Read Online The Sins of Lady Dacey by Marion Chesney - Free Book Online Page B

him gently to the waiting carriage. “As Miss Goodham firmly pointed out, they will be too busy. And that, my friend, is your fault. You cannot go around courting vicars’ wives.”
    “I will not be so obvious again.” Mr. Delaney struck his heart, to the amusement of two tall footmen passing by. “I shall be devious and circumspect and hide my passion!”
    “Do that. But do not involve me in the plot. Despite my wicked reputation, I have never seduced a respectable female in my life.”
    No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he wondered what it would be like to make love to someone as pure and innocent as Honoria.
    He assured himself it would be a bore, got Mr. Delaney into the carriage, and drove off.
    * * * *
    Alas, for Mr. Delaney. Pamela's recently dormant conscience came back in full strength. She refused to see him and would only go out in the carriage with Honoria after the servants had been out to check that he was not lurking anywhere in the square.
    But London, although thin of company, was already beginning to buzz about the wicked duke and the unknown innocent. The duke's reputation might shock in the country, but in the heady atmosphere of London, ambitious mamas were prepared to forget it to secure a title and a fortune for their daughters. Eyebrows were raised when the spies finally reported that the young lady was a Miss Honoria Goodham, her chaperon was a Mrs. Perryworth, and that Miss Goodham was the niece of the outrageous Lady Dacey. Speculation was rife. To get close to the duke was surely possible by befriending these ladies. Mr. Delaney, questioned about the pair, was singularly uncommunicative, not wanting to talk about his love and casually dismissing Honoria as “some chit of an heiress.”
    Now the mothers of marriageable sons came alive. An heiress! Miss Goodham did not go anywhere socially, but maids reported to mistresses that the best of dressmakers, mantua makers, milliners, and hairdressers had been flocking to the mansion in Hanover Square. Honoria's status as heiress was therefore confirmed.
    A few cards began to arrive, and then more and then more.
    “We should accept,” said Pamela as they went through them.
    Honoria primmed her lips in disapproval. “If we start to go about in society, you will no doubt encounter Mr. Delaney, and that will not do.”
    Pamela felt a sudden wave of fury. Honoria had gone on like a stern guardian since the outing to the pantomime. She had read sermons aloud. In fact, the book of sermons was lying open on the table beside her, no doubt in preparation for another moral reading.
    “If we do not go about,” Pamela said severely, “then the Season will be upon us. If you return unwed, then no doubt your parents will offer you again to Mr. Pomfret, a fate I am beginning to think you thoroughly deserve.”
    “Pamela!”
    “It is my life,” said Pamela, striking her breast. “Mine! I am weary of being lectured to and moralized over. Here!” She stood up, picked up the book of sermons, ran to the window, opened it, and threw the book out into the square.
    “There!” she said, swinging round, her face flushed. “I am now going to Hatchard's in Piccadilly and I am going to buy one of the latest novels, so there! I have never been allowed to read fiction, and I am going to start now.”
    When Pamela had swept out of the room, Honoria sat down heavily, nursing a feeling of dread, which she persuaded herself was fear for Pamela's welfare rather than any trepidation at the thought of meeting the wicked duke again.
    It was Pamela who selected their first invitation, to a ball at Lord and Lady Buchan's. Lady Buchan, a correct Scottish matron, had called to pay her respects. There was nothing about her to alarm Honoria, who did not take into consideration that Lady Buchan had two unwed sons in their early twenties.
    “I sometimes fear we have been over-extravagant,” ventured Honoria, looking at their new gowns.
    “Nonsense,” said Pamela