‘Of all the dull days that we’ve spent in this Godforsaken hole,’ Lord Lensborough drawled late the following evening as he tossed back his second brandy, ‘Sunday has to rank as the dullest.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Stephen countered, stretching his legs out towards the fire, which crackled cheerfully in the grate of their shared sitting room. ‘I got a great deal of amusement from attending church this morning.’
Lord Lensborough shot him a look of loathing.
‘Julia informed me over dinner,’ he remarked, barely able to keep a straight face, ‘that the congregation has not been so large since the pig-face lady passed through this district on her way to the fair at Scarborough. People attended from several adjoining parishes in the hopes of catching a glimpse of a genuine marquis.’
‘If you think I enjoy being trotted out like some specimen at a freak show…’
‘And then, of course, we must not forget the treat of coming across the divine Miss Dean, the lovely Emily.’ Stephen raised his glass in tribute.
‘Good God.’ Lord Lensborough’s eyes narrowed as he saw the lustful expression on his friend’s face. ‘You are contemplating setting up a flirtation with the vicar’s daughter.’
‘Well, as you yourself pointed out, what else is there to do in this neck of the woods? You have appropriated every single female within these four walls, although…’ He stared abstractedly into his brandy glass for a few seconds, before continuing, ‘I feel obliged to warn you that you are not likely to be successful if you decide on Cinderella.’ Stephen had so nicknamed Hester on account of her station in the house, her marked shabbiness in contrast with the two girls who were vying for the marriage prize, who were sisters, though not hers, nor the least bit ugly.