No Place For a Lady

‘And we slew her nicely,’ Bree murmured. ‘Now, time to do the pretty to everyone else.’

Lady Sophia was pale, beautiful in a way that had Piers gazing with dropped jaw until Bree dug him in the ribs and painfully correct. ‘Miss Mallory, Mr Mallory. I am so pleased to meet you.’

‘And we are delighted to meet you,’ Bree rejoined warmly, meaning it. Surely this lovely creature would make James more human? ‘I wish you every happiness.’

Freed from the principals, they were still faced with a formidable line. The Duke, the Duchess, Viscount Lansdowne, all waited to be greeted. Bree liked Sophia’s brother on sight. He was languid, elegantly handsome and had a twinkle in his green eyes that had her dimpling back. It occurred to her, with startling suddenness, that he was exactly the sort of man she had believed was her model of excellence. Until she had met one large domineering gentleman with brown eyes, a stubborn jaw and strong, gentle hands.

‘Run the gauntlet, Miss Mallory?’ the viscount enquired softly.

‘I am afraid the family skeletons were not up to scratch, my lord,’ she rejoined demurely, wondering what possessed her to be so bold. ‘We scarcely rattled at all.’

‘Good. Grandmama deserves the occasional set-down. Will you save me a dance, Miss Mallory?’

‘I would be delighted, my lord.’

‘You are going it!’ Piers observed as they emerged, with some relief, from the end of the receiving line. ‘Dancing with a viscount, indeed.’

‘Why not?’ Bree demanded. ‘I have been having driving demonstrations from an earl, after all.’ She glanced around the big reception room. ‘You should go and find yourself a pretty heiress to flirt with.’

Piers, predictably, went pink to his hairline, but strolled off, heading for a group of young men around the fireplace at one end of the long room.

For an unchaperoned single woman, things were more awkward. She assumed a confident smile and drifted towards a group of gossiping young matrons.

Her silken skirts swished reassuringly as she moved, reminding her that, in this department at least, she had nothing to fear. Sea-foam green silk trimmed with tiny gilt acorns and fine gilt ribbon clung in elegant simplicity. Her hair, braided and curled by a master, was dressed into a style where the intricacies of plait and twist were all the ornament it needed, and, to complete her air of confidence, Mama’s thin gold chains and aquamarine ear bobs provided a refined hint of luxury.

Bree rarely had the opportunity, or wish, to dress up, but when she did, she found a totally feminine delight in it. In fact, after the events of a few days ago, shedding every trace of the booted, overcoat-clad stagecoach driver was a pleasure to be revelled in.

As she came up to the group, a young woman stepped back, squarely on Bree’s foot. ‘I am so sorry! How wretchedly careless of me. Are you all right?’

She was black haired, lovely and vivacious and her wide, apologetic smile had Bree smiling back, despite her sore toes. Then she realised who this lady must be: the likeness was unmistakeable. ‘Excuse me, but are you related to Lady Sophia?’

‘But, yes, she is my baby sister, and Avery is my big brother.’ Her new friend linked a hand confidingly through Bree’s elbow. ‘I am Georgy—Lady Georgiana Lucas, if you want to be stuffy. So now you’ll have met all of us except Augustus and Maria, and they are still in the schoolroom.’

Slightly dazed by the flow of information, Bree allowed herself to be steered to a sofa. ‘I couldn’t bear another minute of Henrietta Ford’s account of her last confinement,’ Lady Lucas continued. ‘It’s bad enough having babies oneself, without someone going through all the details endlessly, don’t you think?’

Georgy stopped, her head on one side, waiting for a response. ‘I’m not married,’ Bree explained. ‘So people don’t talk about that sort of thing in front of me.’

‘Aren’t you? Good heavens! You look married.’ Bree must have appeared puzzled, for Lady Georgiana went off in a peel of laughter. ‘You know—confident, poised. Not at all like someone just out.’

‘Well, I’m an old maid, so that accounts for it.’

That provoked more mirth. ‘I don’t believe you—and I’ll wager next month’s allowance that Avery has already asked you for a dance. He always asks the prettiest girls. I just wish he’d marry one. Would you like to marry him? He’s very nice and badly in need of a wife to make him settle down.’

‘He seems charming, but I am quite ineligible for such a match.’ Despite the shocking frankness of Lady Georgiana’s conversation, Bree couldn’t help liking her. Whatever did she make of dear James?

‘Why?’ Georgy demanded.

‘My father was a farmer. My brother and uncle own a stagecoach company,’ Bree confessed.

‘Oh!’ Georgy laughed delightedly. ‘I know who you are—you are the black sheep!’

‘I believe so. I am Bree Mallory, and that’s my brother over there, the tall blond youth on the right of the fireplace. I think, to be accurate, we are the skeletons in James’s cupboard. Our mother married the second time for love, you see.’

