“Elias,” Albert greeted him, as they headed closer. “I see you have already driven away Lord Ferring. I think that must be record time for you.” He released Dora’s arm, and gestured towards her. “I have brought you a greater challenge.”
Elias arched one white-blond eyebrow. “I see that,” he drawled. “And what is it you wish for me to do with your dog, Albert? Shall I take it outside for a walk? Need I fetch it some treats from the table?”
Dora tilted her head at him. “You could try and teach me to speak,” she said. “But I fear that my diction is already better than yours, Lord Sorcier.”
Albert laughed, already sounding pleased. “I thought that you might take Miss Ettings for the first dance,” he said. “As soon as my mother decides to start things off.”
Elias narrowed his eyes at both of them. “I am not fond of this conspiracy,” he informed them. “One of you at a time is already bad enough. Two is quite intolerable.”
Dora turned innocently towards Albert. “Le sorcier insinue que nous serions intolérables,” she observed. “Quelle ironie.”
Albert shot her a delighted look. “Mais il a raison, non?” he replied. “Si nous parlons français, ce n’est que pour le contrarier.”
“Oh, that is beyond enough!” Elias fumed. “If you are going to insult me, at least have the decency to do it in the King’s tongue! Why did we even fight a war with the French, if not to keep them out of England?”
“Insult you?” Dora asked. “Why, we were doing nothing of the sort. I seem to have committed a faux pas, speaking in a language which eludes you. You have my deepest apologies, Lord Sorcier.” She drew out the French of his adopted title, with a perfectly sanguine expression.