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always did when the
subject of Montford’s upcoming nuptials was mentioned. “That’s another thing,
Monty. Lady Araminta? Are you quite sure?”
    “Of course I’m quite sure. She’ll make the perfect Duchess.”
    Sherbrook shuddered. “Aye, if Duchesses were carved out of
stone and encased in ice. Lady Araminta is a cold-blooded, heartless, self
centered Bath miss.”
    Montford took no offense at Sherbrook’s words. He accepted
Sherbrook’s opinion on the matter of his fiancée and family, because it
happened to be his own. “I thought that was her sister,” he said dryly.
    Sherbrook’s eyes narrowed. “What? Lady Katherine ? My beloved Auntie?” He snorted. “You’re right. Ten times
worse than her sister. Never have I met such utter conceit, such utter
frigidness…”
    “I was unaware you had conversed with her,” Montford
interposed.
    Sherbrook stopped up short, looking extremely put out.
“Well, I haven’t, but I have met her.
We’ve been introduced.” As if that
explained it.
    Montford was the one to roll his eyes this time.
    Sherbrook began to pace in front of the fireplace. “The
Carlisle sisters are the most high-in-the-instep, vapid, insipid, frigid, paragons to have ever lived.” He turned
on Montford, fists clenched. “She makes me want to take her by the shoulders
and shake some life into her. And if I didn’t fear that I would turn to stone
merely by touching her, I would …”
    “Are we speaking of Lady Araminta or her sister?” Montford
interjected.
    Sherbrook stopped pacing and blinked. “What?”
    “You said she .
That you wanted to take her by the shoulders and…”
    “Yes, yes, I know what I said,” Sherbrook bit out. He
glanced around the room with a haunted expression, then stalked over to the
desk and retrieved his port, swallowing its contents in one thirsty gulp.
    Montford suspected that Sherbrook had no idea what he had
said, or what he had meant. And he knew as well that Sherbrook was referring to
Lady Katherine, not her sister. Sherbrook had taken an immediate and
bone-thorough dislike of the Marchioness of Manwaring, his estranged uncle’s
new wife, upon their first encounter at a ball some years ago. And Montford
knew that the feeling was mutual.
    “Oh, bugger it,” Sebastian muttered after throwing back his
drink. “Enough about bloody females.”
    “Hear hear,” Marlowe chimed in.
    Sebastian saluted Marlowe with his empty snifter, then
turned back to Montford. “I know you hate traveling, Montford, but you just
might have to go to Yorkshire.”
    Montford more than hated traveling. He physically abhorred
it. “Not a chance.”
    “It sounds just the thing.”
    Montford grew suspicious. “Why do I not trust you in this
moment?”
    Sebastian quirked his lips. “Well, it seems to me you need
to clear your head. And Yorkshire, what with all of the countryside and sheep
and such, seems a good place to do it in. I hear the air in Yorkshire is lovely
this time of year.”
    “No doubt reeks of manure.”
    “You can take out some of that pent up anger out on these
Honeywells. Turn them out of house and home. Shut down the brewery.”
    “I shall never speak to him if he does,” Marlowe threatened
from the chaise. “Tell him, Sherry. If he shuts down the brewery, I shall cease
to be his friend.”
    “Maybe you could at least spare the brewery,” Sebastian
said with a wink. “Unless you wish to alienate the entire male half of the
country.”
    Montford snorted. “How can anyone drink that waddle?”
    “Have you ever had a pint?”
    “Well, no, but…”
    “Do not judge, then. Now where was I? Oh yes, hurl your
thunderbolts at the Honeywells. Spare the brewery. Take in the fresh air. And
perhaps come to your senses about this atrocity at the end of the month …”
    “You mean my wedding,” he said flatly.
    “What other atrocity were you planning?”
    “I can think of several at the moment, involving you and
that beached whale over there and the