glasses. “It is a grave concern to be sure,” she said. “Indeed, I do not
think that I could support a riding habit as a costume on a constant basis.”
“I suppose there
must be some reasonable alternative,” postulated Isobel.
“We could wear
daring red silk ball gowns, damped, and without petticoats each day,” proposed
Letty.
“How very shocking,
my dear,” said Isobel in a comfortable tone. “Only I fear you will have to name
your house 'Place Infame' rather than Plas Newydd. And indeed, red silk is
quite ineligible in the country you know. Decidedly de trop , my dear.”
“Besides, if my
companion had recently left employment as a governess she might feel quite
uncomfortable wearing red after months and months in brown stuff, I suppose,” said
Letty consideringly.
“But brown is so
lowering to the spirits; I should think rather that she might feel very much
relieved,” countered Isobel.
“Well, I certainly
would,” remarked Letty. “I am feeling quite irritated after only a few weeks in
mourning. I vow that the very sight of a black dress depresses me.”
“It is hideous,”
agreed Isobel. “We were in mourning for Exencour’s brother until very recently,
and while I was very fond of Charles, I could not but think that he would not
have wished that on his family.”
“When I am a fatal
widow I shall wear red ball gowns then,” said Letty firmly. She drained her
glass and eyed the empty bottle sadly.
“It sounds
delightful,” said Isobel comfortably. “I have never known a fatal widow. Will
it be terribly scandalous for us to be friends?”
“Terribly,” stated
Letty. She looked down at her empty glass, and tears began to well up in her
eyes. “Oh, Isobel, how glad I am to have you here.”
“I am so glad to
have you restored to me as well,” said Isobel, patting her hand. “Now we need
only set about making you content. If all it takes is champagne and red ball
gowns, it will be quite simple. Don’t cry, Letty. We will make sure that you
and the children are happy.”
Letty blinked back
her tears. “How foolish I am to weep,” she said. “I must look forward to the
future, now that Alfred is in my past.”
“Exactly,” said
Isobel. “Whatever sort of widow you are, Letty, it most definitely will be
better than being his wife.”
Chapter 8
Viscount Exencour
strolled leisurely towards his home in Grosvenor Square. He had spent the
afternoon at White’s, and upon leaving had found the weather so unseasonably
warm that he had determined to walk home. He looked forward to seeing Isobel
and discovering what progress she and Letitia had made in securing a house for
the latter; the process had become quite complicated, for although Letitia
would have been quite happy with any number of the houses they had seen, Isobel
deemed none of them to be sufficient for her friend, and thus the search
continued.
Lord Exencour’s
secretary was becoming quite frantic in his attempts to find a house that would
satisfy Lady Exencour. His lordship found the whole business amusing; Letitia
Winwood had come to stay with them after Morgan Park’s tenants took over in
February, and he was perfectly content to have her under his roof as long as
she cared to stay, and therefore did not attempt to hurry the hunt along. As he strolled and
enjoyed the sunshine, a rarity in late winter, he was greeted by another
walker, a strikingly handsome gentleman of about his own age.
“Francis!” he
exclaimed. “I am pleased to see you. It has been too long since our days
together in Lisbon!”
“Phillip!”
exclaimed Lord Exencour. “How good to see you again. Don’t tell me they no
longer need you in Vienna, for I shall not believe it .”
“They will have to
do without me,” responded the Marquess of Eynsford. “I have been too long away
from England, and so I told them. You perceive me a free man, Francis, without
a care in the world!”
Lord Exencour gazed
at the other man with affection.
think that I could support a riding habit as a costume on a constant basis.”
“I suppose there
must be some reasonable alternative,” postulated Isobel.
“We could wear
daring red silk ball gowns, damped, and without petticoats each day,” proposed
Letty.
“How very shocking,
my dear,” said Isobel in a comfortable tone. “Only I fear you will have to name
your house 'Place Infame' rather than Plas Newydd. And indeed, red silk is
quite ineligible in the country you know. Decidedly de trop , my dear.”
“Besides, if my
companion had recently left employment as a governess she might feel quite
uncomfortable wearing red after months and months in brown stuff, I suppose,” said
Letty consideringly.
“But brown is so
lowering to the spirits; I should think rather that she might feel very much
relieved,” countered Isobel.
“Well, I certainly
would,” remarked Letty. “I am feeling quite irritated after only a few weeks in
mourning. I vow that the very sight of a black dress depresses me.”
“It is hideous,”
agreed Isobel. “We were in mourning for Exencour’s brother until very recently,
and while I was very fond of Charles, I could not but think that he would not
have wished that on his family.”
“When I am a fatal
widow I shall wear red ball gowns then,” said Letty firmly. She drained her
glass and eyed the empty bottle sadly.
“It sounds
delightful,” said Isobel comfortably. “I have never known a fatal widow. Will
it be terribly scandalous for us to be friends?”
“Terribly,” stated
Letty. She looked down at her empty glass, and tears began to well up in her
eyes. “Oh, Isobel, how glad I am to have you here.”
“I am so glad to
have you restored to me as well,” said Isobel, patting her hand. “Now we need
only set about making you content. If all it takes is champagne and red ball
gowns, it will be quite simple. Don’t cry, Letty. We will make sure that you
and the children are happy.”
Letty blinked back
her tears. “How foolish I am to weep,” she said. “I must look forward to the
future, now that Alfred is in my past.”
“Exactly,” said
Isobel. “Whatever sort of widow you are, Letty, it most definitely will be
better than being his wife.”
Chapter 8
Viscount Exencour
strolled leisurely towards his home in Grosvenor Square. He had spent the
afternoon at White’s, and upon leaving had found the weather so unseasonably
warm that he had determined to walk home. He looked forward to seeing Isobel
and discovering what progress she and Letitia had made in securing a house for
the latter; the process had become quite complicated, for although Letitia
would have been quite happy with any number of the houses they had seen, Isobel
deemed none of them to be sufficient for her friend, and thus the search
continued.
Lord Exencour’s
secretary was becoming quite frantic in his attempts to find a house that would
satisfy Lady Exencour. His lordship found the whole business amusing; Letitia
Winwood had come to stay with them after Morgan Park’s tenants took over in
February, and he was perfectly content to have her under his roof as long as
she cared to stay, and therefore did not attempt to hurry the hunt along. As he strolled and
enjoyed the sunshine, a rarity in late winter, he was greeted by another
walker, a strikingly handsome gentleman of about his own age.
“Francis!” he
exclaimed. “I am pleased to see you. It has been too long since our days
together in Lisbon!”
“Phillip!”
exclaimed Lord Exencour. “How good to see you again. Don’t tell me they no
longer need you in Vienna, for I shall not believe it .”
“They will have to
do without me,” responded the Marquess of Eynsford. “I have been too long away
from England, and so I told them. You perceive me a free man, Francis, without
a care in the world!”
Lord Exencour gazed
at the other man with affection.
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