His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(19)
Though she’d taken liberties with his person too, and about that he was delighted. He resisted the temptation to adjust his falls, though the nape of Lily’s neck was stirring him in exactly the wrong direction.
He’d taken two steps closer to her when voices on the terrace stopped him.
Lily tossed him the book. He sat and opened it to a random page, the rising evidence of his wayward thoughts hidden behind a chapter titled “Common Butterflies Native to Southern Britain.”
Lily sank into a chair two yards away and folded her hands in her lap just as Daisy, her guest, and Lady Rosecroft came through the French doors.
“The upper side of the male’s wings are the same blue as hyacinths in bloom,” Hessian said. “The underside is a grayish-brown, and red spots adorn his hind wings.” He stared at the book as if reading, though the topic on the page was a biographical sketch of some French lepidopterist. “The markings on the female are less uniform across individuals, but are no less attractive for being more subtle and unique.”
“Thank you,” Lily said. “Your translations are quite enlightening. Bronwyn, is that a grass stain on your pinafore?”
The children chattered, the countess fussed, and Lily did a creditable imitation of a woman slightly bored with a visit that was more charitable than social. Hessian pretended to turn the pages of the book and occasionally volunteered an answer to a childish inquiry. When it was time for the guests to take their leave, he saw them to the door and thanked them cordially for paying a call.
He even invited Miss Bronwyn to come again at the earliest opportunity, and the countess allowed as how that would suit agreeably on Monday next. He bowed them on their way and managed to not kiss Miss Ferguson farewell or even stare at her mouth.
He did, however, admire her retreating form, until Bronwyn turned around and waved farewell to him.
Chapter Five
* * *
“I had not taken Dorie Humplewit for a hoyden,” Roberta said.
She and Penelope were returning from donating to the poor box at St. George’s on Hanover Square. The outing was timed to coincide with the carriage parade in Hyde Park a half-dozen streets to the west.
Conspicuous charity was the only kind Roberta could justify, not that a widow needed to justify good stewardship of her limited resources.
The biweekly trek to St. George’s allowed Roberta to see and be seen without going to the expense of maintaining a team. She hadn’t sold the colonel’s town carriage yet, but she was considering it.
The dratted thing still stank of his pipes and probably always would.
“I’m sorry Lady Humplewit disappointed you,” Penelope said.
“For God’s sake, we’re not in a footrace. How am I to greet friends passing by if you insist on subjecting me to a forced march?”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“You can’t help it, I know. A long meg doesn’t realize how much harder she must work to exude womanly grace. Having some height myself, I do sympathize, but you must—”
As they crossed Bond Street, the traitor herself, Lady Dorothy Humplewit, tooled past in a red-wheeled vis-à-vis, one of her daughters at her side. The unfortunate young lady had buck teeth, which she tried to hide by affecting a serious demeanor. Difficult to do when she hadn’t a brain in her pretty head.
Roberta smiled gaily and gave a small, ladylike wave. Dorie waved back more boisterously than she ought, but then, Dorie had to affect good spirits. Her plans for Grampion had failed utterly.
“To think I call that brazen creature my friend. I barely mentioned to her that my only niece has been given into the keeping of a bachelor earl, and the next thing I know, Lady Dremel conveys the most shocking confidences. Mrs. Chuzzleton had best review the guest list for her future garden parties more carefully.”
Two years ago, Roberta would have been invited to that garden party.
“I thought Lord Grampion was a widower, ma’am.”
“And thus he’s a bachelor. Don’t be tedious, Penelope.”
“My apologies, ma’am.”
Penelope had to apologize frequently, for she had no sense of guile, no ability to anticipate the subtler currents in a conversation. She would have made a good solicitor, taking satisfaction in a life of tedium and routine.
“We shall find a bench and enjoy the fresh spring air for one-quarter of an hour.” Grosvenor Square lay across the next street, a lovely green expanse where the less socially ambitious could spend some time out of doors. “I must consider how to go on with Lady Humplewit. She is a friend of long standing, and one doesn’t discard friends lightly.”
Roberta needed to have a stern word with her dressmaker, for today’s walking dress was too snug about the bodice. One could not march across Mayfair in such ill-constructed attire without becoming quite winded.
Two young men vacated a bench at the approach of the ladies. The handsomer of the two tipped his hat and swept a bow in the direction of the bench.
“Such nonsense,” Roberta muttered. “I’m a woman of mature years and have no time for flirting dandies.”
“Of course not, ma’am.”
The bench was hard, the sunshine bright enough to give a widow in first mourning freckles despite her veil, and the day a disappointment from every perspective.