A Lady of Quality. Louise Gouge M.

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СКАЧАТЬ he could see that her fingers were long and tapered, and she wielded her cutlery with grace. Perhaps she played the pianoforte, a useful skill for any lady.

      Lady Beckwith nodded off between the second course and dessert, giving Winston and Miss Hart a few moments of private conversation while the servants cleared and reset the table.

      “Tell me, Lord Winston—” Miss Hart accepted a dish of cream-covered pastry from the footman, thanking him with another of her pretty smiles “—what think you of the scandal regarding Lord Cochrane’s fraud against the Stock Exchange? Will he be sufficiently punished with only a year in prison and the loss of his naval rank?”

      Winston caught himself before barking out his indignation over Cochrane’s wicked scheme to defraud his fellow Englishmen. “Why, Miss Hart, should a delicate lady concern herself over politics and crime?”

      Those dark eyelashes batted in pretty confusion several times. “Oh, my. I do not wish to venture upon ground unfitting for a lady.” She glanced down the long table toward where her employer sat. “I would grieve to cause embarrassment to Lady Blakemore.”

      Her innocence touched a spot in Winston’s heart that he never knew existed. “Well, no harm is done.” A chuckle escaped him. No doubt she longed for reassurance in the Cochrane matter. “My dear lady, have no fear. The House of Lords has dealt appropriately with Cochrane and his associates. Do not give it another thought. All is well.”

      “Yes, of course.” She gazed down at her gloved hands, which rested in her lap. The slight lump near her right wrist reminded him of their earlier conversation.

      “Miss Hart, a while ago, you asked me a question. Now I must ask you one.”

      Her perfect brown eyebrows arched. “Oh, yes. Ask what you will, and I shall answer.”

      Inexplicably, his pulse began to race. With some difficulty, he cleared his throat and managed to croak out, “Do you like cats?”

      Now her expression turned impish. “Why, yes, of course.” She glanced around, as if checking to see whether or not anyone else was listening, then whispered, “I am convinced that only evil can come from a person who does not like cats.”

      Now he laughed as an agreeable sensation swept through him. “Madam, I concur with your premise wholeheartedly.”

      What a delightful lady. What extraordinary wit and intelligence. But he would not quickly surrender his heart as he had seen several of his peers do, to their ruin. No, entirely too much depended upon his having the right connections. Perhaps Lord Bennington could advise him regarding which items he could safely strike from his list of requirements for a wife. But until he managed to secure an appointment with his busy mentor, he would find as many proper ways as possible to spend time with the lovely Miss Hart. He did have an appointment with Lord Blakemore on the morrow. Perhaps he would see her then.

      * * *

      All the way back to their Mayfair mansion, Lord and Lady Blakemore laughed as they shared harmless bits of gossip. Lady Drayton had declared the night a success after no fewer than three marriage proposals had been offered. A conceited lord deep in his cups boasted that he would race his finest thoroughbred against all challengers, and a dozen or more gentlemen agreed to the contest. Their host, the Marquess of Drayton, announced that Prinny would attend the theatre with Louis, the French king, sometime during the coming week.

      Catherine paid particular attention to this last bit of news. Papa had been accused of being a Bonapartist and conspiring to assassinate Louis so they could prevent the Bourbons from reclaiming the French throne. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Papa had no cause to do such a thing. He utterly disdained Napoleon Bonaparte, and his allegiance to England, his country of refuge, was unwavering.

      Regarding the rest of Lord and Lady Blakemore’s gossip, Catherine listened with moderate interest. At any time she might be called upon to participate in a conversation about the marquess’s ball. Ignorance of the latest on-dits among the haute ton was unforgivable, even for a companion, for that would make her employer look bad.

      “And what have you to say for yourself, Miss Hart?” Jolly Lord Blakemore, with his fringe of graying hair around his balding pate and his short, plump stature, made for an odd pairing with his tall, slender wife. But their temperaments seemed perfectly suited, and their household was a haven of peace in noisy, smelly London. “Did you enjoy the evening? I saw you with Lord Winston, which, I must say, is quite startling. One does not expect Winston even to speak to those outside of his small circle, much less to dine with them.”

      Before this evening, that description of the baron might have suited her very well. But after dancing and dining with Lord Winston, she saw no hint of his former arrogance. Instead, she had found his manners faultless and his conversation charming. Even poor Aunt Beckwith had received his kindest attentions. Where was the crack in his facade? What would prove him worthy of her revenge when added to his lies about Papa?

      “You have Lady Blakemore to blame, my lord. She forced me upon the unsuspecting baron, poor man.”

      The Blakemores traded a look and laughed in their jovial way.

      “Ah,” said Lady Blakemore, “but one did not observe Winston trying to escape your company.”

      “But why should he wish to escape?” Lord Blakemore wiggled his wiry eyebrows in a comical fashion. “What more charming company could he ask for?”

      The countess nodded agreeably. “No, he was more than pleased to spend his evening with our Miss Hart.”

      The familiar benevolence in her smile struck a deep chord within Catherine. No matter what her true station in life, these good people should regard her as just above a servant. And yet they had risked Society’s censure by taking her to one of the most important social events of the Season, even providing an exquisite gown from Lady Blakemore’s talented modiste. And what did Catherine offer in return for their generosity? Lies and deception and the risk of being accused of harboring a traitor’s daughter, something that could ruin Lord Blakemore, no doubt in more ways than Catherine could imagine. Guilt ate at her until her eyes stung, and she prayed her employers could not see her tears in the dim light of the closed carriage.

      “What’s this?” Lord Blakemore’s gentle tone did nothing to help Catherine’s self-control. “Why tears, my dear? Did Winston insult you? Did anyone?” The jolly little earl’s eyes narrowed. “You must tell me the truth, now. I insist upon it.”

      “Gracious, no.” Catherine managed a dismissive laugh. “I am thinking only of how grateful I am for all that you have done for me.” Not a lie at all. “You have taken me to the theatre several times to enjoy Shakespeare’s wonderful plays, and tonight you escorted me to the marquess’s ball. You have honored me far more than a mere companion deserves or should expect.”

      The earl waved his hand dismissively, but in his pleased smile she could see her gratitude was not wasted. Yet somehow she must turn this conversation back to the baron to uncover his weaknesses.

      “Your comment about Lord Winston surprises me. Does he truly not mingle with anyone but a small circle of friends?” The baron had behaved quite pleasantly toward her despite his apparent assumption that she was born of the gentry.

      Again the couple traded a look, and the earl nodded to his countess.

      “I would not say he is overly proud,” she said. “Of course, he holds to our views regarding the classes. We know God has ordained СКАЧАТЬ