A Lady of Quality. Louise Gouge M.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ “Please permit me to explain myself. I wish only the best for you. With your ancient and well-respected title, you could marry an earl’s daughter, even a duke’s, someone to advance your position in Society and give you connections and influence in that diplomatic career you aspire to. Perhaps even snare that earldom Old Farmer George promised your father. Why choose a girl who is doubtless a mere gentlewoman and can provide none of that?”

      Despite his disapproval of Edgar’s impertinent reference to their poor, mad sovereign, Winston’s anger evaporated, replaced by gratitude for his cousin’s concerns. “I cannot disagree with what you say. Be assured that I am not in any hurry to marry Miss Hart after chatting with her for a single evening. I merely find her appealing. And, after all, one does hope to possess some degree of affection for his wife, as you feel for Emily.”

      Edgar’s expression seemed to twist into disgust, and he turned away. Had Winston been mistaken about Edgar’s love for his wife? Yet when his cousin faced him again, his genial smile had returned. “Yes, one does wish to love and be loved. So what is your plan to woo this little...this young lady?” His words dispelled Winston’s concerns.

      “After my appointment with Lord Blakemore, for which I thank you, dear cousin—” he punctuated his gratitude with a nod and received one in return “—I will take tea with Lady Blakemore and Miss Hart. If all goes well and Miss Hart’s family connections prove acceptable, I may ask the countess for permission to take her for a carriage ride. That is, if you do not think it too soon...or improper...for such an outing.”

      “You may be certain that Lady Blakemore will decide what is proper regarding Miss Hart. But you must remember that ladies hire companions to keep at their sides for their own convenience, not to marry them off.” Edgar blew out a sigh of apparent frustration, and Winston felt for a moment like a foolish schoolboy. “But if you insist upon this plan, which carriage will you take? What have you purchased since coming to London?”

      Consternation swept over Winston. “I never thought to purchase a new carriage for town. Father’s old ones stored in the mews could use some repair, but—” He had already spent a large sum to replace the roof of this town house, which had languished uninhabited for six years during Father’s final illness.

      “But nothing!” Edgar huffed with indignation. “How can you take a young lady out for a drive in a shabby conveyance? You would become Society’s laughingstock. No, no, you must postpone your outing until you have a new one. A landau, a barouche, a coach. No, not a coach. It must be an open carriage to protect the young lady’s reputation. You must have a landau. And a matched pair of horses, of course. You do have a matched pair?” He clasped his hands behind his back and resumed his pacing across the parquet floor, as if the fate of England depended upon the matter.

      “Yes, of course. Some of Father’s best cattle from home.” Winston scratched his chin, partly amused by Edgar’s antics, partly chagrined by his own lack of forethought. “But there’s no time to order a new landau. My appointment with Lord Blakemore is in a few hours, and Lady Blakemore will expect me to stay for tea, as I promised. Perhaps I can borrow Mrs. Parton’s new landau.”

      Edgar chewed his lip. “Yes, that’s just the thing. You must send her a note straightaway, and I’ll wager she will give you whatever you wish. All of our relatives have always done that, have they not?” A hint of pain clouded his thin features, a haunted look that often appeared when they discussed their family.

      Winston never knew how to answer his cousin in this matter. In truth, Mrs. Parton, their distant relation, had spoiled Winston, except in the matter of Lady Beatrice, for whom she had favored Lord Greystone. But she had also been kind to Edgar. Perhaps Edgar feared Winston would neglect their friendship if...when he married.

      His cousin’s ingratiating smile canceled such concerns. “Now, what about your clothes?”

      Winston looked down at his black suit, which was miraculously free of cat hair thanks to the labors of his valet and the footmen keeping Crumpet out of the breakfast room. The little rascal was an excellent mouser, but he did love to get into mischief and was not always easy to apprehend when he escaped Winston’s suite. “Yes? What about them?”

      “Dear boy.” Edgar posted his fists at his waist. “Why do you insist upon wearing this somber black all the time?” He waved a dismissive hand toward Winston’s suit. “You have the appearance of a country vicar.”

      Winston endured his scolding with good humor. “As I have told you before, because this blond hair gives me the look of a sixteen-year-old and black makes me look older.” Never mind his annoying curls, which his valet had given up trying to control.

      “Boring, actually.” Edgar waved a hand in the air. “Too late to do anything about that for today, but you must see your tailor soon and get some color into your wardrobe.”

      “Yes, Edgar.” He had no intention of changing his wardrobe.

      “Well, I must be off. Blakemore does not abide tardiness.” Edgar snatched a roll from the sideboard and stuck it into his pocket as he walked from the room.

      That simple gesture, coupled with his cousin’s genuine concerns for him, stirred Winston’s soul and caused him to love Edgar all the more. How he wished Father had not thought so little of his former heir, but perhaps Winston could somehow make it up to him in the years to come.

      A hearty sneeze in the hallway interrupted his trip back to the breakfast table.

      “Get that beast away from me.” Edgar’s angry words shattered the usual calm of the town house.

      Winston hurried to the door in time to see a footman seize Crumpet the instant before Edgar’s violent kick could make contact with its furry rump. Crumpet twisted in the man’s hands with a hiss and swung a paw at his cousin, claws extended.

      “Sorry, sir.” John Footman grimaced as he caught sight of Winston. “Sorry, m’lord. He got away from me.” He clutched the golden creature and murmured, “There now, laddie, shame on you for botherin’ his lordship’s guest.”

      Edgar gave another violent sneeze, glared at Crumpet, swung a grimacing smile at Winston and hastened down the front stairway.

      “Sorry, m’lord,” the footman repeated.

      “Never mind, John.” He took Crumpet from his servant and cradled him against his chest. As if blown by the wind, golden cat hairs instantly appeared on the front and sleeves of his black jacket. But Crumpet’s purring soothed away any concerns over his appearance. After all, Parliament did not meet on Wednesdays, and he had plenty of time to have his valet brush away the fur before his appointment with Lord Blakemore.

      He recalled Miss Hart’s comment about only evil coming from people who did not like cats, but he would have to tell her of one exception. Poor Edgar could not be blamed if the beasts made him sneeze. Such an affliction did not mean that his cousin was evil. Not by any means.

      At the thought of seeing Miss Hart again, warmth spread through his chest much like the effects of Crumpet’s purring. Neither of the two other ladies he had attempted to court this Season had generated such feelings. But Winston would heed Edgar’s cautions and make certain this young lady possessed sufficient family connections before launching a full pursuit.

      * * *

      No matter what Catherine did to her hair, even using a round, hot iron that scorched her stubborn locks, she could not force it to curl. She had never thought much about her coiffure until last evening’s ball, where she observed СКАЧАТЬ