Read Online The Chocolate Debutante by M. C. Beaton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M. C. Beaton
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about there.
“I believe,” said Lord Dangerfield, pulling out a chair for her, “that you truly did not expect to be a success yourself.”
“Most of my partners have been quite young,” said Harriet. “They all want to call, no doubt, to get to know Susan better.”
“Can you really underrate yourself so much? Did you not notice that few of your partners solicited Miss Colville for a dance?”
“Yes, but that is because they cannot get near her. I notice you yourself have not managed to secure a dance with her.”
“I did not even try,” he said, his eyes dancing. “I prefer to admire Griselda from afar.”
“When did Griselda, your Griselda, die?”
“What on earth gave you the idea she was dead?”
“When I pointed out to you that you were pining over a dead girl, you did not correct me.”
“Ah, that is because she is dead to me.”
“But she is not dead?”
“No, she married a worthy squire and has ten children.”
“Ten!”
“It is not unusual.”
“And has all this childbearing marred her looks?”
“Sadly. She is very fat and quite weatherbeaten.”
“Why weatherbeaten?”
“She lives on the Yorkshire moors. Everyone who lives on the Yorkshire moors becomes weatherbeaten.”
“My lord, I have a sudden feeling that you are lying to me, that this Griselda is a figment of your imagination.”
He drew a small miniature out of his pocket. “Cruel Miss Tremayne! There is my Griselda.”
Harriet studied the miniature. A beautiful girl, very like Susan, and wearing a blue gown, smiled up at her.
“Why did she turn you down in favor of a mere squire?”
“Alas, I was sent to the wars with my regiment, and when I returned, she was already married.”
“And Susan reminds you of her?” asked Harriet nervously.
“To a certain extent. But my Griselda did not have Miss Colville’s amazing capacity for chocolates. But enough of my love life. What of yours?”
“Mine? My lord, I am a lady of independent means who has foresworn that side of life.”
“That I cannot believe.” His gaze fell to the whiteness of her breasts exposed by the low neckline of her gown. “That stylish gown of yours is the envy of every lady, particularly the poor debutantes who are forced to wear white.”
“Ah, but it was designed for me by the dressmaker with the help of Lady Dancer.”
“But you wear your new clothes with ease. Confess, unbend a little, you are enjoying frivolous society.”
Harriet gave a reluctant laugh. “Yes, I am.”
“And you will enjoy it even more if you eat something.”
They ate in silence for a few moments.
Then Harriet said, “I note that Sir Thomas Jeynes danced with Susan.”
“You have been listening to scandal.”
“And when we were at Hyde Park toll yesterday, was that…?”
“Miss Tremayne, I would much rather talk about us.”
“But what is there to talk about?”
He sighed sentimentally and put his hand on his heart with a theatrical gesture. “We have built up memories, you and I. There is the meal we shared at the inn, the books we read, tea in the garden in Chelsea. Do you not feel us drawing closer together?”
“My lord,” said Harriet, her color high, “I am unaccustomed to flirtation, and you are embarrassing me.”
“I am not flirting. I tell only the truth, and concentrate on me and stop peering down the table at Miss Colville. She is safe with Courtney.”
Susan had eaten a hearty meal and was enjoying a floating island pudding. But her beautiful eyes were fixed on a centerpiece. It was made of toffee, marzipan, and spun sugar. It was King Arthur’s castle, complete with the knights of the round table and Queen Guinevere. The candlelight shone on the purity of the sugar. Susan’s mouth watered. “When do they serve that?” she said, and it was as well that
“I believe,” said Lord Dangerfield, pulling out a chair for her, “that you truly did not expect to be a success yourself.”
“Most of my partners have been quite young,” said Harriet. “They all want to call, no doubt, to get to know Susan better.”
“Can you really underrate yourself so much? Did you not notice that few of your partners solicited Miss Colville for a dance?”
“Yes, but that is because they cannot get near her. I notice you yourself have not managed to secure a dance with her.”
“I did not even try,” he said, his eyes dancing. “I prefer to admire Griselda from afar.”
“When did Griselda, your Griselda, die?”
“What on earth gave you the idea she was dead?”
“When I pointed out to you that you were pining over a dead girl, you did not correct me.”
“Ah, that is because she is dead to me.”
“But she is not dead?”
“No, she married a worthy squire and has ten children.”
“Ten!”
“It is not unusual.”
“And has all this childbearing marred her looks?”
“Sadly. She is very fat and quite weatherbeaten.”
“Why weatherbeaten?”
“She lives on the Yorkshire moors. Everyone who lives on the Yorkshire moors becomes weatherbeaten.”
“My lord, I have a sudden feeling that you are lying to me, that this Griselda is a figment of your imagination.”
He drew a small miniature out of his pocket. “Cruel Miss Tremayne! There is my Griselda.”
Harriet studied the miniature. A beautiful girl, very like Susan, and wearing a blue gown, smiled up at her.
“Why did she turn you down in favor of a mere squire?”
“Alas, I was sent to the wars with my regiment, and when I returned, she was already married.”
“And Susan reminds you of her?” asked Harriet nervously.
“To a certain extent. But my Griselda did not have Miss Colville’s amazing capacity for chocolates. But enough of my love life. What of yours?”
“Mine? My lord, I am a lady of independent means who has foresworn that side of life.”
“That I cannot believe.” His gaze fell to the whiteness of her breasts exposed by the low neckline of her gown. “That stylish gown of yours is the envy of every lady, particularly the poor debutantes who are forced to wear white.”
“Ah, but it was designed for me by the dressmaker with the help of Lady Dancer.”
“But you wear your new clothes with ease. Confess, unbend a little, you are enjoying frivolous society.”
Harriet gave a reluctant laugh. “Yes, I am.”
“And you will enjoy it even more if you eat something.”
They ate in silence for a few moments.
Then Harriet said, “I note that Sir Thomas Jeynes danced with Susan.”
“You have been listening to scandal.”
“And when we were at Hyde Park toll yesterday, was that…?”
“Miss Tremayne, I would much rather talk about us.”
“But what is there to talk about?”
He sighed sentimentally and put his hand on his heart with a theatrical gesture. “We have built up memories, you and I. There is the meal we shared at the inn, the books we read, tea in the garden in Chelsea. Do you not feel us drawing closer together?”
“My lord,” said Harriet, her color high, “I am unaccustomed to flirtation, and you are embarrassing me.”
“I am not flirting. I tell only the truth, and concentrate on me and stop peering down the table at Miss Colville. She is safe with Courtney.”
Susan had eaten a hearty meal and was enjoying a floating island pudding. But her beautiful eyes were fixed on a centerpiece. It was made of toffee, marzipan, and spun sugar. It was King Arthur’s castle, complete with the knights of the round table and Queen Guinevere. The candlelight shone on the purity of the sugar. Susan’s mouth watered. “When do they serve that?” she said, and it was as well that
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