The Marquess and Miss Davies by Amy Lake Page A

“I’m delighted the daffodils are still with us.”
    “Umm,” said his passenger.
    “Hyde Park may be a bit rough at the edges—”
    Miss Davies forbore comment. Hyde Park was a park , bloodless and tame, albeit somewhat quieter than the streets. And she liked daffodils well enough, but could not, at present moment, see a single bloom. What was the man talking about?
    “—but I’m sure you will agree that—”
    Did Lord Leighton ever ride in the park?
    A few moments later Mr Torvald stopped speaking and looked at her expectantly. Carys realized that her mind had been wandering, and that he must have asked some question. She had no idea what.
    “I also find Richmond Park an enjoyable ride,” she said, hoping this made sense. “The fallow deer are quite beautiful there.”
    She saw the shock on his face, poorly masked.
    “Richmond—! But my dear, ‘tis nearly rustication!”
    She thought this an odd comment for someone whose interests centered around a type of orchid difficult to find outside of the wild meadows and grasslands of southern England.
    “I’ve particularly enjoyed seeing them in the winter.” Meaning the deer. Mr Torvald was unimpressed.
    “From a considerable distance, I would hope,” he said, smiling genially.
    “Ah. Yes, of course.”
    The conversation soon turned from the London parks to town society. Mr Torvald seemed quite interested in what she knew of the lords and ladies of the ton , and Carys supposed that she could understand that curiosity, but ‘twas far from her favorite subject. “I believe they are quite the same as everyone else,” she told him finally, “except with better clothing.”
    Mr Torvald raised his eyebrows at this frank appraisal.
    I must watch every word, every word, Isa, not a single syllable left unparsed for hidden meaning—
    The Marquess of Clare was too much to hope for, but even Lord Brabury would have been an improvement to present company, thought Carys. His poetry was really not bad at all, and she was entirely relaxed in his presence. Just a sennight ago they had a spirited conversation about John Dryden, occasioned by her comment that she did not like his Annus Mirabilis , which Tobias found unbelievable, making attempt after attempt to convince her of its worth.
    “A full stop after every quatrain! ‘Tis exhausting!” argued Carys.
    On that point Lord Brabury was forced to agree. “But—”
    Mr Torvald was still talking.
     

Chapter 13: The Interest of Such a Man
     
    The Duke of Lincolnshire’s ballroom was an enormous place, and already full to bursting.
    “I wonder,” said Isolde.
    “What?”
    “No matter when we arrive at a ball, the room is always full. Does anyone ever arrive first?”
    “Someone must,” said Carys.
    “One would think.”
    The fashionable colours that season tended toward the soft and the pastel, although there were always a few ladies who chose differently, encouraging the impression that they were independent-minded and rather bold. The twins had recently seen Lady Cheveley in a flame-red silk, but Lady Cheveley was a widow with no need of blunt, and a law unto herself.
    “Do you suppose men become bored, dressing always the same?” said Isolde.
    “I should think it a relief,” replied Carys.
    The Misses Davies were soon joined by a small group of young ladies. These were primarily friends of Isolde, but they were all happy to include Carys in their number, especially as the twins, together, inevitably attracted the attention of a fair number of young gentlemen. The talk turned to the ongoing saga of Alice Montvale’s engagement to Peter Wilmott. All agreed that ‘twas a complete muddle, and something really ought to be done.
    “They’ve been engaged forever . And the wedding is supposed to occur a fortnight from tomorrow!” said Samantha Godfrey.
    “Lord Peter is said to be nearly living at White’s.”
    “I wonder,” whispered Cicely Vale, “if she is frightened of ... the marriage