Ice Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

for which situation he felt not one pang of regret since it allowed him to spend more time upon his wardrobe and visit whichever physician was enjoying his patronage.
    His mode of dress, which he himself thought of as the height of fashion, was generally regarded by the ton as dandyish; most young men arriving in London considered Lord Bramwell and Mr Isherwood, with their more reserved but elegant sartorial style, the mode to copy. However, Sir Seymour was oblivious to other people’s opinions on this matter and was rich enough to indulge whatever tastes he and his tailor thought appropriate. These were many and varied as that wily purveyor was always ready to suggest a new way to relieve Sir Seymour of his money. This evening Sir Seymour was attired in the normal evening dress of long tailed coat and satin knee-breeches, but he had added his trademark extravagant accessories. He was resplendent in a yellow and white spotted waistcoat, black shoes with silver buckles and sported a huge nosegay in his coat. Fobs and seals adorned his waist and highly starched collar points meant that he could only turn his head with difficulty. His hair had been carefully brushed à la Brutus, while his cravat was astonishing in its intricacy: it had taken an hour and several discarded neckcloths for Sir Seymour and his valet to achieve the desired Waterfall arrangement, embellished with a sparkling diamond pin. This picture of magnificence now stood discussing the merits of hot milk possets with his hostess.
    ‘… Indeed, Lady Pargeter, the excellent Doctor Hammond said that the benefits for a delicate constitution of taking a posset before retiring outweigh port or Madeira. It is apparently more beneficial to the digestion and, having endured a disturbed night following a glass of port at White’s yesterday evening, I can vouch for the truth of this. Hammond also advised me that adding a drop of laudanum to the posset will ensure a restful sleep, and do no harm—’ Sir Seymour halted mid-sentence, staring while he groped absently for his quizzing glass. ‘Pray tell me, who is that exquisite young woman?’ he asked faintly.
    Lady Pargeter followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Ah, that is Lady Vane; her aunt, Mrs Harriet Forster, is to her left. Isabella Vane is a beautiful creature, is she not, Sir Seymour? All of London is curious about her, but she seems disinclined to reveal any personal details. Indeed, society has already given Lady Vane the title of the Ice Angel because of her marked reserve.’
    ‘Is she married?’ queried Sir Seymour bluntly, still studying Isabella through his glass.
    ‘Why, no. I understand that she has been a widow for over a year now and recently arrived in London with her aunt, who is also a widow. Apart from this, no one knows anything about her.’
    Sir Seymour gave an audible sigh. ‘For a moment I thought I had fallen asleep here, in this very room, and awakened in the presence of Aphrodite or Helen of Troy. Never before have I seen such a ravishing lady!’ he admitted in an awed whisper. ‘Lady Pargeter, will you please introduce me at once.’
    His hostess, surprised by his sudden distraction with Lady Vane, did as she was bid. Once the formal introductions had been completed, Lady Pargeter moved away to greet some late arrivals and Sir Seymour sat down with care next to Isabella, straightening his waistcoat afterwards in case it had become creased during this manoeuvre.
    Isabella was then subjected to blatant but admiring scrutiny from Sir Seymour while Harriet raised her brows at her niece in amusement. Sir Seymour, meanwhile, chatted easily, confining his conversation to general topics; he had no intention of being intrusive in his questioning from the outset and thereby upsetting the young woman before him.
    ‘Do you intend to stay long in town, Lady Vane?’ he asked eventually.
    ‘Our plans are not yet fixed; we shall remain here for some weeks at least,’ she replied.
    ‘It will