Page 9 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

Levi gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. “Warwick is dangerous… for an invalid, especially with that cane.”

“First,”—Roxburghe lifted his finger—“he’ll never forgive you for bestowing that title upon him.”

“He isn’t going to learn of it,” Levi said through clenched teeth.

“And second,” Roxburghe said, adding another finger, “I wouldn’t have allowed him to make that many excuses before I intervened.”

“You’ve been occupied with other pursuits,” Levi countered, irritation flowing through him. “I’m not responsible for Warwick’s decisions any more than I am yours.”

“However, you’d say something to me.” Roxburghe tilted his head as if daring Levi to argue.

“Your Graces!” Beaufort’s playful voice boomed from the parlor. “It’s quite rude to keep four dukes waiting while you gossip.”

Roxburghe spun with an evil smile. “We were discussing you.”

“Of that, I’m certain.” Bounding into the corridor, Beaufort offered them a low bow, his hand scraping the floor. “However, I prefer you speak about my winning attributes in front of me.”

“Veto!” Mansfield growled, his deep voice ringing.

Beaufort leaned back, his head vanishing as he peeked into the parlor. “Do you not find the topic of me stimulating?”

“I would have used the word taxing.” The soft clink of a coin punctuated Mansfield’s statement.

Grisham laughed, adding his coin to the center of an octagonal table as Levi entered the parlor. Warwick remained stoic, his gaunt face hiding any emotion.

His friend’s retreat from their group over the past few weeks concerned Levi. However, when he’d expressed that sentiment at breakfast this morning, Warwick summoned his coach, threatening to depart and not speak with Levi for the remainder of the season. Levi had no option but to drop the subject… for the moment.

Perhaps he could persuade his friend into performing the exercises strongly suggested by Warwick’s doctor and Mansfield, who’d read a great deal of books on the subject, some other way. Levi just needed to think of an irresistible type of motivation.

“The twenty-eighth,” Grisham said, breaking into Levi’s thoughts. “And I expect you all to attend my wedding. I won’t accept any excuse.”

Grisham stared directly at Warwick as he issued the command.

Even Grisham had noticed Warwick’s absence.

Drawing his cards toward his chest, Roxburghe smirked, “I have a prior commitment that day.”

“Which is?” Grisham asked, shifting his narrowed gaze to the left.

“I’m marrying Miss Webb.”

Eyes bulging, Grisham slammed his cards face down on the table. “You cannot have your wedding on the same date as mine!”

“Then pick a different day.” Roxburghe flung another coin at the pile in the center of the table. “My fiancée and I have no desire to postpone our exchange of vows or the carnal activities that follow.”

Grisham copied Roxburghe. “I was engaged first.”

“I’m out,” Beaufort said, tossing his cards toward the small mound of sovereigns.

“Me as well.” Mansfield glanced at Levi.

“I’ll play,” Levi replied, adding a coin. “But to be clear, it’s for money, not a wedding date.”

Warwick merely nodded his agreement. His fingers slipped on the sovereign’s slick surface. No one spoke as he struggled to grasp a coin from the stack before him. With a groan, he shoved the money toward the center of the table, then glanced up, his mouth pulled into a sour frown.

“Does anyone have anything to say?” He scowled.

Beaufort lifted his snifter, saluting Warwick. “I’d take your cane and all the difficulties resulting from your injury over Lennox’s new houseguest.”