Amy Lake by Lady Reggieand the Viscount

longish pause, after which he remarked on the quality of the frame—a complete facer, of course—and I acknowledged that the portrait required cleaning.  We returned to the group chatting easily, my previous confusion forgotten, and I believe that his interest was as piqued as my own.  Perhaps it was wrong to have told him so much about our family, although half the ton knew anyway, and the other half could have found out with a word or two in the right ear.  The old earl did not ruin us, but the Aveline finances received a blow that was only slowly healing now—
    Or would have done, if not for Lord Freddie.
    * * * *
     
    When the viscount and his family left, Cassie and I managed a retreat to my bedroom before the countess could engage in one of her usual critiques of my appearance and behavior.
    “Regina, why must you insist in sitting up so straight?  Gentleman prefer a more languid air.”
    “Regina, you look at people so directly.  It’s terribly off-putting, you know.”
    “Regina, do not mention the House of Lords.”
    In this case I had special reason for a quick withdrawal, since I had seen her eyeing the green batiste, and I wanted to avoid any discussion of under what circumstances the gown had lost both of its bows. 
    “What did he say ?” asked Cassie, when we were alone.  “I think he looks even better in common dress.”
    “He asked,” I told her, “about the painting.”
    “He didn’t!”
    “He did.  What else could he have done?”
    “Declared his undying affection.”
    “For whom?”
    “Very amusing,” said Cassie.  She was helping me take off the detested gown, and I saw her eyeing the scissors.  “If I was to accidentally cut a large gash in this skirt, do you think—”
    “She’ll just have another one made.  With bigger bows.”
    “Lud.”
    “His sisters seemed very nice,” I said.  “Do you suppose one can tell them apart?”
    “If they open their mouth, yes.  I could barely get a word in with Isolde.”
    “True.”
    “She is mad for society, loves to dance, and I believe she’s had enough of rustication to last her lifetime.”
    “Not fond of Cornwall, then?”
    “Assuredly not.  She told me that they would have returned to London much sooner except that her mother felt unequal to the task of supervising the two of them without Lord Davies’s help.”
    “I can’t imagine her sister needing much supervision.”
    “Isolde may be a different case.  Her nickname is Isa, did you know?”
    “Mmm,”  I said, my voice muffled as I shrugged into a comfortable day gown of soft muslin.
    “At any rate, the viscount had much work to do in Cornwall—”
    I had heard a bit of this in our conversations.
    “—and so they stayed at Pencarrow.  Pencarrow—it sounds quite romantic, doesn’t it?”
    “Carys likes it, at least,” I said.  “I’m not sure how happy she is with London.”
    “Give her time.”
    We were sitting on the floor by now, cross-legged and rubbing our feet.
    “You’d think they could manage to make ladies’ shoes more comfortable,” said Cassie, grimacing.  “So what did you tell Lord Davies about the painting?”
    I laughed, a little ruefully.  “I told him the story of my grandfather and the duke’s daughter.”
    “A romantic choice.  Excellent.”
    “I don’t think the earl and countess would agree.”  This was an understatement.  My parents would be appalled.  “What was I thinking?”
    “Actually, I can’t imagine the Viscount of Cardingham would care that the old man lost at cards,” said Cassandra.  “He’s quite rich, you know.”
    “Well I can’t see that it matters one way or t’other.”
    “Don’t sell yourself too short.  I’m certain he was interested.”
    * * * *
     
    I fell into bed that night thinking of strong hands at my waist and deep blue eyes.  Cassie’s words had reassured me, and I wondered when I would next see the Viscount Cardingham.  Perhaps at Almack’s, if the countess