gratefully, thankful that her first session with Nigel was over. Her smile of relief told the story.
“It’s best to get the unpleasant inevitable over with at the beginning. Then you can enjoy the rest of the evening,” Breslau said.
“Why Lord Breslau,” she exclaimed, frowning. “I don’t in the least mind standing up with you. Where did you get such a notion?”
Breslau was speechless. He was accustomed to being courted, and felt he was doing Miss Comstock considerable honor by standing up with her. His stunned air gave Pamela pause.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh,” she said, aghast. “You meant Nigel!”
“I didn’t realize I featured as an ogre in your mind.”
“Of course not. No one is trying to make me marry you. I should be happy to dance with you. Truly, I don’t mind in the least.”
“No further explanations are necessary, Miss Comstock,” he said through thin lips. “Speaking of marriage, what had Nigel to say about his untimely confession to his mother?”
“I did most of the talking. I rang a good peel over him I can tell you. I told him his father would cut him off. That will make him think.” After a frowning pause, she continued. “You never told me what it was you thought Sir Aubrey had told his wife. When we were speaking before dinner, some confusion arose….”
“A misunderstanding. I assumed Nigel would discuss it with his father first.” He looked around for a set to join.
Pamela frowned, dissatisfied with this explanation. Why should Breslau look relieved when he learned the truth? But a ball wasn’t the place to discuss it. To keep Fleur in good humor, it was to her set that Breslau led his partner. General Max’s sisters, knowing their mama was safely bestowed behind a whist table, flew to join them, just a step behind their husbands. They were perfect pattern cards of smiling admiration. Fleur preened her feathers, and with a coy little smile at General Max, said, “Your sisters are even more charming than you told me.”
This outrageous lie should have set the country bumpkins to smirking in pleasure. Fleur was hard put to account for the sudden stiffening of their faces.
Mrs. Stearne, the elder of the two, lifted a sapient brow and said to her brother, “Why, Max, you neglected to tell us you had the honor of the marquise’s acquaintance before this evening.”
The younger sister added mischievously, “Mama will be so thrilled. You must present the marquise to her. Perhaps we can all sit together for dinner.”
Fleur was something of an expert at reading expressions and interpreting snubs. No sloth herself in delivering a setdown, she replied haughtily, “Unfortunately I have promised to dine with Lord Breslau. Perhaps another time, ladies.”
General Max glared at the assembled company. He didn’t know which one he’d like to run his sword through first. How dare Fleur announce their friendship in front of his family! How dare his sisters roast her in public. And worst of all, how dare Breslau try to cut him out!
The innocent chit with Breslau was the only one he could speak to without cursing, so he ignored Fleur’s taunt and turned his fulminating stare on Pamela. “Visiting Belmont again, eh, Miss Comstock? I hope we shall soon have the permanent pleasure of your company amongst us.”
His speech brought a frown to the last smiling face in the group, and in this awful mood, they began dancing.
“Do I detect undercurrents in our set?” Pam asked Breslau when the steps of the dance allowed them a moment’s privacy.
“If you’ve detected the ill will, then it’s no longer an undercurrent.”
“Is she General Max’s flirt?” Pam asked eagerly.
“Not when she is at Hatfield, it seems.”
“Mrs. Maxwell wouldn’t approve.”
As soon as the dance was over, Maxwell’s sisters flew toward the card room. General Max knew he was in for it, and got rid of Fleur before his mother could come pouncing down on them. He left her standing
“It’s best to get the unpleasant inevitable over with at the beginning. Then you can enjoy the rest of the evening,” Breslau said.
“Why Lord Breslau,” she exclaimed, frowning. “I don’t in the least mind standing up with you. Where did you get such a notion?”
Breslau was speechless. He was accustomed to being courted, and felt he was doing Miss Comstock considerable honor by standing up with her. His stunned air gave Pamela pause.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh,” she said, aghast. “You meant Nigel!”
“I didn’t realize I featured as an ogre in your mind.”
“Of course not. No one is trying to make me marry you. I should be happy to dance with you. Truly, I don’t mind in the least.”
“No further explanations are necessary, Miss Comstock,” he said through thin lips. “Speaking of marriage, what had Nigel to say about his untimely confession to his mother?”
“I did most of the talking. I rang a good peel over him I can tell you. I told him his father would cut him off. That will make him think.” After a frowning pause, she continued. “You never told me what it was you thought Sir Aubrey had told his wife. When we were speaking before dinner, some confusion arose….”
“A misunderstanding. I assumed Nigel would discuss it with his father first.” He looked around for a set to join.
Pamela frowned, dissatisfied with this explanation. Why should Breslau look relieved when he learned the truth? But a ball wasn’t the place to discuss it. To keep Fleur in good humor, it was to her set that Breslau led his partner. General Max’s sisters, knowing their mama was safely bestowed behind a whist table, flew to join them, just a step behind their husbands. They were perfect pattern cards of smiling admiration. Fleur preened her feathers, and with a coy little smile at General Max, said, “Your sisters are even more charming than you told me.”
This outrageous lie should have set the country bumpkins to smirking in pleasure. Fleur was hard put to account for the sudden stiffening of their faces.
Mrs. Stearne, the elder of the two, lifted a sapient brow and said to her brother, “Why, Max, you neglected to tell us you had the honor of the marquise’s acquaintance before this evening.”
The younger sister added mischievously, “Mama will be so thrilled. You must present the marquise to her. Perhaps we can all sit together for dinner.”
Fleur was something of an expert at reading expressions and interpreting snubs. No sloth herself in delivering a setdown, she replied haughtily, “Unfortunately I have promised to dine with Lord Breslau. Perhaps another time, ladies.”
General Max glared at the assembled company. He didn’t know which one he’d like to run his sword through first. How dare Fleur announce their friendship in front of his family! How dare his sisters roast her in public. And worst of all, how dare Breslau try to cut him out!
The innocent chit with Breslau was the only one he could speak to without cursing, so he ignored Fleur’s taunt and turned his fulminating stare on Pamela. “Visiting Belmont again, eh, Miss Comstock? I hope we shall soon have the permanent pleasure of your company amongst us.”
His speech brought a frown to the last smiling face in the group, and in this awful mood, they began dancing.
“Do I detect undercurrents in our set?” Pam asked Breslau when the steps of the dance allowed them a moment’s privacy.
“If you’ve detected the ill will, then it’s no longer an undercurrent.”
“Is she General Max’s flirt?” Pam asked eagerly.
“Not when she is at Hatfield, it seems.”
“Mrs. Maxwell wouldn’t approve.”
As soon as the dance was over, Maxwell’s sisters flew toward the card room. General Max knew he was in for it, and got rid of Fleur before his mother could come pouncing down on them. He left her standing
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