Cynthia with her own
disgrace, and her cousin, whose dull life in the country had ill-prepared her for tales of midnight muggings
and curricle races, listened in rapt fascination, horrified to learn that Cary had been attacked. "But, surely,
it was an accident?" she said nervously.
"Accident! "Juliet's color rose, and her eyes snapped
dangerously. "He was attacked from behind and
beaten mercilessly."
"Oh," said Cynthia, anxious to calm her fiery cousin. "I did not mean an accident, of course. But a mistake.
Could it have been a mistake?"
"A mistake?" Juliet scoffed. "They knew exactly
what they were about. They were sent to do their
work. Lord Swale paid them to make sure Cary could
not drive his chestnuts in the race."
"Lord Swale!" Cynthia shivered, picturing a tall,
dark, foreign-looking nobleman with a streak of silver
in his hair and perhaps, a monocle, if not an eyepatch.
"Even his name is sinister."
"I expect if we were to look him up in the Peerage,
we would find that he is descended of a demon, like
the Plantagenets," said Juliet.
"Shall we look him up then?" suggested Cynthia.
Juliet shrugged but expressed a slight curiosity in
knowing who the mother of the monster might be.
"A brewer's daughter, I should think," she said nastily. "The Duke is so refined."
"You said in your letter he wore more powder and
paint than Her Majesty," Cynthia objected.
"Well, yes, dear," replied Juliet. "But he is quite
old, you know. It must have been the fashion of his
youth. At least his Grace does not try to look like a
young man. That would be absurd!"
They reached the cottage of the invalid and completed their errand. Cynthia did not forget about the
Peerage, and when they returned home, she smuggled
it out of her father's study and up to Juliet's room.
"The family seat is at Auckland," Juliet said helpfully.
"Auckland Palace. From all his Grace told me, it is very
grand. There is an Amber drawing room and a room
set aside for his Grace's porcelain collection. The
Auckland Collection must make your father's china
cabinets look ridiculous."
"Is he handsome?" asked Cynthia, searching the
pages of the thick volume.
"His Grace?"Juliet shrugged. "I expect he was so in
his youth. His manners are very pleasing. He was
kind, but without that insufferable air of condescension which so many gentlemen of rank assume when
they are meeting little nobodies like Miss Wayborn."
Cynthia glanced up, her eyes round with fear. "If
Miss Wayborn is nobody, I expect I shall be nothingif
I go to London next Season! I wish Horatio would not
think of putting up so much money on my account.
I am certain to fail. Besides-"
"Are you to go to London next Season?" cried
Juliet. With a pang, she realized that she had very
likely forfeited her own chances for another London
Season, but she suppressed her feelings. "Oh, Cynthia,
that is famous! It will bring Benedict up to scratch, I
daresay," she added with a laugh. "He will not like to
see you dancing with the handsome young gentlemen
of Almack's!"
Two bright spots of red appeared in Cynthia's cheeks.
"Almack's! Sir Benedict! Pray, don't be so absurd." She
bent her fair head over the book and quickly changed
the subject. "When I asked if he were handsome, I
really meant Lord Swale, you know."
Juliet snorted. "He has horrid red hair and a snub
nose," she said scornfully. "You would not believe his
sideburns-they actually appear to be burning. He
looked rather like a stableboy, I thought. A stableboy
with nettlerash," she added contemptuously, recalling Swale's blotchy face as he jumped from his curricle, cursing furiously at her. "A big, hulking brute
with no refinement," she concluded.
Cynthia frowned. She had never been to London,
and she thought it must be filled with nothing but the most delightful ladies and gentlemen. She knew perfectly well what a marquess should look like. Even the
most sinister marquess should be tall, elegant, and
disgrace, and her cousin, whose dull life in the country had ill-prepared her for tales of midnight muggings
and curricle races, listened in rapt fascination, horrified to learn that Cary had been attacked. "But, surely,
it was an accident?" she said nervously.
"Accident! "Juliet's color rose, and her eyes snapped
dangerously. "He was attacked from behind and
beaten mercilessly."
"Oh," said Cynthia, anxious to calm her fiery cousin. "I did not mean an accident, of course. But a mistake.
Could it have been a mistake?"
"A mistake?" Juliet scoffed. "They knew exactly
what they were about. They were sent to do their
work. Lord Swale paid them to make sure Cary could
not drive his chestnuts in the race."
"Lord Swale!" Cynthia shivered, picturing a tall,
dark, foreign-looking nobleman with a streak of silver
in his hair and perhaps, a monocle, if not an eyepatch.
"Even his name is sinister."
"I expect if we were to look him up in the Peerage,
we would find that he is descended of a demon, like
the Plantagenets," said Juliet.
"Shall we look him up then?" suggested Cynthia.
Juliet shrugged but expressed a slight curiosity in
knowing who the mother of the monster might be.
"A brewer's daughter, I should think," she said nastily. "The Duke is so refined."
"You said in your letter he wore more powder and
paint than Her Majesty," Cynthia objected.
"Well, yes, dear," replied Juliet. "But he is quite
old, you know. It must have been the fashion of his
youth. At least his Grace does not try to look like a
young man. That would be absurd!"
They reached the cottage of the invalid and completed their errand. Cynthia did not forget about the
Peerage, and when they returned home, she smuggled
it out of her father's study and up to Juliet's room.
"The family seat is at Auckland," Juliet said helpfully.
"Auckland Palace. From all his Grace told me, it is very
grand. There is an Amber drawing room and a room
set aside for his Grace's porcelain collection. The
Auckland Collection must make your father's china
cabinets look ridiculous."
"Is he handsome?" asked Cynthia, searching the
pages of the thick volume.
"His Grace?"Juliet shrugged. "I expect he was so in
his youth. His manners are very pleasing. He was
kind, but without that insufferable air of condescension which so many gentlemen of rank assume when
they are meeting little nobodies like Miss Wayborn."
Cynthia glanced up, her eyes round with fear. "If
Miss Wayborn is nobody, I expect I shall be nothingif
I go to London next Season! I wish Horatio would not
think of putting up so much money on my account.
I am certain to fail. Besides-"
"Are you to go to London next Season?" cried
Juliet. With a pang, she realized that she had very
likely forfeited her own chances for another London
Season, but she suppressed her feelings. "Oh, Cynthia,
that is famous! It will bring Benedict up to scratch, I
daresay," she added with a laugh. "He will not like to
see you dancing with the handsome young gentlemen
of Almack's!"
Two bright spots of red appeared in Cynthia's cheeks.
"Almack's! Sir Benedict! Pray, don't be so absurd." She
bent her fair head over the book and quickly changed
the subject. "When I asked if he were handsome, I
really meant Lord Swale, you know."
Juliet snorted. "He has horrid red hair and a snub
nose," she said scornfully. "You would not believe his
sideburns-they actually appear to be burning. He
looked rather like a stableboy, I thought. A stableboy
with nettlerash," she added contemptuously, recalling Swale's blotchy face as he jumped from his curricle, cursing furiously at her. "A big, hulking brute
with no refinement," she concluded.
Cynthia frowned. She had never been to London,
and she thought it must be filled with nothing but the most delightful ladies and gentlemen. She knew perfectly well what a marquess should look like. Even the
most sinister marquess should be tall, elegant, and
Similar Books
