Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) by Regina Scott

to him. He kept
forgetting what Asheram had told him that Society in England went to bed late
and woke late. This tour had probably forced them all out of bed hours early,
with the possible exception of Miss Alexander, who looked quite presentable to
him, even if she was relegated to that somber dress. Certainly Lady Brentfield
was still asleep.
    If he was any kind of host, he’d show them something better
than the portrait gallery. But while there were a number of objects he was sure
Miss Alexander if none of the others would find more interesting, the portrait
gallery was the quickest way he could think of to rid himself of his entourage.
There was nothing more boring, in his opinion, than staring at people you
neither knew nor cared about. Even Asheram, the traitor, had refused to
accompany him, keeping himself busy with household tasks instead. However,
David was already beginning to think that he, and not the portraits, was on
display.
    “This,” he obligingly lied, pointing to the first picture,
“is my great-great grandmother, Hortense, fifth Countess of Brentfield.”
    Miss Alexander frowned, peering closer at the portrait of a
silver-haired matron in a medieval gown that pushed her chest up to an
unflattering height. As he was soon to be confirmed as the sixth earl, the
fifth countess was unlikely to be his great-great grandmother nor reside during
the Middle Ages. But if the art teacher caught him in his obvious falsehood,
she politely did not mention it. The girls gazed dutifully up at the picture.
    “She looks ill,” Ariadne ventured.
    “She died of the black plague,” David offered. Lady Emily
looked interested. Priscilla smothered a yawn.
    “And this,” he continued with a wave toward the next
gilt-framed portrait in the long sunny gallery, “is her husband, the sixth
earl.”
    “I thought he said she was the fifth countess?” Daphne
murmured to her sister. Ariadne motioned her to hush.
    Miss Alexander blinked, but still refused to comment. The
man in the portrait was easily twenty years younger than his supposed wife and
wearing the cassock of a priest.
    “He must have given up his vows for her,” Lady Emily
muttered to her friends. “They probably tortured him for it.”
    “The torture would have been in marrying her,” Daphne
answered with a shudder.
    “And now we come to the maternal side of the family,” David
went on determinedly. He nodded to a portrait on his right of a stiff-backed
military fellow with a chest full of medals. “My grandmother, Lady Alice.”
    Miss Alexander’s eyes twinkled, and she compressed her lips
tightly together as if to keep from laughing. Daphne, Ariadne, and Lady Emily
exchanged looks of bafflement. Priscilla turned as if to allow the sunlight
from the nearest window to highlight her profile.
    “Perhaps we’ve seen enough of the portrait gallery,” Miss
Alexander suggested diplomatically. “There were a number of lovely pieces we
noticed in the west wing, my lord. Perhaps we should start there instead.”
    Three of the girls perked up instantly. Priscilla was
turning back and forth as if to see if she could catch a glimpse of her reflection
in the gilt frame nearest her.
    David put on his sternest frown. “No, indeed, Miss
Alexander. Asheram tells me that it is British tradition to start in the
portrait gallery, and I am a slave to tradition.”
    “Really?” she quipped, eyebrow raised. He wanted to laugh
with her, but it would have spoiled everything.
    “Really,” he insisted. “There are at least one hundred and
eighty-three Tenants on these walls, and I will not rest until I’ve shown you
every one of them.”
    Daphne groaned, and her sister glared at her. Lady Emily
scowled. Even Priscilla rolled her eyes.
    “Of course,” he offered graciously, “if you ladies have
something else you’d rather do, I’ll understand. Didn’t you want to go riding?”
    Now they all beamed at him.
    “Riding is a grand idea, my lord,” Daphne