It was Prudence’s turn now, and she made my lord a leg. Deep down in the grey eyes the twinkle lurked. “I am honoured, sir,” she said.
My lord bowed slightly, as became a man of his years and rank, and smiled with delight upon Mr Merriot. Indeed, a most affable old gentleman. He turned to compliment my lady on having two such enchanting friends to stay with her, and promised himself the pleasure of waiting upon her in the morning. With yet another bow to Miss Merriot he walked away with my lady on his arm.
“I am entirely overpowered,” complained Sir Anthony, and sat him down beside Robin.
Robin tilted his head speculatively. “Something of a foreign air,” he mused. “Do you agree, sir?”
“Something of an oppressive air I find it,” answered Sir Anthony, with a chuckle.
“My lady seems to know him very well,” remarked Prudence, and went away to glean what information she could.
Accounts varied, but it seemed my lord had quarrelled violently in his youth with his father, and taken himself off to France with a low-bred bride of his own choosing. Since that day he had never been heard of, until suddenly, soon after the death of his elder brother, he descended on the town in a blaze of magnificence. Prudence expressed surprise that he had not shown himself upon the death of his father, but the answer to that was ready. There were rumours that there had been little love lost between the brothers: the remarkable gentleman had chosen to remain in obscurity.
She could obtain no more certain information, and returned with her gleanings to Robin. My Lady Lowestoft was ready to go home; they greeted her proposal with relief, and were borne off under her wing. My Lord Barham, seeing them go, waved his hand, and said: “A demain!” most gallantly.
Not until they were safe inside the coach did my lady give way to the mirth that was consuming her. But then she lay back against the padded cushions and laughed till the tears ran down her painted cheeks.
Robin regarded her gloomily. “Ay, it’s a rare jest, ma’am.”