Miss Pymbroke's Rules Read Online Free PDF Page B

you, no less to move in bag and baggage. Surely a respectable family would be more desirable tenants.” Mr. Sedgewick’s complexion had taken on a purplish hue, and he produced a handkerchief with which to mop his damp brow.
    Though Verity’s feelings on the matter ran in perfect harmony with Mr. Sedgewick’s, she felt her temper rise. If he was so appalled by the plan, why not suggest an alternative? Why not offer her marriage?
    None of these ruminations showed on her ivory countenance. Patiently, she explained, “As I have told you, his lordship is related to Lady Iris. It was my duty to aid him. He is the victim of a fire, after all, and one must be charitable.”
    “A ... a victim?” Mr. Sedgewick blustered. Then, his tone changed to one suitable for addressing a small child. “Miss Pymbroke, you are too good, too virtuous to realize that Lord Carrisworth’s misfortune is the result of his own folly. The fire occurred during one of his parties, one of his sinful parties. It was in the Times this morning,” he concluded with relish.
    Verity’s mind reeled from this latest proof of his lordship’s rakish ways. “Oh! How very like one such as he, I imagine. But I fear there is naught I can do at this point save keep my distance from the marquess as much as possible. And that you may be sure I shall do, Mr. Sedgewick.”
    Though he tsk-tsked loud and long, Mr. Sedgewick seemed appeased by this statement. The remainder of their time together was spent going over the pamphlets he’d had printed for her special cause, and the two parted much in charity with each other.
    After the distressing events of the morning, Verity perceived she would have to lie down upon her bed for an hour, so she might revive her spirits enough to undertake the task she had set for herself later that afternoon in Drury Lane. But after some fifteen frustrating minutes had passed, spent tossing and turning while the Marquess of Carrisworth’s handsome features remained imprinted behind her closed eyes, Verity rang for a cold luncheon and prepared for her outing.
                       *  *  *  *
    Lounging at his ease backstage at Drury Lane’s Theatre Royal, Lord Carrisworth, restored to his usual elegance in Weston’s finest blue superfine, allowed his former mistress, Roxanna Hollings, to massage his temples.
    He had come to the theater to visit Monique and Dominique and interrupted a rehearsal. The stage manager had grudgingly allowed the company a respite, especially as it wouldn’t do for him to antagonize a member of the nobility when he was trying to establish his newly rebuilt theater against the heavy competition of Covent Garden.
    The twins had chattered away at Carrisworth until called by their dresser. As if on cue, Roxanna had swept to his side, her raven hair hanging loose to her waist.
    The marquess was not suffering from the headache. But Roxanna, after hearing of the fire, had exclaimed he must be and offered one of her massages. As he was never one to turn away pleasure, Carrisworth let her perform her ministrations.
    Rather than standing behind his chair for this benevolent service, Roxanna leaned forward in front of the marquess so he might enjoy a perfect view of her luscious breasts, which rose tantalizingly from the bodice of a revealing crimson-colored gown.
    “How does this feel, my darling Perry?” Roxanna cooed.
    “Mmm ... wonderful. You always have been artful with your hands,” he replied with a grin.
    Roxanna lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “Perhaps you are chastising yourself for casting me aside in favor of those two French trollops. I shall not hold it against you, my love. It was a mere whim on your part to shock and scandalize Society. Now that those print shop caricatures are all over Town, your purpose is served, and we may be comfortable again. Why not come to my
    house tonight after the performance? I have obtained some new scented oils....”
    The marquess fixed his