The Chocolate Debutante by M. C. Beaton Page A

half waves back, but looked at her with condemnation in their eyes.
     
    “So you do know them,” commented the earl.
     
    “Yes, they are dear friends of mine.”
     
    “Indeed! And do all your dear friends look at you as if you had just risen from hell and smelled of brimstone?”
     
    Harriet gave a reluctant laugh. “I fear they find me much changed.”
     
    “In what way?”
     
    “They fear I am become sadly frivolous.”
     
    “I cannot think of anyone less frivolous, Miss Tremayne. Who exactly were those ladies?”
     
    “A Miss Barncastle and a Miss Carrington. Before the advent of Susan, I would visit with them and similar… similar…”
     
    “Spinsters?”
     
    “Yes, but we would discuss books and articles and the rights of women.”
     
    “But they must realize that such intellectual visits are put aside when one has a young female to launch upon the Season.”
     
    “I think it is my changed appearance that offends them. They fear I am become sadly fashionable.”
     
    “Ah, they are jealous.”
     
    “But why? They are all independently wealthy. They can all afford the best of clothes and jewels.”
     
    “They cannot buy your appearance, Miss Tremayne, or your grace of figure, your fine eyes, or your mouth.”
     
    “You put me to the blush,” said Harriet severely. She tried to tell herself that such compliments were all part of social intercourse and never to be taken seriously, but she felt a warm glow start somewhere inside her. London seemed like a magic city. Sunshine gilded the roofs and buildings. The striped blinds over the windows of the houses fluttered in the wind.
     
    “Where are we going?” she asked.
     
    “There is a tea garden in Chelsea by the river. Have you been there?”
     
    “No, I hardly ever venture as far as Chelsea.”
     
    “Your friends would approve.” His eyes mocked her. “No one frivolous or fashionable goes there, but the setting is pretty and it is not often that one gets a day as fine or as warm at this time of the year.”
     
    The garden was as pretty as he had described it, with tables set out on the grass under the trees and with a fine view of the river.
     
    “So what will you do, Miss Tremayne, when Miss Colville is safely off your hands? Is she an orphan?”
     
    “No, you have forgotten. When you met me I was on my way to my sister’s to collect Susan.”
     
    “And why cannot the fond mama bring her out?”
     
    “My sister does not enjoy the best of health and I gather the Season can be very fatiguing.”
     
    “So what will you do when it ends?”
     
    “Return gratefully to my quiet life.”
     
    “And your grim friends?”
     
    “They are not grim!”
     
    “True friends support one in all that one does, Miss Tremayne. In my humble opinion, had they been true friends, then they would have been helping you in your quest for a suitable husband for Miss Colville, not standing in Piccadilly, glaring at you.”
     
    “You do not understand!”
     
    “No, and I hope I never do. I know Lady Dancer. You mentioned her as being a friend of yours. Now, she appears all that is amiable.”
     
    “Yes, she is very kind and has given up a great deal of her time to help me.”
     
    “Perhaps you will make new friends. Have you considered that you yourself might marry?”
     
    “I think we have discussed me enough. What about you, my lord? Are you really interested in marrying Susan?”
     
    He looked at her in surprise. “Did I say so?”
     
    “Oh, yes, that is the reason for this drive. You wish to ingratiate yourself with me so that your suit will be welcome.”
     
    For a brief moment his eyes flashed with anger and she looked back at him, puzzled. Then his face cleared and he laughed. “I have never yet met a woman with less vanity than you, Miss Tremayne. Now, I, I have my modicum of vanity. When I was a boy, I used to pray that I would wake up one morning with hair as black as your own. Red hair is so