Cupid's Choice: She's a shy beauty in distress. He's a chivalric gentleman. by Gayle Buck Page A

many more important things than fashion. His glance was keen and assessing as he looked at Sir Frederick. “We don’t see enough of you, Freddy.”
    “I fear that if your wife has her way, you’ll see me at the altar,” said Sir Frederick suavely, sliding a glance at Mrs. Richardson.
    Mrs. Richardson was not at all put out of countenance by his pointed reference, as he had hoped. She laughed, her eyes alight with adoration as she glanced up at her husband. “You know how firmly I believe that every gentleman deserves to be wed to a good woman, Richard.”
    “It was certainly true in my case,” said Richard Richardson, returning her smile in full measure. He covered her hand, which lay possessively on his arm. However, curiosity had entered his gray eyes. “But what’s this? Have you decided on someone for Freddy, my love?”
    Mrs. Richardson shook her head with a small laugh. “No, I haven’t. I merely asked Freddy to be kind to the poor Holland girl. I told you about her, Richard. Freddy very dutifully stood up with her. Isn’t Mrs. Holland frightful toward her, Freddy?”
    “I rather thought so,” said Sir Frederick, nodding. “If I am not mistaken in the matter, Miss Holland has a lively dread of incurring her mother’s displeasure. That’s the cause of that awful stammer.”
    “Do you think so?” asked Mrs. Richardson, interested. She wondered how he had come to that conclusion. She smiled warmly at Sir Frederick. “However, I feel positive you were able to charm her.”
    “Whom, my dear? Mrs. Holland or Miss Holland?” asked Richard Richardson mildly.
    “Both, of course,” replied Mrs. Richardson promptly. “Freddy is the consummate diplomat.”
    Sir Frederick and Richard Richardson laughed, while Mrs. Richardson twinkled up at them, an attractive smile curving her full lips.
    “I fear my powers are vastly overrated,” said Sir Frederick. “Actually, I came over hoping you could point me in the direction of Lady Smythe, Caroline.”
    “Freddy! You’re not leaving now! Not before supper!” exclaimed Mrs. Richardson in dismay, almost dropping her fan. “Why, I made sure that—” She recovered herself quickly at the expression of polite inquiry on Sir Frederick’s face. “Well, it is your own business, after all.” She held out her hand to him in civil leave-taking.
    “Why, thank you, Caroline,” murmured Sir Frederick, taking her hand and saluting her with a flourishing kiss. “And I promise to be more accommodating the next time you wish to set me up to dance with Miss Holland or some other colorless girl!”
    Richard Richardson cracked a delighted laugh, while Mrs. Richardson had the grace to appear slightly ashamed. Nevertheless, the quiver of a dimple touched her smooth cheek. “I shall hold you to that promise, Freddy,” she said lightly. She gestured with her fan. “I do believe I last saw Lady Smythe over near the west windows.”
    Sir Frederick excused himself in a casual fashion and went in search of his formidable hostess. He found her soon enough, just turning away from some of her other guests. Lady Smythe was a tall, spare woman. She carried herself with all the assurance of one who had always possessed wealth and breeding. An elegant dresser and an outstanding hostess, her ladyship had ruled her social bailiwick for decades.
    When the elderly dame’s gaze lighted on Sir Frederick, her expression became one of gracious welcome. She held out a blue-veined hand, diamonds flashing in the candlelight. “Sir Frederick! I am glad to see you. In fact, I am always glad to see you. You know how to pay court so handsomely to an old woman!”
    Sir Frederick made a deep bow, one hand clasping hers while the other well-shaped member was pressed over his heart. “My dearest lady, I perceive you are in fine trim.” As he straightened, he cast an awed glance upward at the lady’s elaborate headdress, which consisted of several blond ostrich plumes and a purple turban encrusted