for knocking you down, and will not do so again.”
Tess gazed down upon the dog who indeed looked quite penitent, tongue lolling, black eyes raised to her mournfully, and who furthermore threatened to trip her with every ill-considered bound. Then she looked at Evelyn’s hopeful face. “Then he is forgiven.” She smiled. “Nidget must come along.”
The Countess of Lansbury might be in excellent spirits, having met two delightful gentlemen in the space of two short days, but her abigail was less ebullient. Sadly, Delphine considered the implications of the scene she’d just witnessed; and even more sadly she listened to her mistress’s lively, and very knowledgeable, remarks concerning Chateaubriand. Delphine knew, as Tess so obviously did not, that hired companions read not French literature but romantic novels or tomes to improve the mind; she was perfectly aware that the duke’s partisanship was nigh unprecedented and for purposes unthinkable; and she further realized that his defense of her had made for Tess a formidable enemy. The abigail’s misgivings worsened as the duke showed Tess into what had to be the choicest guest chamber, which had certainly been reserved for Clio. The countess gave voice to her enchanting laughter. Delphine frowned so terribly that her eyebrows met her nose.
Chapter 5
Mistress Clio, despite a sleepless night passed in contemplation of the ceiling—hearts and darts set in longitudinal compartments—of her candlelit bedchamber, was in tearing spirits. Whistling in a most unladylike and tuneless manner through her teeth, she performed her ablutions at a washstand covered with gilt arabesques, the marble basin inlaid with silver fish, then moved to inspect herself at the painted and gilt dressing table with a mosaic top. Quite nice she looked, she thought, in her round gown of lawn with its long sash. The dowager duchess would find no cause for criticism.
Gaily, Clio tripped out into the hallway and made her way to the breakfast room. The Duchess of Bellamy had, on first meeting, been overwhelmingly formidable, but Clio was not of a temperament that long sustained awe. Furthermore, Clio had evolved during those long sleepless hours a Plan.
Rather to her surprise, for it was still an early hour, several of her newly discovered relatives were already in the breakfast room, a chamber in which there was a great deal of rococo gilt furniture and yellow damask. Clio suspected that the room might be rather vulgar in its opulence, but no hint of this showed on her charming little face as she made a pretty curtsy to Sapphira, seated near the head of the table. The dowager examined her from head to foot, and did not seem displeased. “Good morning!” cried Clio enthusiastically. “Oh, isn’t it a lovely day?”
Various members of the family might be rendered slightly nauseous by such ingenuousness, but Sapphira thought it fitting. “Come here, girl,” she said, with such marked approval that Constant and Drusilla exchanged a pregnant glance. Lucille merely applied herself with determination to her eggs. “Sit there, across from me.”
Clio cast a wicked little smile at the footman who held her chair. He blushed. She seated herself, content. An hour that gained Clio no masculine appreciation was like a day without sunlight.
“Hah!” Sapphira gulped a dish of chocolate. “So you wish to enter Society, miss? You’ll find it very tedious! Dinners and balls are given by the older generation to entertain royalty and statesmen and politicians. Young people are merely allowed to attend.”
“It doesn’t sound dull to me,” Clio replied serenely. She’d already taken this old woman’s measure: Sapphira thrived on conflict. “Balls and concerts, routs and promenades! It will be beyond anything.”
“Humph!” Sapphira was disappointed; she had expected the girl to be entirely crushed by her vague threat. “Prodigiously like your mother—not but what I consider my
Tess gazed down upon the dog who indeed looked quite penitent, tongue lolling, black eyes raised to her mournfully, and who furthermore threatened to trip her with every ill-considered bound. Then she looked at Evelyn’s hopeful face. “Then he is forgiven.” She smiled. “Nidget must come along.”
The Countess of Lansbury might be in excellent spirits, having met two delightful gentlemen in the space of two short days, but her abigail was less ebullient. Sadly, Delphine considered the implications of the scene she’d just witnessed; and even more sadly she listened to her mistress’s lively, and very knowledgeable, remarks concerning Chateaubriand. Delphine knew, as Tess so obviously did not, that hired companions read not French literature but romantic novels or tomes to improve the mind; she was perfectly aware that the duke’s partisanship was nigh unprecedented and for purposes unthinkable; and she further realized that his defense of her had made for Tess a formidable enemy. The abigail’s misgivings worsened as the duke showed Tess into what had to be the choicest guest chamber, which had certainly been reserved for Clio. The countess gave voice to her enchanting laughter. Delphine frowned so terribly that her eyebrows met her nose.
Chapter 5
Mistress Clio, despite a sleepless night passed in contemplation of the ceiling—hearts and darts set in longitudinal compartments—of her candlelit bedchamber, was in tearing spirits. Whistling in a most unladylike and tuneless manner through her teeth, she performed her ablutions at a washstand covered with gilt arabesques, the marble basin inlaid with silver fish, then moved to inspect herself at the painted and gilt dressing table with a mosaic top. Quite nice she looked, she thought, in her round gown of lawn with its long sash. The dowager duchess would find no cause for criticism.
Gaily, Clio tripped out into the hallway and made her way to the breakfast room. The Duchess of Bellamy had, on first meeting, been overwhelmingly formidable, but Clio was not of a temperament that long sustained awe. Furthermore, Clio had evolved during those long sleepless hours a Plan.
Rather to her surprise, for it was still an early hour, several of her newly discovered relatives were already in the breakfast room, a chamber in which there was a great deal of rococo gilt furniture and yellow damask. Clio suspected that the room might be rather vulgar in its opulence, but no hint of this showed on her charming little face as she made a pretty curtsy to Sapphira, seated near the head of the table. The dowager examined her from head to foot, and did not seem displeased. “Good morning!” cried Clio enthusiastically. “Oh, isn’t it a lovely day?”
Various members of the family might be rendered slightly nauseous by such ingenuousness, but Sapphira thought it fitting. “Come here, girl,” she said, with such marked approval that Constant and Drusilla exchanged a pregnant glance. Lucille merely applied herself with determination to her eggs. “Sit there, across from me.”
Clio cast a wicked little smile at the footman who held her chair. He blushed. She seated herself, content. An hour that gained Clio no masculine appreciation was like a day without sunlight.
“Hah!” Sapphira gulped a dish of chocolate. “So you wish to enter Society, miss? You’ll find it very tedious! Dinners and balls are given by the older generation to entertain royalty and statesmen and politicians. Young people are merely allowed to attend.”
“It doesn’t sound dull to me,” Clio replied serenely. She’d already taken this old woman’s measure: Sapphira thrived on conflict. “Balls and concerts, routs and promenades! It will be beyond anything.”
“Humph!” Sapphira was disappointed; she had expected the girl to be entirely crushed by her vague threat. “Prodigiously like your mother—not but what I consider my
Similar Books