‘Then you will be my sister-in-law. We will be the greatest friends. What fun I will have matchmaking,’ Georgy announced. ‘Admittedly, a country squire and a stagecoach company is just a teensiest bit of a handicap if you want an eldest son at the very top end of the aristocracy, but I’m sure I can find you a nice baron, or the second son of a viscount. In fact, I’ve got just the man in mind. Are you poor? I hope you don’t mind my asking, only that does make a difference.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Bree said frankly, half-fascinated, half-appalled by this frankness. ‘I’m very comfortably off, I’m happy to say.’ And she was. She had money in her own right from her parents, Piers and Uncle George insisted she take a fair share of the company profits and she managed her money with care. A top-flight coiffeur and a fashionable evening ensemble had not caused her a moment’s financial worry. ‘But I am not—truly—in search of a husband. I’m not at all sure I could give up my independence now.’

‘It will have to be a love match then. I do not despair.’ Georgy got to her feet in a flurry of amber silk. ‘Come along and meet people.’

Bree worried that Georgy would make the most embarrassing introductions, but she flitted amongst the growing crowd, talking to everyone, introducing Bree with a cry of, ‘You must meet my new sister-in-law to be! Isn’t she lovely?’ Everyone seemed friendly, no one drew aside their skirts in horror at meeting Farleigh’s embarrassing relative and she began to enjoy herself.

‘And this is Mr Brice Latymer.’ Georgy halted in front of a saturnine gentleman of average height and exquisite tailoring.

Latymer, the man from the inn yard, the man who was racing Max’s cousin that night. Did he see me? Bree could feel the blood leaving her cheeks and forced a smile to match his.

‘Miss Mallory, I am delighted. And I understand I have the pleasure of taking you in to dinner.’ He was very suave, his eyes on her appreciative, without being in any way offensive. Bree felt herself relax. Of course he did not recognise her. He made her an immaculate bow. ‘I shall seek you out again when dinner is announced, Miss Mallory. I look forward to it.’

‘Phew, he is so smooth,’ Georgy remarked once they were out of earshot. ‘Really good company, and he makes an excellent escort, but I wouldn’t waste time with him, Bree, dear. Not quite enough money.’ She steered them firmly towards the fireplace. ‘Now, introduce me to your handsome brother.’

‘Miss Mallory?’ It was Mr Latymer again, this time offering his arm to escort her in. She let him lead her, enjoying the sensation, just for once, of being comprehensively looked after. It would pall after a time, she knew, but it was quite fun, once in a while, to be treated like a fragile being.

The Duke took the head of the table and the party began to settle themselves. Just as the footman tucked the chair under Bree’s knees there was a slight flurry as another couple arrived opposite. Beside her she felt Mr Latymer stiffen and glanced across to see what had caught his attention.

There, staring right back at her, was Max Dysart, arrested in the act of sitting. The earl looked blankly at her, and she realised, with an inward tremor of mischief, that he couldn’t decide whether she really was the woman he had rescued in the inn yard.

It was unthinkable to speak across the table. Wickedly, Bree gave not the slightest hint of recognition. Doubt flickered in his eyes and there was a frown line between his dark brows. Bree fussed a little with her napkin, and turned her head sideways, allowing Lord Penrith—should he still be looking—the picture of upswept hair, elegant jewellery and the line of a white throat.

Then it occurred to her that, amusing as it might be to tease his lordship, he was now almost certain to approach her after dinner in an attempt to decide whether his eyes were deceiving him or not. And, if he said the wrong thing in this crowded assembly, she could find herself in a very difficult position indeed.

‘Penrith’s taking an inordinate amount of interest in this side of the table,’ Mr Latymer observed, directing a hard look back. ‘Are you acquainted with him?’

‘Lord Penrith?’ Bree laughed, hoping it was not as shrill as it sounded inside her head. ‘Good heavens, no!’ Now she had done it. Damn, damn…I should have thought, said I had some slight acquaintance. Now if he seems at all familiar Mr Latymer may assume the worst.

Bree Mallory. It has to be her. But how can it be? ‘Miss Robinson, allow me.’ Max handed his dinner partner the napkin that had slipped from her grasp.

The slender brunette at his side batted sweeping lashes and gazed at him admiringly as she prattled on.

Max smiled and nodded and murmured agreement with her inanities. And Avery promised me a nice girl as a partner! Like the one opposite. Just what has Brice Latymer done to deserve her? It has to be Bree….

Surely there was no mistaking that glorious wheaten-gold hair, the weight of it caught up into a masterpiece of the coiffeur’s art? And surely there was no mistaking that generous, lush mouth or those eyes, the colour of bluebells in a beech wood? A blue you could drown in.

But the elegant society lady across the table looked back at him without a glimmer of recognition. And besides, what would practical businesswoman Miss Mallory in her breeches and boots have to do with this gorgeous creature?

