direct contradiction to the current fashion for décolletage. Her powdered locks were dressed with purple ostrich plumes which, combined with the lady’s already impressive height, were guaranteed to block the view of anyone unfortunate enough to be seated behind her.
“Lady Hawthorne,” said Olivia, making her curtsy to this vision. “You look quite splendid. I trust you rested well this afternoon?”
“Quite well, thank you. Come and give me a kiss, my child.”
Obediently, Olivia touched her lips to the dowager’s cheek. The dutiful peck acted upon her with all the force of an electric shock. A strange sensation, entirely new and yet somehow familiar, washed over her, leaving her unnerved and shaken. Olivia would have searched Lady Hawthorne’s face for any sign that the older woman was aware of the current which had seemed to pass between them, but at that moment Lord Mannerly was announced, and the moment was lost.
Olivia hastily composed herself as the marquess made his bow to Georgina, who was looking exceptionally fine in a gown of willow green satin. Upon seeing Olivia, Lord Mannerly lost interest in the flame-haired charmer and crossed the hall to seize Olivia’s hands in a warm grasp.
“Ah, Miss Darby! You are in such glowing looks tonight that I can only suppose your betrothed intends to honor us with his presence.”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Olivia replied, hoping her disappointment could not be heard in her voice. “He has already made plans.”
“My grandson has no great love for the stage,” put in the dowager firmly.
Lord Mannerly’s black brows rose in mild surprise. “Has he not? But I have seen him at Covent Garden on numerous occasions. Or can it be that Sir Harry is not a lover of drama, but of the fair Violetta?”
“Who is Violetta?” asked Olivia, all at sea.
“An actress, Miss Darby. She is generally held to be a great beauty, and her comedic talent often draws comparisons to Mrs. Jordan in her younger days.”
“Oh,” said Olivia, wishing she had not asked.
“And now, since we are all here,” said Lord Mannerly, noting with satisfaction that Miss Darby had lost some of her sparkle, “may I suggest we go? I should prefer to arrive ahead of the crush.”
Finding the ladies in agreement, Lord Mannerly bid farewell to Mrs. Darby, promising to return her charges before the hour was too far advanced, then turned to offer his arm to Lady Hawthorne, the highest ranking lady among his guests. This scene almost proved too much for Georgina, who was hard pressed to stifle a giggle at the sight of her brother accepting the escort of the dashing marquess. What, she wondered, would be Lord Mannerly’s reaction if he discovered that the lady on his arm was no lady at all, but a man—a man whom, if her brother were to be believed, the marquess hated? Lord Mannerly did not strike her as a gentleman with a lively sense of humor. He would no doubt be livid at being made a laughingstock. Georgina could well imagine the marquess in a towering rage, and in the end, it was nothing less than her fear of Sir Harry’s exposure and subsequent humiliation which compelled Miss Hawthorne to keep her countenance.
Once outside, Lord Mannerly handed the person he believed to be the dowager Lady Hawthorne into the elegant crested carriage waiting beside the curb. Sir Harry, in the meantime, had discovered there were certain advantages to his masquerade, as when he had demanded—and received—a kiss of Miss Darby. Quick to press his advantage, he took his place on the upholstered seat and, when Olivia was handed up behind him, reached out to take her hand.
“Come and sit beside me, my dear,” he urged, patting the seat beside him.
Since Miss Darby was too well-bred to deny this request, Sir Harry was rewarded with her company for the length of the drive, while Lord Mannerly had to content himself with Georgina in the seat opposite.
Upon reaching the theater, Lord Mannerly
“Lady Hawthorne,” said Olivia, making her curtsy to this vision. “You look quite splendid. I trust you rested well this afternoon?”
“Quite well, thank you. Come and give me a kiss, my child.”
Obediently, Olivia touched her lips to the dowager’s cheek. The dutiful peck acted upon her with all the force of an electric shock. A strange sensation, entirely new and yet somehow familiar, washed over her, leaving her unnerved and shaken. Olivia would have searched Lady Hawthorne’s face for any sign that the older woman was aware of the current which had seemed to pass between them, but at that moment Lord Mannerly was announced, and the moment was lost.
Olivia hastily composed herself as the marquess made his bow to Georgina, who was looking exceptionally fine in a gown of willow green satin. Upon seeing Olivia, Lord Mannerly lost interest in the flame-haired charmer and crossed the hall to seize Olivia’s hands in a warm grasp.
“Ah, Miss Darby! You are in such glowing looks tonight that I can only suppose your betrothed intends to honor us with his presence.”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Olivia replied, hoping her disappointment could not be heard in her voice. “He has already made plans.”
“My grandson has no great love for the stage,” put in the dowager firmly.
Lord Mannerly’s black brows rose in mild surprise. “Has he not? But I have seen him at Covent Garden on numerous occasions. Or can it be that Sir Harry is not a lover of drama, but of the fair Violetta?”
“Who is Violetta?” asked Olivia, all at sea.
“An actress, Miss Darby. She is generally held to be a great beauty, and her comedic talent often draws comparisons to Mrs. Jordan in her younger days.”
“Oh,” said Olivia, wishing she had not asked.
“And now, since we are all here,” said Lord Mannerly, noting with satisfaction that Miss Darby had lost some of her sparkle, “may I suggest we go? I should prefer to arrive ahead of the crush.”
Finding the ladies in agreement, Lord Mannerly bid farewell to Mrs. Darby, promising to return her charges before the hour was too far advanced, then turned to offer his arm to Lady Hawthorne, the highest ranking lady among his guests. This scene almost proved too much for Georgina, who was hard pressed to stifle a giggle at the sight of her brother accepting the escort of the dashing marquess. What, she wondered, would be Lord Mannerly’s reaction if he discovered that the lady on his arm was no lady at all, but a man—a man whom, if her brother were to be believed, the marquess hated? Lord Mannerly did not strike her as a gentleman with a lively sense of humor. He would no doubt be livid at being made a laughingstock. Georgina could well imagine the marquess in a towering rage, and in the end, it was nothing less than her fear of Sir Harry’s exposure and subsequent humiliation which compelled Miss Hawthorne to keep her countenance.
Once outside, Lord Mannerly handed the person he believed to be the dowager Lady Hawthorne into the elegant crested carriage waiting beside the curb. Sir Harry, in the meantime, had discovered there were certain advantages to his masquerade, as when he had demanded—and received—a kiss of Miss Darby. Quick to press his advantage, he took his place on the upholstered seat and, when Olivia was handed up behind him, reached out to take her hand.
“Come and sit beside me, my dear,” he urged, patting the seat beside him.
Since Miss Darby was too well-bred to deny this request, Sir Harry was rewarded with her company for the length of the drive, while Lord Mannerly had to content himself with Georgina in the seat opposite.
Upon reaching the theater, Lord Mannerly
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