dedicated, certainly, men who ride with more than one master.”
“No doubt you know best, sir,” Philippa agreed cordially, gathering her skirts as she prepared to take her leave. “You must forgive me if I leave you now, but I see that the sun is nearly sitting upon yonder hill, which must mean it is time and more to be dressing for dinner. I should not like to keep anyone awaiting my presence.”
He bowed. “Yours would be a presence worth waiting for, I am certain, my lady.”
She granted him a stiff smile to show him clearly that she had no liking for such broad compliments, and turned away. But even before she reached the door leading inside, she had a strange, tingling compulsion to look back at him, perhaps even to smile more warmly or to say something civil to show that she had not really disliked his words so much. Though she attempted to ignore the compulsion, thinking that any such action must give the viscount a false notion of her feelings toward him, the need to look back grew stronger until finally, unable to resist, she turned to discover a fine view of his back and those broad, muscular shoulders. The viscount had returned to his thoughtful contemplation of the vale.
—4—
T ILLY WAS WAITING FOR HER when she reached her bedchamber, and Philippa quickly changed to the green-and-gold evening dress she had brought to wear to dinner. The gown, cut low in the bodice to show off her high, well-rounded breasts, and short in the sleeves, was trimmed with gold lace that brought out golden flecks in her dark brown eyes. The skirt, though slim and straight in the front, was gored in the back, falling away to a demitrain from the high waist.
Tilly parted Philippa’s hair neatly in the middle, then combed it smoothly into two clusters of curls above her ears. When she had finished, she stood back to await comment.
“Very nice, Tilly,” Philippa said, regarding herself approvingly in the looking glass over the dressing table.
“Ye’ll be wanting a touch of Sergis rouge, I’m thinkin’, m’lady. Ye could do with a spot o’ color in yer cheeks.”
Philippa agreed. She had been out of the sun for a good many months, and her cheeks were pale. Warning the girl to go lightly, she watched anxiously to be sure she didn’t end with two bright red spots on her cheeks. But Tilly was sparing with the stuff, and the results were acceptable. Indeed, it was difficult to tell that she had given nature any aid at all.
“I do hope the dowager doesn’t disapprove,” she said, smiling at the girl.
“That one? Not a chance, beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am. The old duchess likes a bit o’ paint ’erself. Says it livens up a dull complexion. She be gettin’ on, though, ’n that’s a fact. Some o’ the younger gennulmen as should know better calls ’er ‘Was-a-Bella.’ Me, I’d like t’ clap their ’eads t’gether, I would.”
Philippa’s smile widened. She was beginning to like Tilly. At that moment the door opened and Miss Pellerin entered.
“Oh, my dear, how splendid you look,” said that lady. “That gown becomes you wondrous well. Do get up and let me look at you.”
Philippa obeyed, turning to give the full effect. “Well, ma’am? You have seen this dress before, after all.”
“Yes, indeed, but where are your jewels, Philippa?”
“Here.” Philippa moved to open the case on the dressing table, removed a gold chain with a pendant emerald and matching earbobs. “No bracelets tonight, I think,” she said, examining the rest of the contents. “ ’Tis only a simple dinner, after all.”
Miss Pellerin nodded, then moved to help her fasten her chain. Philippa picked up her gloves, pulled them on and smoothed them at elbows and wrists, and pronounced herself ready to go downstairs.
“And what of Jessalyn? Do we call for her?”
“We do not,” Philippa said firmly. “If she goes supper-less to bed, it will be no more than she deserves.”
“Mercy me, then you have spoken with her.
“No doubt you know best, sir,” Philippa agreed cordially, gathering her skirts as she prepared to take her leave. “You must forgive me if I leave you now, but I see that the sun is nearly sitting upon yonder hill, which must mean it is time and more to be dressing for dinner. I should not like to keep anyone awaiting my presence.”
He bowed. “Yours would be a presence worth waiting for, I am certain, my lady.”
She granted him a stiff smile to show him clearly that she had no liking for such broad compliments, and turned away. But even before she reached the door leading inside, she had a strange, tingling compulsion to look back at him, perhaps even to smile more warmly or to say something civil to show that she had not really disliked his words so much. Though she attempted to ignore the compulsion, thinking that any such action must give the viscount a false notion of her feelings toward him, the need to look back grew stronger until finally, unable to resist, she turned to discover a fine view of his back and those broad, muscular shoulders. The viscount had returned to his thoughtful contemplation of the vale.
—4—
T ILLY WAS WAITING FOR HER when she reached her bedchamber, and Philippa quickly changed to the green-and-gold evening dress she had brought to wear to dinner. The gown, cut low in the bodice to show off her high, well-rounded breasts, and short in the sleeves, was trimmed with gold lace that brought out golden flecks in her dark brown eyes. The skirt, though slim and straight in the front, was gored in the back, falling away to a demitrain from the high waist.
Tilly parted Philippa’s hair neatly in the middle, then combed it smoothly into two clusters of curls above her ears. When she had finished, she stood back to await comment.
“Very nice, Tilly,” Philippa said, regarding herself approvingly in the looking glass over the dressing table.
“Ye’ll be wanting a touch of Sergis rouge, I’m thinkin’, m’lady. Ye could do with a spot o’ color in yer cheeks.”
Philippa agreed. She had been out of the sun for a good many months, and her cheeks were pale. Warning the girl to go lightly, she watched anxiously to be sure she didn’t end with two bright red spots on her cheeks. But Tilly was sparing with the stuff, and the results were acceptable. Indeed, it was difficult to tell that she had given nature any aid at all.
“I do hope the dowager doesn’t disapprove,” she said, smiling at the girl.
“That one? Not a chance, beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am. The old duchess likes a bit o’ paint ’erself. Says it livens up a dull complexion. She be gettin’ on, though, ’n that’s a fact. Some o’ the younger gennulmen as should know better calls ’er ‘Was-a-Bella.’ Me, I’d like t’ clap their ’eads t’gether, I would.”
Philippa’s smile widened. She was beginning to like Tilly. At that moment the door opened and Miss Pellerin entered.
“Oh, my dear, how splendid you look,” said that lady. “That gown becomes you wondrous well. Do get up and let me look at you.”
Philippa obeyed, turning to give the full effect. “Well, ma’am? You have seen this dress before, after all.”
“Yes, indeed, but where are your jewels, Philippa?”
“Here.” Philippa moved to open the case on the dressing table, removed a gold chain with a pendant emerald and matching earbobs. “No bracelets tonight, I think,” she said, examining the rest of the contents. “ ’Tis only a simple dinner, after all.”
Miss Pellerin nodded, then moved to help her fasten her chain. Philippa picked up her gloves, pulled them on and smoothed them at elbows and wrists, and pronounced herself ready to go downstairs.
“And what of Jessalyn? Do we call for her?”
“We do not,” Philippa said firmly. “If she goes supper-less to bed, it will be no more than she deserves.”
“Mercy me, then you have spoken with her.
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