my stay in London.”
She was grateful to the young man for that—otherwise, she would have had to lease a town house she could ill afford on the tiny settlement Philip had left her. Mr. Byrne cast her a searching glance. “But the man’s generosity is temporary, no doubt. Once the season begins, the new marquess will be looking for a wife to go along with his title. He won’t want his sister-in-law and her staff hanging round.”
His perception startled her. “True. I suppose I’ll lease a cottage somewhere until Papa returns from France.”
“Ah, yes, General Lyon,” he remarked. “Still hunting the stray supporters of Napoleon, I suppose.”
She nodded, a lump filling her throat. She wasn’t really surewhere Papa was at the moment. That was the trouble. The army was cleaning up after the war, and Papa was difficult to reach. “But as soon as he returns, I’m sure he’ll retire to the country somewhere, and I’ll go with him.”
“You prefer country to town?” Lady Draker asked.
She preferred not playing a marchioness, and no one would let her dispense with that in town. “I’m more comfortable in the country, yes,” she hedged.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Lady Iversley smiled. “I certainly understand that. If not for our friends here, my husband and I would probably never leave Edenmore.”
My husband and I.As pain sliced through Christabel, she forced a smile. She and Philip had once been of a single mind, too. But he’d changed after leaving the army. He’d started inventing reasons for racing off to town. She’d been too relieved at not having to go with him to realize he was going off to gamble and drink. And apparently visit a mistress.
She’d thought he was happy with her. How could she have been so naïve?
“If you haven’t been to town in a while, you probably haven’t seen Week’s Mechanical Museum,” Lady Draker put in. “Marcus and I are leaving town for a few days later in the week, but we could take you there tomorrow—”
“Out of the question,” Mr. Byrne interrupted. “Lady Haversham and I are going for a drive tomorrow, aren’t we, lass?” When she blinked at him, he added, “And you said you’d be ordering new gowns in the morning, too.”
Yes, fashionable gowns. The sort his mistress might wear. “Of course.” She pasted a smile on her face for Lady Draker. “I’ll be busy tomorrow. I’m so sorry.”
Lady Draker glanced from Christabel to Mr. Byrne, her eyes narrowing. “No need to apologize. But if you change your mind—”
“She won’t,” Mr. Byrne put in.
The steel in his tone made Lady Draker stiffen. She glanced pointedly at the clock, then cast Mr. Byrne a smooth smile. “I believe it’s time for the gentlemen to have their port and cigars.” She rose with a polished grace that Christabel envied. “Come, ladies, let’s retire to the drawing room and leave the men to their fun.”
When Christabel hesitated, unsure how she’d fit in with these two ladies she barely knew, Mr. Byrne leaned over to whisper, “Don’t worry—you’ll be fine. Didn’t you say your pistol is in the drawing room?”
Casting him a glare, she left with the other ladies. But as she followed them up the stairs, her stomach began to roil. How would she ever complete her mission successfully when the mere idea of making polite conversation with the elegant Lady Draker and the well-spoken Lady Iversley made her sick with apprehension?
It would be far worse at Lord Stokely’s estate. She could easily guess the sort of female who would be there: sophisticated ladies of rank who could effortlessly entertain twenty people at dinner, then dress themselves in the height of fashion to meet their lovers in the boudoir the next morning. Christabel didn’t evenhave a boudoir, unless you could count her modest dressing room littered with her failed attempts at needlework and souvenirs from her travels. And although
She was grateful to the young man for that—otherwise, she would have had to lease a town house she could ill afford on the tiny settlement Philip had left her. Mr. Byrne cast her a searching glance. “But the man’s generosity is temporary, no doubt. Once the season begins, the new marquess will be looking for a wife to go along with his title. He won’t want his sister-in-law and her staff hanging round.”
His perception startled her. “True. I suppose I’ll lease a cottage somewhere until Papa returns from France.”
“Ah, yes, General Lyon,” he remarked. “Still hunting the stray supporters of Napoleon, I suppose.”
She nodded, a lump filling her throat. She wasn’t really surewhere Papa was at the moment. That was the trouble. The army was cleaning up after the war, and Papa was difficult to reach. “But as soon as he returns, I’m sure he’ll retire to the country somewhere, and I’ll go with him.”
“You prefer country to town?” Lady Draker asked.
She preferred not playing a marchioness, and no one would let her dispense with that in town. “I’m more comfortable in the country, yes,” she hedged.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Lady Iversley smiled. “I certainly understand that. If not for our friends here, my husband and I would probably never leave Edenmore.”
My husband and I.As pain sliced through Christabel, she forced a smile. She and Philip had once been of a single mind, too. But he’d changed after leaving the army. He’d started inventing reasons for racing off to town. She’d been too relieved at not having to go with him to realize he was going off to gamble and drink. And apparently visit a mistress.
She’d thought he was happy with her. How could she have been so naïve?
“If you haven’t been to town in a while, you probably haven’t seen Week’s Mechanical Museum,” Lady Draker put in. “Marcus and I are leaving town for a few days later in the week, but we could take you there tomorrow—”
“Out of the question,” Mr. Byrne interrupted. “Lady Haversham and I are going for a drive tomorrow, aren’t we, lass?” When she blinked at him, he added, “And you said you’d be ordering new gowns in the morning, too.”
Yes, fashionable gowns. The sort his mistress might wear. “Of course.” She pasted a smile on her face for Lady Draker. “I’ll be busy tomorrow. I’m so sorry.”
Lady Draker glanced from Christabel to Mr. Byrne, her eyes narrowing. “No need to apologize. But if you change your mind—”
“She won’t,” Mr. Byrne put in.
The steel in his tone made Lady Draker stiffen. She glanced pointedly at the clock, then cast Mr. Byrne a smooth smile. “I believe it’s time for the gentlemen to have their port and cigars.” She rose with a polished grace that Christabel envied. “Come, ladies, let’s retire to the drawing room and leave the men to their fun.”
When Christabel hesitated, unsure how she’d fit in with these two ladies she barely knew, Mr. Byrne leaned over to whisper, “Don’t worry—you’ll be fine. Didn’t you say your pistol is in the drawing room?”
Casting him a glare, she left with the other ladies. But as she followed them up the stairs, her stomach began to roil. How would she ever complete her mission successfully when the mere idea of making polite conversation with the elegant Lady Draker and the well-spoken Lady Iversley made her sick with apprehension?
It would be far worse at Lord Stokely’s estate. She could easily guess the sort of female who would be there: sophisticated ladies of rank who could effortlessly entertain twenty people at dinner, then dress themselves in the height of fashion to meet their lovers in the boudoir the next morning. Christabel didn’t evenhave a boudoir, unless you could count her modest dressing room littered with her failed attempts at needlework and souvenirs from her travels. And although
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