A Lady of Quality. Louise Gouge M.
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Название: A Lady of Quality
Автор: Louise Gouge M.
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
isbn: 9781472014313
isbn:
They descended the wide, elegant staircase to the vast second-floor dining hall. Once there, and hoping to find two empty chairs near someone of influence in the diplomatic corps, Winston searched around the long table.
“May I assist you, milord?” A footman in red livery extended a gloved hand toward two vacant places.
“Will this suit you, Miss Hart?” Winston noticed the vibrant curiosity in her dark eyes. Perhaps this was her first formal outing with Lady Blakemore. And perhaps for just this one evening, he could forget his ambitions and do all in his power to ensure a pleasant experience for the lady at his side.
“Oh, yes. I thank you.” She smiled at the footman who was pulling out her chair.
Winston made a mental note to explain to her that she need not acknowledge the footman. The best servants were those who received their orders and performed their duties as if almost invisible. Acknowledgments often embarrassed them. But such schooling would come later, should there be a later for himself and the young lady.
In the next chair, Lord Rettig lounged, goblet in hand, but offered them only a brief glance before sipping his wine.
Warmth crept up Winston’s neck. Like him, Rettig was a baron, one with no special distinctions that qualified him to give his equals the cut. Before the footman could finish pulling the chair out for Miss Hart, Winston held up his hand to stop him so that he might test the waters.
“Miss Hart, may I present Lord Rettig.” If the baron did not rise for the introduction, he would instruct the footman to find them another place.
Rettig did not rise. He merely looked the lady up and down through his quizzing glass—a despicable practice meant to put inferiors in their places—and yawned.
“Ah, yes. Lady Blakemore’s...companion.” His tone dripped with disdain, and his lips curled into an arrogant sneer. He turned decidedly away to his own supper partner, a lady Winston did not know. Nor was an introduction forthcoming.
Winston fisted his hands at his side, longing to strike that sneer from Rettig’s face. But Father’s scriptural admonition echoed in his mind. Be slow to wrath, my son. For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God. He took a quiet, deep breath and addressed the footman. “I think we would prefer—” He surveyed the table for another pair of empty chairs.
“Oh, do let us sit here.” Miss Hart blinked her lovely eyes and leaned close to him, sending a whiff of rose-scented perfume his way. “The Dowager Lady Beckwith, on your left, is a dear old soul, though a bit deaf.” Her whisper fanned over his cheek and sent a pleasant sensation down his neck. “Perhaps we can make her evening enjoyable.” She nodded toward the lady’s partner, a rakish sort obviously more interested in the pretty young miss on his other side.
Winston’s heart lightened at Miss Hart’s kindness. “Yes, of course.” How generous and even diplomatic of her to think of an old woman’s enjoyment rather than her own.
As the footman resumed his attempts to seat them, the dowager viscountess looked up and gave Miss Hart a beneficent smile. “Ah, there you are, Kitty. I was hoping to see you this evening.”
Beside him, Miss Hart jolted.
Chapter Two
Catherine could barely withhold a gasp. Ancient Aunt Beckwith had not seen her since she was fourteen and, being senile even then, had paid her little attention. Confusion still lingered in her pale blue eyes, almost as if she had no idea where she was. Catherine should have taken the opportunity to escape her scrutiny. But she could not bear to see the old dear abandoned, for all intents and purposes, by her supper companion, a gentleman whose duty it was to engage her in polite conversation throughout the meal. Yet if Aunt Beckwith truly recognized Catherine—unlikely but possible—she could expose her deception.
Even now, Lord Winston questioned her with one raised eyebrow, and she grasped for some way to deflect his curiosity and redeem her plans against him. She offered a slight smile, a ladylike shrug, a tiny shake of her head, and he nodded his understanding. How easy she found it to lie to him without saying a word. Guilt gnawed at her conscience, but to silence it, she pictured dear Papa suffering exile in some unknown place. Now she must continue to brazen her way through this situation. She leaned toward Aunt Beckwith’s good ear.
“Good evening, Lady Beckwith. May I present Lord Winston?”
“Winston? Winston?” Aunt Beckwith studied him up and down. “My gracious, such a tall young gentleman, and so handsome, too.” She reached out a bejeweled hand, and he gallantly kissed it. “Very much like your grandfather in his youth, if I recall him correctly. Many a young gel set her cap for him and no doubt will for you, as well—that is, if you are not already married.” She winked at him, then stared at Catherine. “Now, who is this young lady with you?”
Catherine’s knees almost buckled with relief. As she had those six years ago, Aunt Beckwith rarely kept a thought for more than half a minute.
Lord Winston glanced at Catherine, and a kind smile lit his face. “Lady Beckwith, may I present Miss Hart?”
“So pleased to meet you, Miss Hart.” Aunt Beckwith patted the chair next to her. “Now do be seated so we can eat. I am fair to starving.”
Catherine released a quiet sigh of relief, but caution warned her against relaxing too much. At any moment, those pale blue eyes might sharpen with recognition, and all would be lost.
* * *
Winston made certain Miss Hart was comfortably seated, then took his own chair. Lady Beckwith’s confusion about Miss Hart did not put him off in the slightest, nor did her mistake about the gentleman she referred to as his grandfather. Having an elderly father had given Winston an appreciation of older people, both for the wisdom they imparted and, in Father’s case, their godly character. Perhaps this evening presented an opportunity for him to learn something interesting. He was already well pleased to observe Miss Hart’s kindness to the lady, a useful trait for a lady’s hired companion. Or a diplomat’s wife.
No, it was far too soon for such a thought. He must employ some of that patience Father had tried to impart to him. Pedigree was an indispensable trait in his choice of a wife, and he must not forget that.
While they engaged the elderly lady in conversation about the hot summer weather, an army of footmen served the first course, which consisted of a thick, creamy asparagus soup and an entrée of stuffed trout and small meat pies. Once Winston and Miss Hart determined just how much to raise their voices so Lady Beckwith could hear them, they settled down to a comfortable, if unproductive, evening. For now, he must abandon his ambitions, for not one person within the range of proper conversation could advance his diplomatic career.
The elderly dowager, loquacious in the extreme, thrice repeated a story about the time pigs invaded her rose garden. Winston bore the repetitions with good humor, helped by Miss Hart’s lively interest in each telling. His esteem for her increased, especially when the dowager continued to call her Kitty. Without so much as a blink of an eye or word of contradiction, she permitted the doddering old Lady Beckwith to think she was the late Lord Beckwith’s great-niece. Surely such grace would stand her in good stead as any gentleman’s wife.
As the meal progressed to a lavish second course СКАЧАТЬ