she can’t even get in our front door, and they should be shot as trespassers. But then Mama says, ‘What a thing to say!’ and Lady Worth says, ‘It would certainly make the papers,’ but she says it like making the papers is a
good
thing.” Amanda paused long enough to ring for tea, frown quickly, and then smile again. “But maybe it is a good thing, because Bridget has
never
been mentioned, and I don’t think she likes it. But enough about all that. I want to hear about you! You’re so tan—were you in the West Indies? The East Indies?” She practically tore his arm off, she clutched him so tightly in her excitement. “Did you meet with any pirates?!”
Before Jack could answer—or even realize that Amanda had stopped her monologue and begun asking questions—a commotion could be heard in the hall they had just vacated for the comfort of the drawing room.
It was the sound of a half-dozen lovesick swains making their unhappiness known as feminine voices uttered sweet regrets … followed by a quick slam of the door.
“I’m telling you, that particular problem would be well solved with a short pistol,” an acidic young lady’s voice pierced the drawing room door.
“Oh, Bridget, it’s sweet,” came another voice, this one lighter, more relaxed.
“Besides, Viscount Threshing is out there. Terribly bad form to shoot a viscount.” Yet another female voice, this one soft, but authoritative.
“Well, I cannot help but be glad that the afternoon is over—driving in the park is meant to be relaxing!” This voice he knew, Jack thought with a smile. It was undeniably Lady Forrester’s. He and Amanda made a move to the door, edging it open wider, to peer out into the hall.
There, he was met with the sight of four colorful peacocks, doffing hats and gloves and spencers and handing packages to a number of mute ladies’ maids, in a mad whirl of movement and color that blinded the unseen audience to little else.
But as the layers were shed, and four ladies emerged, their conversation did not stop, and Jack found his eye drawn automatically to the form of the golden-blond one in a pale yellow ensemble, but with the slightest shimmer. The color of a clear winter morning’s sun.
She was stunning, elegant … but even given her dress’s hue, cool. Frighteningly so, as if the world were on her string and she hadn’t decided yet whether or not to cut it.
“That’s Lady Worth,” Amanda whispered in his ear. “But Sarah gets to call her Phillippa, they are
such
good friends. Even Mother takes her cue from Lady Worth. Everyone says she’s the queen of society, but I don’t think an actual queen would like to hear them say that.”
Ah, that must mean that the grumbling brunette in green was Bridget (indeed, he would have recognized Bridget’s freckles anywhere—as he did her dark curls, which matched Amanda’s lighter ones), and the tall blonde in the smart violet was Sarah.
“If you’re not going to shoot them,” Bridget sneered, “why not invite them in? Or are you too disappointed that the Comte is not among them?”
Even though they stood in full view at the drawing room door, they had yet to be noticed. The women were too invested in their own conversation. It allowed Jack the opportunity to observe his fill.
He paid particular attention to the one in violet. Her face had turned out very angular, and she was quite polished. Funny, he never thought of Sarah as city polished. He thought of Sarah as twelve, hanging upside down from a tree, trying not to fall and yet retain her dignity.
Stranger, this Sarah didn’t seem to be suffering from an extreme disappointment. Stranger still, she was the only one who did not remove her spencer and hat—in fact, she waved the footman away when he came to take them from her.
Surely he would have contemplated further—surely he would have figured it out … but at that moment, the lady in yellow turned and Jack saw her full face.
And he lost his
good
thing.” Amanda paused long enough to ring for tea, frown quickly, and then smile again. “But maybe it is a good thing, because Bridget has
never
been mentioned, and I don’t think she likes it. But enough about all that. I want to hear about you! You’re so tan—were you in the West Indies? The East Indies?” She practically tore his arm off, she clutched him so tightly in her excitement. “Did you meet with any pirates?!”
Before Jack could answer—or even realize that Amanda had stopped her monologue and begun asking questions—a commotion could be heard in the hall they had just vacated for the comfort of the drawing room.
It was the sound of a half-dozen lovesick swains making their unhappiness known as feminine voices uttered sweet regrets … followed by a quick slam of the door.
“I’m telling you, that particular problem would be well solved with a short pistol,” an acidic young lady’s voice pierced the drawing room door.
“Oh, Bridget, it’s sweet,” came another voice, this one lighter, more relaxed.
“Besides, Viscount Threshing is out there. Terribly bad form to shoot a viscount.” Yet another female voice, this one soft, but authoritative.
“Well, I cannot help but be glad that the afternoon is over—driving in the park is meant to be relaxing!” This voice he knew, Jack thought with a smile. It was undeniably Lady Forrester’s. He and Amanda made a move to the door, edging it open wider, to peer out into the hall.
There, he was met with the sight of four colorful peacocks, doffing hats and gloves and spencers and handing packages to a number of mute ladies’ maids, in a mad whirl of movement and color that blinded the unseen audience to little else.
But as the layers were shed, and four ladies emerged, their conversation did not stop, and Jack found his eye drawn automatically to the form of the golden-blond one in a pale yellow ensemble, but with the slightest shimmer. The color of a clear winter morning’s sun.
She was stunning, elegant … but even given her dress’s hue, cool. Frighteningly so, as if the world were on her string and she hadn’t decided yet whether or not to cut it.
“That’s Lady Worth,” Amanda whispered in his ear. “But Sarah gets to call her Phillippa, they are
such
good friends. Even Mother takes her cue from Lady Worth. Everyone says she’s the queen of society, but I don’t think an actual queen would like to hear them say that.”
Ah, that must mean that the grumbling brunette in green was Bridget (indeed, he would have recognized Bridget’s freckles anywhere—as he did her dark curls, which matched Amanda’s lighter ones), and the tall blonde in the smart violet was Sarah.
“If you’re not going to shoot them,” Bridget sneered, “why not invite them in? Or are you too disappointed that the Comte is not among them?”
Even though they stood in full view at the drawing room door, they had yet to be noticed. The women were too invested in their own conversation. It allowed Jack the opportunity to observe his fill.
He paid particular attention to the one in violet. Her face had turned out very angular, and she was quite polished. Funny, he never thought of Sarah as city polished. He thought of Sarah as twelve, hanging upside down from a tree, trying not to fall and yet retain her dignity.
Stranger, this Sarah didn’t seem to be suffering from an extreme disappointment. Stranger still, she was the only one who did not remove her spencer and hat—in fact, she waved the footman away when he came to take them from her.
Surely he would have contemplated further—surely he would have figured it out … but at that moment, the lady in yellow turned and Jack saw her full face.
And he lost his
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