My Lady's Honor. Julia Justiss

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      Ten days later, grimy and out of sorts, Gilen de Mowbry gritted his teeth as he unpacked clothing from his equally dusty saddlebags.

      Weary from six days spent nearly ceaselessly in the saddle, he did not want to hear about the lovely, fascinating creature Jeff had just met. As Alden had predicted, he thought with disgust, only half listening to Jeff’s rapturous flow of rhetoric, it appeared the distraught friend whom he’d felt compelled to come support had already fallen in love again with some other chit.

      Though how he’d found someone in Harrogate under the age of fifty to fall in love with, Gilen couldn’t imagine. If he’d known, he concluded sourly, longing for a bath and a glass of strong ale, that he’d find his supposedly inconsolable friend so irritatingly cheerful, he wouldn’t have prematurely called off his search.

      After the shock of finding the gypsy encampment deserted, he’d ridden back to Lacey’s Retreat and questioned the staff, trying to determine the band’s normal route. He’d wasted three days riding west after them before learning that instead of proceeding as usual, they had wandered north. When he finally found them, their leader at first refused to speak with him, then kept him waiting a day while he considered the generous sum Gilen was offering in apology for his previous intrusion.

      At last the gypsy lord agreed to meet him, an old woman serving as translator. But to Gilen’s infuriated exasperation, the man denied any knowledge of the violet-eyed wench who’d danced for him. He was almost positive the man was lying, but as it was already nearly two weeks past the arrival time he’d indicated in his last letter to Jeffrey, he felt compelled to give up the search for the present and make for Harrogate with all speed.

      Only to arrive and find his supposedly brokenhearted friend waxing eloquent about some new female.

      “Despite your stops, ’tis a tedious journey and you must be longing for a bath,” Jeffrey was saying. “I told grandpapa we’d dine with him—he retires quite early—after which we shall still have time to attend the assembly. There you can meet Miss Southford for yourself. I’m sure you’ll find her a delight!”

      “As delightful as Davinia?” Gilen shot back.

      Jeffrey’s genial face sobered, and Gilen immediately felt ashamed of his churlishness. “Sorry, Jeff, that was unkind. Been on the road so long, it’s made me snappish.”

      Jeffrey mustered up a smile. “I deserved that, I suppose. She is delightful, but nothing like Davinia. Lovely, though not as striking, and—I’m not sure how to describe it—so forthright and appealing. The sort of lady who not only encourages a man to talk, as they all do, but truly listens to what he says, and offers some intelligent comments in return. I’m sure you’ll like her.”

      “If she has intelligent conversation to offer, she is unusual!” Gilen declared, only half jesting.

      Jeffrey took a swipe at him and Gilen ducked. “At least I have the discernment to develop tendres for well-bred ladies of sensibility,” his friend declared. “If you spent less time among mercenary females out of London’s Green Rooms, your opinion of the sex might be higher.”

      “Perhaps,” Gilen acknowledged, “though I doubt it. At least a female from the Green Room gives you an honest return on your investment, rather than false devotion and flattering lies.”

      “I admit, my judgment on this score has not always been accurate, but I assure you Miss Southford’s honor and integrity are beyond reproach,” Jeffrey asserted.

      Gilen raised a skeptical eyebrow. “We shall see. Let me get near some hot water and a warm dinner, and then I shall be most interested to meet your new paragon!”