“Oh, drat it! I just remembered I had promised to receive a visit from Lord Whettly, the dreadful old sod, at the request of my grandmother, but I can easily cancel. We were scheduled to luncheon in around an hour’s time, but I shall just send a wire to say that unfortunately, I am prevented from coming by consequence of a subsequent engagement. That would make a rather fine excuse, wouldn’t it, Nancy?” Jacqueline said eagerly.

“You do have quite the flair for the dramatic, dear,” her father commented, nose buried in a newspaper.

“So does everyone who matters nowadays, Papa, don’t be so dismissive. And you are aware that that is yesterday’s paper, yes?” He rolled his eyes, reaching for his pipe. “Besides, you cannot truly expect me to sit in that God-awful dining room for hours on end listening to Grandmother drone on while he rolls his eyes and scoffs with total hypocrisy. He is rather interesting, though, I suppose, in his own way. It’s... intriguing, to say the least - to see a member of respected society behave so strangely. Then again, Whettly is hardly the most respectable of the lot,” she grinned cheekily.

“I’m sorry, who are we discussing?” Nancy smiled politely, awkwardly perched on the armchair.

“Oh I do apologise, I keep forgetting that you haven’t met everyone in the town. Lord Whettly is a friend-”

“Acquaintance,” her father interrupted.

“Acquaintance, then, of Papa’s. He took the title of Lord after his late father passed - when was it, Papa? - oh, I don’t suppose it matters, does it, but anyhow, he is connected to them all somehow, the whole pack,” Jacqueline chattered excitedly.

“As a matter of fact, it should have been his brother who took responsibility for their estates in the wake of their father’s death, but he was forced to pass it on to the younger of the pair because he was disgraced. He had an affair with Lord Demend’s distant niece, the not-so-honourable Ms Breanna. As you can imagine, we were absolutely engrossed by the scandal of it all,” she whispered, lowering her voice and leaning in conspicuously.

“Anyhow, the younger Whettly turned out all the better for it. He is now the owner of multiple large town houses and an absolutely exquisite country seat, but according to Ruth he hardly ever dines there, choosing instead to take the majority of his meals at the club. To be frank, I can’t imagine why - he has very few friends, and seems to prefer it that way. Don’t let Father catch us talking about the affair, though - he threw a right fit at the time when Ruth mentioned it one afternoon. He made it very clear he did not wish to hear me speak of it again. I bit my tongue, of course, but after he left I muttered to Ruth that all was well - I simply would not let him hear.” She giggled.

“He is a rather odd fellow, the current Lord Whettly, isn’t he?” Jacqueline remarked more loudly.

“Yes, I suppose so,” her oblivious father replied. “He likes to fancy himself not so much the smartest one in the room as he does in the building, and lives by an entirely hedonistic set of ideals. He has far more houses than friends, that’s one thing for certain.”

“And not nearly as many mistresses,” Jacqueline said slyly with a mischievous wink in Nancy’s direction.

“Jackie!” She exclaimed, stifling a laugh.

“Oh, don’t be so disapproving, it’s true,” the girl giggled, noting her father’s stern look as he too struggled to hide his amusement.

“Well, he’s certainly a rather enigmatic figure at that,” Jacqueline continued. “He is most strange indeed and yet his peculiar behaviour never fails to make him the talk of the town. Just the other day Ruth told me that he reportedly caused quite the stir at the Dowager Viscountess’s ball the other week. Someone discovered the woman he had brought with him was paid to be there. Evidently he was embarrassed of going alone everywhere, so *hired* someone to pretend to be his friend for the week. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“I fear that you’re becoming something of a socialite yourself, dear, and I don’t much fancy the idea of my favourite daughter becoming some sharp-tongued busybody at the ripe old age of sixteen. I’m afraid that allowing you to spend your days gossiping away in that parlour is already beginning to take its toll,” her father murmured dryly.