Formidable Lord Quentin Read Online Free PDF Page B

asked in dismay. “An earl of Wexford who cannot
ride?”
    Looking a little surprised that Bell stuck to the topic,
Tess bit her lip and nodded. She clung to the soft white muslin and lace she’d
chosen for Beebee. “Horses are expensive to keep,” she explained. “We had no
land and no stable.”
    At the age of six, Kit couldn’t even ride a pony? That would
not do at all. Bell didn’t know how she would rectify the omission, however.
She hadn’t touched a horse since she’d left Ireland. She didn’t want to touch a horse, she reminded
herself. The wound had healed. She refused to reopen it. But she knew her duty.
    “That must be corrected at once,” Bell said, hoping she hid
her frown. Just because she would never ride again did not mean the children
shouldn’t. Turning back to the modiste, she gestured at the broadcloth. “Habits
for both of them. Can you recommend a good tailor for boys?”
    She jotted down the names but knew she must consult with
Quent or his friends about suitable clothing for a young boy. She had no
familiarity with male accoutrement. Fashionable Nick Atherton would have been
an ideal adviser. He wouldn’t harbor ulterior motives like Quent. And with four
sisters, he was accustomed to shopping. But he and Nora were still on their
wedding journey aboard Nick’s ship.
    She would think of someone besides Quent to ask.
    When Jocelyn Montague sent up her card a little while later,
Bell smiled in relief at the solution. Blake Montague, her husband, worked with
the Duke of Fortham. He knew everyone. “Bring her up at once and fetch some
tea, please,” she told the maid. “Syd, clear some room on the sofa, will you?
If you are to take the town by storm, you will need sponsors, and Mrs. Montague
is one of the best.”
    Moments later, statuesque Jocelyn Montague swept into the
sitting room in all her golden glory. Bell watched in amusement as her sisters
gaped. Jo flung off her gold-embroidered pelisse to reveal a stunning blue
Grecian gown that flattered her generous figure. The lady sailed her feathered
hat to a table, set her hands on her curvaceous hips, and studied Bell’s
guests.
    “All these years and you’ve been holding out on me, my lady!
I should turn around and stomp back out in utter outrage at the insult. You
have sisters! Why did you never say so?”
    Amused at this performance, Bell gestured for her stunned
sisters to rise. “Mrs. Blake Montague, may I present Mrs. Jeremy Dawson and
Lady Sydony Boyle, daughters of the late earl of Wexford. Girls, Mrs. Montague
is the wife of a rising politician and related to Viscount Carrington.”
    Both girls bobbed polite curtsies. Jocelyn tapped a gloved
finger to her cheek, nodded approvingly, and took the seat cleared for her.
“Raise them like peas in a pod in Ireland, do you? They’ll be as stunning as
you, once you have them coiffed and gowned. Where have you been hiding them?”
    Bell hid a smile at Jo’s bluntness. Her former protégée
might be young, but she wore authority with the ease of a duchess born and bred.
    “It’s a long story,” Bell said with a tilt of her head,
indicating the hovering modiste. “We’ll explain later. Madam Evangeline, if
you’ll leave the samples and start on the walking dresses, we’ll call on you
again to complete the order.”
    Dismissed, the modiste and her assistant hastily gathered
their supplies. Pretending to pick up around Bell’s chair, Syd whispered, “Lady
Sydony? I am a lady?”
    “Of course you are, silly. As is Tess. But I assumed she
preferred her husband’s title. It is her choice. Women wield so little power,
we must take advantage where we can.”
    “Women are the power behind the throne,” Jo said solemnly,
stripping off her gloves. “Blake and I will be holding a small dinner party in
a few days, just a few of his boring officials and their wives. If the three of
you would be so kind as to attend, you’ll liven the dull summer, and we’ll gain
an advantage over