Unlaced by Candlelight. Кэрол Мортимер

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       Chapter Eleven

      The London home of Lady Jocelyn Ambrose, Dowager Countess of Chambourne.

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      “—and the wedding is to be next month,” Lady Jocelyn concluded gleefully to her two closest friends.

      “But Chambourne is not marrying the woman you had chosen to become his future wife?” Lady Cicely Hawthorne said doubtfully.

      “Well. No.” Some of Lady Jocelyn’s glee abated. “He did not care for Lady Vanessa at all. But he is to marry. Which, after all, is what we had all decided upon, is it not?” Both ladies turned to the silent Dowager Duchess of Royston for confirmation.

      “Yes. Yes,” Edith St. Just acknowledged briskly. “Although I agree with Cicely, in that it would be more of a triumph if Chambourne had decided upon the lady you had chosen for him.”

      Lady Jocelyn looked suitably deflated. “Perhaps one of you will be more success in that regard than I.”

      “I am not at all sure of any degree of success in regard to Thorne,” Lady Cicely admitted heavily. “Since his first wife died four years ago, he has shown a decided aversion to the very idea of remarrying.”

      “And yet he must, for he is in need of an heir, the same as our own two grandsons,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly.

      Lady Jocelyn looked at her curiously. “How go your own efforts in regard to Royston?”

      “Nicely, thank you.” Edith St. Just nodded regally.

      “You believe he will marry the woman of your choice?” Lady Cicely looked suitably impressed.

      “I am sure of it, yes.”

      “How confident are you of that?” Lady Jocelyn challenged daringly, still feeling slightly stung in regard to her friends’ reaction to her news of Chambourne’s forthcoming marriage to Lady Sylviana Moorland, the Countess of Ampthill.

      “So confident,” the dowager duchess assured haughtily, “that I am willing to write that lady’s name on a piece of paper this very minute and leave it in the safekeeping of your butler, only to be returned and read by all of us when Royston announces his intention of marrying.”

      “Is that not rather presumptuous of you, Edith?” Lady Cicely raised skeptical brows.

      “Not in the least,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly. “In fact, call for Edwards and we shall do it now. This very minute.”

      Ellie, sitting in her usual place in the window beside Miss Thompson and Mrs. Spencer, could only watch with a sinking heart as Edith St. Just did exactly as she had said she would.

      Could only wonder as to the name of the lady—and secretly envy her—written on that innocuous piece of paper, which was taken away by Lady Jocelyn’s butler some minutes later...

      As she knew beyond a doubt that it would not be her own name.

      Despite the fact she had fallen in love with the arrogantly disdainful Justin St. Just several months ago...

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