He realised he was staring as he caught Latymer’s sharp green eyes glancing in his direction. Time enough to solve the mystery, Max decided, turning to show an interest in Miss Robinson’s intensely tedious recital of her feelings upon being invited to this event. There was a sense of anticipation flowing through his veins, like the feeling before hounds draw first cover on a crisp autumn morning—it would more than support him for the duration of this meal.

As the covers were removed after the first course Max took the opportunity to scan the couple opposite. The blond woman reached out her right hand to pick up her wine glass. She misjudged the distance and the back of her wrist knocked against the heavy cut-glass flagon of drinking water. Max saw, more than heard, her sharp intake of breath. Small white teeth caught on the fullness of her lower lip and she closed her eyes briefly before lifting the wine glass.

That clinched it—hair, eyes, mouth might all be some amazing chance likeness, but all that and a painfully injured right wrist, that was beyond coincidence.

He caught her eye and mouthed Bree? For a moment he thought she might continue to cut him, then a twinkle of mischief lit her eyes and she nodded slightly before raising one gloved finger to her lips in a fleeting warning.

How the Devil did she get in here? Max jerked his attention back to the young lady on his left who, unfortunately, showed no sign of wanting to prattle mindlessly, unlike Miss Robinson. He was going to have to exert himself to entertain this one, when all he wanted to do was speculate wildly about Bree’s presence under the Dowager Duchess of Matchingham’s roof. Admittedly, it was the current Duke’s roof, but no one, let alone that nobleman, believed he had any chance of ruling it while the Dowager lived.

He offered peas to the young lady, agreed that the latest gossip about the Prince Regent was too intriguing for words and asked her opinion of the latest exhibition at the Royal Academy.

That at least gave him a chance to think about Bree. How had she obtained the entrée into such a gathering? And where, for goodness’ sake, had she obtained a gown that was the work of a top-flight modiste?

The meal dragged on interminably, the passage of time doing nothing but build the tension in his nerves and the disconcerting feeling of arousal in his loins. How could he have guessed that the enchantingly different girl in her man’s clothing was the possessor of an elegant neck, of white, sloping shoulders and the most deliciously rounded bosom? The gown she was wearing was apparently designed to make the very best of all these features and, unlike the very young ladies in their first Season, she had dispensed with the froth of tulle or lace that disguised them. If he had wanted her before, now the need was painful.

The ladies, called together by the Duchess rising, began to file out amidst a scraping of chairs. At the door Bree glanced back over her shoulder. Their eyes met. Was he imagining things or had she motioned with her head towards the terrace?

Chapter Six

Max waited a moment. Several guests rose and made their way out. He joined them, making his way out through the long windows on to the terrace that ran the full width of the gardens. At intervals steps went down to the lawns and at the far end there was a charming summerhouse.

Max strolled along. Where is she? Had he misunderstood? Then he glimpsed a flutter of pale draperies behind one of the pillars of the summerhouse. ‘Bree?’

‘In here, my lord. Thank you for coming. I could only hope you would understand my meaning. How is your shoulder?’ Some light reached them from the house where every room blazed with illumination, but it was not intense and he moved close to study her face. Her voice was a touch breathless, but otherwise she was remarkably composed for a young lady in such a compromising position.

‘A little sore, but healing well, thank you. I did not expect to find you at such a party. I was having trouble believing my eyes.’

‘I was shocked to see you too, although why I cannot imagine—I am sure you must go to endless smart parties. I was being mischievous, I am afraid, teasing you by pretending I was not myself. Then Mr Latymer asked me if I knew you. I should have said yes, in an indifferent way, and he would have thought nothing of it. Then I realised I risked all sorts of embarrassments if you greeted me later. I will warn Piers not to react if he meets you.’

Max took her by the elbow and steered her to the front of the summerhouse where its arcade overlooked the silent gardens. Bree perched on the balustrade and leant her back on a pillar.

‘Your brother is here too?’ How had both the Mallorys inveigled their way in?

‘Of course—you do not know who we are. Viscount Farleigh is our half-brother. Our mama married twice. She was the daughter of Lord Grendon, so we have dozens of Grendon cousins—most of them are here tonight. Then, when James’s father died unexpectedly, she married again, for love. It was very romantic—her horse bolted and Papa jumped a five-bar gate on his hunter and galloped after her and snatched her from the saddle. Mama used to say he snatched her heart and never gave it back.

‘As you can guess, there was the most frightful row. Mama was only just out of mourning and, although Papa was perfectly respectable and owned land, some of the family had drifted downstream socially. The cousin who was a highwayman was almost an insuperable obstacle, but fortunately—in the opinion of the old viscount—he was hanged just before the wedding, poor man. His grandfather insisted on bringing James up, so we are not at all close.’

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