilience, a distinctly American trait—Addleson stopped abruptly, glanced around quickly and promptly settled on Mr. Abingdon as his victim. Edward was only a few feet away, well within ear-cocking distance, and that was exactly what the viscount did, tipping his head to the right, as if overhearing an irresistible tidbit. Then he turned to Mr. Petrie and said, “As you appear to have the matter entirely in hand, I shall