A Crime of Manners by Rosemary Stevens

me!”
    “Oh, very well,” Lady Fuddlesby said, resigned. “You are bound to hear it sometime, I imagine. But you know, my dear...” She stopped, quailing before the steely look in her niece’s eyes. Then she went on in a rush. “It was a comparison someone made, quite unjustly. It was said your parents could do better giving you a Season in Newmarket rather than London. Implying you looked like a horse ... which you do not! I am certain there is some explanation.” As if to herself, she added, “Perhaps he was in his cups, although he had nothing but tea at my house.”
    Henrietta sat openmouthed, trying to assimilate her aunt’s words. Then a suspicion too terrible to contemplate formed in her mind. She asked faintly, “Who? Who said this appalling thing?”
    “Well.” Lady Fuddlesby twisted her lace handkerchief to shreds. Tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them back before anyone could see them. “I am sad to say it was the Duke of Winterton.”
    Henrietta’s eyes opened wide and she gripped the edges of her gilt chair until her hands whitened with the effort. She thought she could feel the very blood rushing through her veins. How could he? Why? How had she given him a disgust of her? And then as she remembered how she had dreamed about him, she reached a trembling hand up to cover her eyes in shame.
    At that moment, the Duke of Winterton made his entrance into the ballroom with Colonel Colchester. Giles was the epitome of elegance in his indigo evening coat. His cravat, tied in the Oriental with a diamond pin in its folds, rose from a snow-white waistcoat.
    Colonel Colchester, looking stately, greeted an old army friend and in a matter of moments had the unsavory story of the duke’s words regarding Miss Lanford.
    At the same time, Lady Peabody hailed the duke. At her side was her daughter Betina, who blamed the duke for her broken arm, which hung in a sling.
    “Your grace,” Lady Peabody said, simpering, “you are such a wit.”
    The duke’s eyes half closed.
    When this compliment brought no comment from the duke, Lady Peabody went on. “’Tis vastly diverting... Miss Lanford, a Season at Newmarket.” She and her daughter tittered, all the while shooting amused looks in Henrietta’s direction.
    The Duke of Winterton’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time he recalled his ill-chosen words to Lord Kramer. He mentally cursed the fop for repeating them.
    He managed to disengage himself from the pushing Lady Peabody and her foolish daughter. As he made his way to Colonel Colchester’s side, his gaze roamed the room until he located where Miss Lanford sat. Then he stopped short and stared.
    Good God! She was lovely. There was an air of innocence about her, making all the other women in the room look old and tired. What a pity, he thought, that she was only a squire’s daughter. But a horse? No one should have taken his remarks seriously, he decided, absolving himself of any misdeed.
    “Well, my boy, what are you going to do?” Colonel Colchester, now standing beside him, asked.
    The duke leveled his quizzing glass at a passing lady, much to her delight. “Do? About what, dear sir?”
    The colonel felt himself becoming irritated. The duke was too puffed up with his own consequence. “Giles!” Seeing he had the duke’s attention, he went on. “Have you heard what is going around about little Miss Lanford?”
    “Ah, yes. I declare it grows tiresome when one’s every comment is spread about.”
    Colonel Colchester felt a desire to shout at his godson. He controlled himself with an effort and said, “What do you intend to do about it? Do not look at me in that bored way. Miss Lanford was pointed out to me, and we must walk over there to where she and that charming woman in pink are sitting. Behave like nothing has happened.”
    His godfather’s outraged tone finally got through to the duke. He looked again at Miss Lanford and Lady Fuddlesby sitting with the chaperons, and his