The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Five (Part 1)

"Well, you've met my future wife now," Tony said, adjusting his dinner jacket. "What say you, Byrne?"

Byrne didn't have a ready answer, so he poured himself a glass of port. He needed something after yet another encounter with that dirty mop of a dog this afternoon. Tony seemed too amused by the entire situation to take it seriously, so he supposed controlling the beast was down to him.

It wasn't the first time the little mongrel had been in the house these last days. He'd been chased off several times now and several items had new been damaged or had disappeared — nothing of value, perhaps some horse brushes and balls of yarn had been lost, and leather bridles were chewed up or missing chunks. Still, it must be stopped.

But he wasn't about to drown him over it. That was obviously a joke on his part, however Miss Crewe took it. Perhaps these English ladies were too delicate for his dark Irish humor.

His uncle Ciarán used to spur him on to work with increasingly elaborate threats of death, after all. And when times were a bit hungry, his Gran often amused herself asking him how he'd like to be cooked if it came to that. It was the way of it in Ireland. Life often seemed dark and dire and the only way to contend with it was to embrace it with a laugh. His mother often said, "You have to laugh, Dommy. It's a sight more fun than crying."

They were all gone. There was no one left to call him Dommy now. And very little reason to laugh. Domhnall wasn't a name the English would do business with. Half of them couldn't even say it correctly, he'd wager. He was Daniel now, a name that could be accepted among The Beau Monde, and had been for years.

He shook off the melancholy, handing Tony a glass. "I suppose she will do well enough," he finally said on the subject of Miss Crewe. Really, upon Tony's initial description, he was expecting some plain, thin-lipped termagant spinster with spectacles... Though she had been wearing spectacles, hadn't she? Still, he'd barely noticed them with the eyes behind them, wide and dark and rather bottomless. As for her lips, they were quite full and... "She's pretty enough. I'm glad, for your sake," he added hastily.

"She did seem more timid than I expected," Tony said.

Byrne turned to him, surprised. "She seemed timid to you?" He supposed Tony hadn't witnessed her impassioned defense of the dog.

"I grant you, I only met her briefly before, but she'd seemed more spirited. But one meets so many girls over a season. Perhaps I'm thinking of the sister. I confess, I had eyes mostly for her when we last met. Something about those redheads..."

Byrne felt strangely annoyed. "If you took little notice, then I have to wonder why you are still so determined to woo Miss Crewe. Our last guest has yet to even arrive and--"

"Miss Marbury? No, she won't do at all. I told you. Miss Crewe suits my needs and I'm sure I will suit hers. Though I suppose that wasn't evident just now." Tony frowned. "She didn't say a word when I greeted her."

It did seem strange, the way she grew silent the moment her maid appeared. "Her maid did say she was unwell."

"Yes. Very pale and quiet. Perhaps the country air will do her good." Pembroke shrugged.

The library doors flew open then. "I don't know how I am to survive this, indeed I do not."

"Aunt Dotty," Tony moved to the sideboard. "Glass of ratafia?"

"Madeira," Mrs. Baddeley said on a gasp, closing the door and leaning against it. "With two cherries."

Tony laughed, though he did open the cabinet, drawing out a bottle. "Oh, dear! It's not as dire as all that. It was just a stray mutt."