One Forbidden Evening. Jo Goodman

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      Viscount Sheridan set his quill aside as the door to his study opened. That this breach of his sanctuary occurred without a warning knock was enough to indicate who would be there when he lifted his eyes. He smiled warmly, inviting the interruption to continue.

      “Forgive me, Sherry,” Lily said, “but the post has arrived and I knew you would want this immediately.” She held up a letter between her thumb and index finger, waving it gently. “And I knew you would want to share its contents with me, so I have saved you the bother of hunting for me.”

      “That was very good of you, though I like the hunt well enough.”

      “Do not raise that eyebrow at me, my lord. I am able to understand your meaning without having it underscored in that particular manner.”

      Chuckling, he lowered the offending eyebrow. The last time he’d hunted for his wife, he had finally run her to ground in a hayrick. She’d burrowed deep, and he’d burrowed deeper. All things considered, it had been a lovely way to spend the afternoon. But that was yesterday. Apparently Lily had other thoughts to occupy her for the nonce.

      “Allow me to see what you have there,” he said, extending his hand. “Is Rosie napping?”

      Lily laid the letter in Sherry’s palm. “Rose,” she said deliberately, “was playing with her toes when last I looked, and Nurse Pinter was sleeping. It seemed to satisfy them both.”

      Sherry nodded absently. He was already looking at the elegant copperplate handwriting. “It’s from Cybelline.”

      “Yes.”

      He took a knife from his desk and slit the seal. “Will you not sit, Lily? Or would you prefer to read over my shoulder?”

      “Do not tempt me.” Her smile held a hint of mischief that was reflected in her green eyes. She sat, taking the delicate Queen Anne chair on the opposite side of Sherry’s desk. Sherry, she saw, was already skimming the letter. A crease had appeared between his dark eyebrows, and he was tapping the knife tip against the edge of the paper, rattling it. Her heart sank a little. “She is not coming to visit, is she? What does she say, Sherry? Pray, do not keep me on tenterhooks.”

      “I have not gotten so far. She says first that she is well. Anna also. Aunt Georgia is enjoying better health, having recently recovered from a stomach ailment. It seems she—Aunt Georgia, that is—was unable to attend the masque given by Sir Geoffrey and Lady Gardner in honor of their daughter’s debut. You will not credit it, but Cybelline attended.”

      Lily did not credit it. “Are you certain you have not mistaken what she’s written?”

      Sherry read it again. “She is quite clear. She attended without Aunt Georgia.”

      “Even more extraordinary.” Lily pointed to Sherry’s knife. “Do put that down. I am in fear that it will slip, and you will do me grievous injury.”

      He frowned. “I am more likely to do injury to—” He stopped, glancing down to where the knife was certain to meet the sticking place squarely between his legs. “Oh, yes, I see. That would be too bad for you.” He carefully set the knife aside and ran one hand through his dark cocoa-colored hair. His attention returned to the missive. “She writes that Aunt Georgia was adamant that she should attend, and since it was a masquerade, Cybelline persuaded herself that she had the courage to do so.”

      “It was her come-out, then,” Lily said. “After a fashion.”

      “She writes the very same.” Sherry turned the first page over and continued to read. “A shepherdess. That was her costume. Again, Aunt Georgia’s fine hand at work. Cybelline was gratified to see so many other shepherdesses present, though when Aunt Georgia learned of it she was understandably less than pleased. Apparently Aunt thought her idea a complete original.”

      Lily pressed three fingers to her lips to tamp her smile. She noticed that Sherry was smiling as well. It was not difficult for either of them to imagine Lady Rivendale being most put out to discover her original idea was so common. “Go on. What does she say about the evening? Did all go well?”

      Sherry reported all of Lily’s observations about the masque, then mused aloud, “She seems to have enjoyed the anonymity. I wonder that no one recognized her.”

      “She has rarely been about in society since Nicholas’s death. Perhaps if she had accompanied Lady Rivendale someone would have guessed her identity. Your aunt merely has to laugh, and she СКАЧАТЬ