Read Online Regency Masquerade by Joan Smith - Free Book Online Page A

dance this evening? You will come. Say you will.”
    “I shall be here. If you are sober, then you may have a dance.”
    “Not a drop of wine will pass these lips until we meet again. Your obedient servant, milady.”
    He performed a sweeping bow and headed straight to the small room, where he ordered a glass of ale, assuring himself that ale was not wine, and a man had to have a drink from time to time if he was not to die of thirst.
    When Moira and Jonathon were alone, she said, “Word of Lady Crieff’s fortune has got about somehow. I wonder if the whole is known. Hang about belowstairs after breakfast and see what you can discover.”
    As Jonathon would not be available to escort her for a walk that morning, Moira was in no hurry to leave the Great Room. After breakfast, she went to the settee to have a glance at some magazines placed on the table for the guests’ convenience. She noticed that although Mr. Hartly was in the room, he had not come rushing forward like the others. Perhaps he had not learned how rich Lady Crieff was.
    As he had not so much as bowed in her direction, she assumed their drive was off. Her first sense of shame soon turned to anger. He was the one who had behaved so wretchedly! Why should she feel embarrassed? No matter—she had her own carriage if she wished to go out.
    She began reading an article about the repressive measures Parliament was instituting since the attempt on the Prince Regent’s life in January. Caught up in it, she did not notice when Mr. Hartly finished his breakfast and walked toward her.
    “Lady Crieff,” he said, with a civil bow. “As you see, my prayers were answered. The Lord is merciful, even to a sinner. The sun is shining.”
    “Is it?” she asked, peering to the yew-shrouded windows. “It is difficult to tell from inside. Oh! You mean you wish to go driving after all. I was not sure after last night....”
    Her cheeks felt warm at the memory of that catastrophic encounter. Her only consolation was that Mr. Hartly was also ill at ease. He was not quite blushing, but his manner revealed constraint.
    “The less said about last night, the better, except to proffer my apologies. Unlike Mr. Ponsonby, I do not have the excuse of drunkenness. If you wish to cry off, I understand. If, on the other hand, you can find it in your kindness to forgive me, I promise there will be no repetition of my behavior on that other occasion.”
    Moira had now established a good contact with Lionel March and had no real need of Hartly. Even if those two were involved in some business, Stanby was still interested in her. She could afford to be stiff with Hartly. Yet she did not wish to alienate him either. Of the three gentlemen at the inn, he was the only one in whom she felt any personal interest.
    He tilted his head to one side and ventured a small smile. “Every dog has his bite,” he reminded her. “You forgave Ponsonby. We have all been eavesdropping shamelessly. Come now, you must not reward drunkenness and be severe on sobriety. The days are long and tedious here. Why enliven them with a grudge, when they can be more pleasantly passed with an outing—suitably accompanied by Sir David.”
    She smiled reluctantly. “You are right. And to set the seal on my propriety, I shall ask you to come with me this afternoon to pay a call on my cousin, Lady Marchbank.” If he balked at that, then he was up to no good.
    “I should enjoy meeting her. One hears Cove House is a remarkable piece of architecture.”
    “An old Gothic heap, my cousin calls it.”
    “Just so.” He sat down beside her. “Gothic heaps are all the fashion again, since Walpole built his little place on Strawberry Hill.”
    “I have not heard about this place,” she said. “It sounds an unlikely spot for a Gothic house. Strawberries have no menace.”
    “The worst they portend is a duke.” She frowned at this seeming irrelevancy. “They are used on the door of a ducal carriage,” he added. Odd a lady