Royal Regard by Mariana Gabrielle Page A

witty
remark, Charlotte used a far more effective weapon, forging ahead
with her version of the prior night’s events. Bella poked her
finger with the needle when Charlotte said, “Lord Malbourne would
have cut off a limb to dance with you, and if not for your eternal
scowling and hiding yourself every time I walked away, you would
have had dozens of partners.”
    Bella took up a spare scrap of cloth to
stanch the minor bleeding. “Will you refer to him properly, as
though you have a semblance of good breeding?”
    “He has been Lord Malbourne for thirty years.
No one calls him ‘Your Grace’ outside his own servants.”
    Charlotte scowled at the errant lace that
wouldn’t lie flat on Bella’s gown and tried to tack up a wayward
strand of her hair, until Bella yanked herself away, setting the
shawl askew, cold air from the window raising gooseflesh on her
arms. If only to keep Charlotte from rummaging through her wardrobe
and giving things away to the maid, Bella let herself be drawn into
the conversation.
    Pulling her shawl tight, she admitted, “I am
quite relieved he was the only man to offer, with Myron so
ill-tempered.”
    Bella decided if she were forced to engage in
this ridiculous exchange, she would at least be comfortable doing
so. She crossed to the window to close it, then drew the heavy
velvet curtains and added a log to the fire, breathing in the scent
she remembered from her childhood. Coal required coin her father
never had, but wood from her uncle’s forest cost only her brothers’
labor and her uncle’s displeasure. She held her hands out to warm
her icy fingers, rubbing her upper arms on the way back to her
seat.
    Once settled, she added, “Never in our lives
has he refused a partner on my behalf, especially not that rudely.
Myron is never rude, certainly not to a duke.”
    “Why is it he so dislikes Lord Malbourne?
Just because he’s French?”
    While she continued trying to warm herself,
rubbing her hands against her dress, Charlotte took the opportunity
to stab a hairpin into Bella’s scalp, ignoring the yelp of pain.
The flurry of action tore another rip in the seating.
    Bella spoke only after slapping Charlotte’s
hand away and rearranging the pin.
    “I have no more information than you. As he
told us all last night, my husband believes the duke did not act
the gentleman where his late wife was concerned.”
    “Yes, but what did he do ?”
    Bella took the green thread from Charlotte’s
lap, measuring out a strand as long as her forearm, as much as she
could without untangling more, then picked up her needlework once
again.
    “I know you find it incomprehensible I don’t
discuss the latest on-dit with Myron, but he has asked me to
defer to his judgment, and I shall. We have many other concerns to
occupy our time. For instance, it will be better for everyone if I
can convince him to rusticate to the new manor house His Majesty
has provided near Bath, so Myron can take the waters, but it has
been like the trials of Sisyphus thus far. I have to assume we will
be staying here for the nonce, and even our dishes are rented. The
housekeeper seems to think it’s my fault.”
    Charlotte jabbed, “Is it not?”
    Bella glared at her, “For that, you will not
be going with me to Piccadilly while I make us presentable. You
might have noticed what furniture we have is hopelessly
moth-eaten.” She demonstrated by pulling her fingertip through
another few inches of intact upholstery, “which is the
housekeeper’s fault, while we are assigning blame. I had thought to
start this afternoon, searching through the things we’ve sent home
all these years, but shopping is a certainty.”
    “You cannot go out this afternoon.”
    Bella finally achieved the insouciant
expression she’d attempted unsuccessfully the entire night at
Almack’s.
    “Why ever not?”
    Charlotte stared, unrepentant. “You told at
least a dozen ladies you would be receiving today.”
    Bella looked across her embroidery