Free If Wishes Were Earls by Elizabeth Boyle

never do to snub the woman—not when he’d already antagonized Lady Essex once this evening.
    The baroness, not waiting for any further pleasantries, launched right into the object of her desire. “I have been in Bath of late—”
    How unfortunate you chose to return , he mused, though with a polite smile on his face.
    “And I am overwrought with worry regarding your aunt, Lady Eleanor.”
    Aunt Eleanor? Whatever could she have done now? One would think that a lady of her age would be past shocking society, but leave it to Essex’s twin to continue her lifelong pursuit of infamy.
    “And I came back to London straightaway—”
    Of course you did. If only to be the first to report my aunt’s latest peccadillo. If there was ever a wager being placed on who was faster, Lady Gudgeon or the Royal Mail, Roxley knew exactly where he’d place his blunt.
    “Only to discover that my dearest friend has fallen prey to the same dire situation. Dear Roxley, I implore you to do your duty.”
    Between her jabbering and her wavering feathers, Roxley was starting to feel slightly dizzy. “My duty?”
    He hadn’t the least notion what she meant.
    Lady Gudgeon was happy to indulge him. Roxley couldn’t say he shared in her joy.
    “Yes, of course, your duty,” she said, her thick brows waggling as if that made this all clear.
    There was only one duty that he knew—having been reminded often enough by his aunts—that he had yet to fulfill. “You mean marriage?” he exclaimed. “Why, my dear Lady Gudgeon, are you proposing?” He leaned over and with a most serious tone said, “Whatever will Lord Gudgeon say?”
    The old girl blinked, then let out an exasperated sigh. “Roxley! Oh, heavens, you are a wicked fellow. Not me! I am only here to remind you that you are the head of your family.”
    “So they tell me,” he agreed with a solemn nod.
    “And your dear aunt, my particular friend, Lady Essex, is in need of your wisdom.”
    Now it was Roxley’s turn to blink. Since most society thought him a fool, it was a rarity, no, this was perhaps the first time anyone had ever called upon him for that particular talent. “Heaven help her on that score,” he told the matron. “My wisdom?” He looked around. “Are you certain you have the correct Roxley?”
    Lady Gudgeon was not only blunt, she did not suffer fools. She rapped him sharply on the sleeve with her fan. “Mind what I am saying. Your aunt is in dire straits and needs your guidance.”
    He rubbed his arm as he looked up and across the room where his Aunt Essex was holding court.
    “Can you not see what I do?” Lady Gudgeon whispered as she squinted in the same direction. “She is in grave danger.”
    The only danger Roxley could imagine this night that was in store for any of them was the disagreeable supper Lady Knolles was known to set down before her guests.
    “Lady Gudgeon, I am certain there is no harm about to befall my—”
    Rap. “You must save her, my boy! Everyone is talking about it tonight. They all see what poor, dear Lady Essex does not.” This was followed by another significant, squinty glance across the room to where his aunt stood.
    Roxley did his best to come up with an answer. “How that turban hardly works with that gown?”
    Thwack. “No, you fool. Look!” She nodded again.
    “The Duchess of Preston? I assure you, her dog was not invited.”
    Lady Gudgeon colored at the reminder, for the duchess’s dog had chased the lady across Hyde Park one infamous afternoon . . . a memory the lady preferred to forget.
    “Oh, good heavens, Roxley! Not that duchess. Lord Whenby. There at her elbow. How could you not notice?”
    Whenby? Whatever had Lady Knolles put in the punch bowl? First Harriet, and now Lady Gudgeon.
    “I try not to notice my aunt if I can help it,” he confessed, even as he was trying to place Whenby. But he couldn’t. Not from his clubs. Not at the races. Not at boxing matches. Roxley hadn’t the least notion who this