Read Online Undoing of a Lady by Nicola Cornick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicola Cornick
Ads: Link
inherited?”
“None,” Jerrold agreed.
“There’s a rich widow,” Lizzie said, nodding toward Priscilla Willoughby, whose little white hand seemed to have crept up Nat’s arm and was now resting on his lapel in a confiding gesture as she spoke in his ear. “Though she’s probably too proper to be good in bed.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jerrold said, giving Lady Willoughby a thoughtful look. “Maybe she was called Perfect Priscilla for quite another reason. That gown of hers is not designed for modesty.”
Lizzie smothered her laughter in her glass of wine. “Thank goodness you are here, Johnny,” she said. “I was blue-deviled tonight but now I can have some fun. I believe that you are just as badly behaved as I am.”
“Worse,” Jerrold said. “You are only talk, Lizzie, but I…Well, I follow through.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “What is it? What have I said?”
“Nothing,” Lizzie said hastily. She shivered, rubbing her gloved hands over her bare arms where the goose bumps showed. What was it that Nat had said to her on that secret night in the folly? That she did not have the nerve to carry through the droit de seigneur and seduce him? She had proved that false. She, with her bodice ripped apart and her skirts pulled up, spread open and wantonly giving herself to him with all the wildness that was in her nature…Oh, shehad followed through, all the way, through and through. She shuddered. “Nothing,” she said again.
Jerrold was watching her, a frown between his fair brows, and Lizzie turned away from that observant gaze and pointed rather randomly at Mary Wheeler. Tom had briefly left Mary’s side in order to cultivate her parents—clever Tom, Lizzie thought—and Mary was standing looking a little forlorn and gazing into her wineglass. “There is an heiress for you,” she said. “You would be doing her a favor if you snatched her from beneath my brother’s nose before he ruins her. See how Tom is conversing with Sir James and flattering his opinions? And how he is not neglecting to make discreet eyes at Lady Wheeler, too, so that she forgets she is a faded middle-aged woman and thinks herself beautiful again? That is all so that he may gain Mary’s money.”
“Your brother,” Jerrold agreed, an edge to his voice, “could charm almost anyone into forgetting that he is a cad and a scoundrel and a deceiver.”
“He has a talent for it,” Lizzie said. “I think he inherited his charm from our mother. She was accounted the most fascinating woman in England.”
“What happened to her?” Jerrold asked.
“She drank herself to death,” Lizzie said briefly. She did not want to think about Lady Scarlet. Whenever she did those memories of her mother’s warm arms about her were tainted by the equally strong memory of the mingled scent of perfume and strong alcohol.
“If Mary does not please you as a future bride,” she continued, “and I’ll allow she is a little dull, although her money is not, you could make up to Flora Minchin. I hear she is on the market again.”
“You have such a vulgar way of expressing yourself,” Jerrold said, smiling, “but I like you for it.”
The butler announced dinner and Lady Wheeler immediately started fussing around about who should escort whom into the dining room. “Lord Waterhouse!” Her fluting tones were shrill. Matters of precedence always made her nervous. “Should you not escort Lady Elizabeth—”
“Oh, let us not be so formal!” Lizzie interrupted brightly, grabbing Jerrold’s arm. She moved toward the doorway, leaving her hostess irresolute. “Come along, Johnny.”
“Riding roughshod,” Jerrold murmured, but he followed her all the same and Lizzie did not need to linger to see that Nat Waterhouse had offered Priscilla Willoughby his arm.
At dinner Lizzie had Jerrold on one side and George Wheeler on the other. Lizzie suspected that Priscilla had called in a favor from her cousin when it came to the table
“None,” Jerrold agreed.
“There’s a rich widow,” Lizzie said, nodding toward Priscilla Willoughby, whose little white hand seemed to have crept up Nat’s arm and was now resting on his lapel in a confiding gesture as she spoke in his ear. “Though she’s probably too proper to be good in bed.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jerrold said, giving Lady Willoughby a thoughtful look. “Maybe she was called Perfect Priscilla for quite another reason. That gown of hers is not designed for modesty.”
Lizzie smothered her laughter in her glass of wine. “Thank goodness you are here, Johnny,” she said. “I was blue-deviled tonight but now I can have some fun. I believe that you are just as badly behaved as I am.”
“Worse,” Jerrold said. “You are only talk, Lizzie, but I…Well, I follow through.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “What is it? What have I said?”
“Nothing,” Lizzie said hastily. She shivered, rubbing her gloved hands over her bare arms where the goose bumps showed. What was it that Nat had said to her on that secret night in the folly? That she did not have the nerve to carry through the droit de seigneur and seduce him? She had proved that false. She, with her bodice ripped apart and her skirts pulled up, spread open and wantonly giving herself to him with all the wildness that was in her nature…Oh, shehad followed through, all the way, through and through. She shuddered. “Nothing,” she said again.
Jerrold was watching her, a frown between his fair brows, and Lizzie turned away from that observant gaze and pointed rather randomly at Mary Wheeler. Tom had briefly left Mary’s side in order to cultivate her parents—clever Tom, Lizzie thought—and Mary was standing looking a little forlorn and gazing into her wineglass. “There is an heiress for you,” she said. “You would be doing her a favor if you snatched her from beneath my brother’s nose before he ruins her. See how Tom is conversing with Sir James and flattering his opinions? And how he is not neglecting to make discreet eyes at Lady Wheeler, too, so that she forgets she is a faded middle-aged woman and thinks herself beautiful again? That is all so that he may gain Mary’s money.”
“Your brother,” Jerrold agreed, an edge to his voice, “could charm almost anyone into forgetting that he is a cad and a scoundrel and a deceiver.”
“He has a talent for it,” Lizzie said. “I think he inherited his charm from our mother. She was accounted the most fascinating woman in England.”
“What happened to her?” Jerrold asked.
“She drank herself to death,” Lizzie said briefly. She did not want to think about Lady Scarlet. Whenever she did those memories of her mother’s warm arms about her were tainted by the equally strong memory of the mingled scent of perfume and strong alcohol.
“If Mary does not please you as a future bride,” she continued, “and I’ll allow she is a little dull, although her money is not, you could make up to Flora Minchin. I hear she is on the market again.”
“You have such a vulgar way of expressing yourself,” Jerrold said, smiling, “but I like you for it.”
The butler announced dinner and Lady Wheeler immediately started fussing around about who should escort whom into the dining room. “Lord Waterhouse!” Her fluting tones were shrill. Matters of precedence always made her nervous. “Should you not escort Lady Elizabeth—”
“Oh, let us not be so formal!” Lizzie interrupted brightly, grabbing Jerrold’s arm. She moved toward the doorway, leaving her hostess irresolute. “Come along, Johnny.”
“Riding roughshod,” Jerrold murmured, but he followed her all the same and Lizzie did not need to linger to see that Nat Waterhouse had offered Priscilla Willoughby his arm.
At dinner Lizzie had Jerrold on one side and George Wheeler on the other. Lizzie suspected that Priscilla had called in a favor from her cousin when it came to the table
Similar Books
