what she had in each container of her very own chest. And why would she want arsenic there in the first place?
The farce concluded before Chloe realized it was being performed. She was sorry not to have paid attention, for usually the farce was the best part of the entertainment, she not being given to tragedies, particularly of the family sort. She assisted her grandmother with arranging her shawls, finding a fallen fan, and making certain nothing was left behind them. Her silence was not marked by either her relative or the guest. They were busy tearing the farce into shreds.
“And what do you think, child?” Lord Twisdale inquired as they settled into the Dancy carriage her grandmother had kept for her use. The lights and bustle of the theater faded from view and the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles of London streets made conversation difficult.
“The scenery was extremely pretty and I thought the music quite nice,” Chloe responded, believing those comments safe enough.
“Chloe admires the lighter offerings,” the Dowager Lady Dancy explained somewhat unnecessarily.
This appeared to be sufficient to satisfy Lord Twisdale, for he chatted with Lady Dancy the remainder of the drive. For once in her life Chloe did not mind in the least being treated like a witless child.
Once they were safely in the house again, she waited until she thought it prudent to speak. She approached her grandmother in the gold-and-white drawing room.
“I have a great favor to ask, Grandmama. A lady told me how very educational she found the display at the Rotunda at Leicester Square. Mr. Barker has an admirable painting on view and I should like to see it. Might I take Ellen with me tomorrow afternoon—unless you have something for me to do, that is?”
Since Chloe knew her grandmama always took tea with Lady Sefton on Tuesday afternoons to discuss Society events, she thought she had a chance to be free.
“What? Educational, you say? So I have heard tell. No little friend to go with you as well?” The dowager gave Chloe an inquiring and too-searching look.
“I could invite Miss Laura Spayne along, I suppose.” Chloe hoped her good friend would be otherwise occupied.
“Do that,” the dowager commanded. “Remember, I have given you but a short time before you must accept Lord Twisdale. He is being most understanding about your missishness, my girl. It is imperative he acquire an heir and he needs a dutiful wife to accomplish that. He is convinced you will be most dutiful,” the lady concluded with a nod of her feather-bedecked head.
Chloe bowed, reminding herself that she must guard her tongue more than ever before. It would not do to anger Grandmama at this moment. She stood by the fireplace, regal and elegant, resembling a queen far more than the present one.
Taking her grandmother at her word, Chloe backed from the room, then hurried up the stairs before any change of heart could occur.
Come morning her grandmother would be busily employed scanning the newspapers to glean every shred of news and gossip to share with Lady Sefton. As long as Chloe remained out of sight, she doubted if her grandmother would think about the matter again.
It was difficult to sleep, for Chloe kept thinking about that accidental touching in the theater box. She stroked her cheek where his lips had so lightly grazed. It was nothing more than skin, she reminded herself. Skin touching skin. Yet it had such a profound effect on her. She could not allow such a fancy.
Mr. St. Aubyn was not the least like the boys at home. He had such polish, smelled deliciously of spice and costmary—not the stables—and was so considerate. He simply could not be the scoundrel his reputation proclaimed. Scoundrels did not help green girls.
With that thought in mind, she drifted off to sleep.
In the morning Ellen touched her on her shoulder with her silent greeting of the day.
Chloe recalled what was to occur this afternoon and bounded from her
The farce concluded before Chloe realized it was being performed. She was sorry not to have paid attention, for usually the farce was the best part of the entertainment, she not being given to tragedies, particularly of the family sort. She assisted her grandmother with arranging her shawls, finding a fallen fan, and making certain nothing was left behind them. Her silence was not marked by either her relative or the guest. They were busy tearing the farce into shreds.
“And what do you think, child?” Lord Twisdale inquired as they settled into the Dancy carriage her grandmother had kept for her use. The lights and bustle of the theater faded from view and the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles of London streets made conversation difficult.
“The scenery was extremely pretty and I thought the music quite nice,” Chloe responded, believing those comments safe enough.
“Chloe admires the lighter offerings,” the Dowager Lady Dancy explained somewhat unnecessarily.
This appeared to be sufficient to satisfy Lord Twisdale, for he chatted with Lady Dancy the remainder of the drive. For once in her life Chloe did not mind in the least being treated like a witless child.
Once they were safely in the house again, she waited until she thought it prudent to speak. She approached her grandmother in the gold-and-white drawing room.
“I have a great favor to ask, Grandmama. A lady told me how very educational she found the display at the Rotunda at Leicester Square. Mr. Barker has an admirable painting on view and I should like to see it. Might I take Ellen with me tomorrow afternoon—unless you have something for me to do, that is?”
Since Chloe knew her grandmama always took tea with Lady Sefton on Tuesday afternoons to discuss Society events, she thought she had a chance to be free.
“What? Educational, you say? So I have heard tell. No little friend to go with you as well?” The dowager gave Chloe an inquiring and too-searching look.
“I could invite Miss Laura Spayne along, I suppose.” Chloe hoped her good friend would be otherwise occupied.
“Do that,” the dowager commanded. “Remember, I have given you but a short time before you must accept Lord Twisdale. He is being most understanding about your missishness, my girl. It is imperative he acquire an heir and he needs a dutiful wife to accomplish that. He is convinced you will be most dutiful,” the lady concluded with a nod of her feather-bedecked head.
Chloe bowed, reminding herself that she must guard her tongue more than ever before. It would not do to anger Grandmama at this moment. She stood by the fireplace, regal and elegant, resembling a queen far more than the present one.
Taking her grandmother at her word, Chloe backed from the room, then hurried up the stairs before any change of heart could occur.
Come morning her grandmother would be busily employed scanning the newspapers to glean every shred of news and gossip to share with Lady Sefton. As long as Chloe remained out of sight, she doubted if her grandmother would think about the matter again.
It was difficult to sleep, for Chloe kept thinking about that accidental touching in the theater box. She stroked her cheek where his lips had so lightly grazed. It was nothing more than skin, she reminded herself. Skin touching skin. Yet it had such a profound effect on her. She could not allow such a fancy.
Mr. St. Aubyn was not the least like the boys at home. He had such polish, smelled deliciously of spice and costmary—not the stables—and was so considerate. He simply could not be the scoundrel his reputation proclaimed. Scoundrels did not help green girls.
With that thought in mind, she drifted off to sleep.
In the morning Ellen touched her on her shoulder with her silent greeting of the day.
Chloe recalled what was to occur this afternoon and bounded from her
Similar Books
