The Carriagemaker's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

of silken curls atop her head, fixing them in place with the pins. The reflection of her wide, aquamarine eyes stared back at her from the mirror. “Beastly things.”
    “Men?”
    “Hairpins.”
    “Ah.”  Lady Detweiler pursed her lips, and blew out her breath in annoyance. “Pamela.”
    “Yes, darling?”
    “It’s been almost a year.”
    “A year?”
    “You know very well what I mean. Edward and Claire were married over a year ago. You’ve been avoiding the male of the species ever since.”
    “Surely not.”  Lady Pam turned around and flashed Amanda a mischievous grin. “I assure you, I still find men perfectly fascinating–”
    “Then why on earth–”
    “–in theory.”
     Amanda gave an unladylike snort. “Men are no good in theory, my dear. Only in the flesh.”
    Pam laughed. “Have you been talking to my sister-in-law again?”
    “Hmph,” said Lady Detweiler. She shook her head at Pamela. “Well, I do know one thing. If you can’t be bothered with Charles Quentin, I’m sure there will be more than one woman at that houseparty to take up the slack. And I assure you, their interests will not be theoretical.”
    “Mmm,” said Lady Pamela.
    * * * *
    Lord and Lady Sinclair kept city hours even at Luton, and Charles judged that he was not too late for dinner. He arrived in the huge, Pompeiian-red dining room to find Jonathan and Celia chatting with Viscount Dreybridge and his young bride. The Viscount was a distant cousin of the Sinclairs, if Lord Quentin’s memory served. And there was Lord Burgess, making calf-eyes at a voluptuous beauty. Ah–Lucinda Blankenship. Lord Quentin smiled, thinking that Jerry was well on his way to making a cake of himself–as usual.
    Several other guests were scattered about the room, a number of whom he knew by sight but not acquaintance. Of the ones he did–well, there was Lady Harkins, she of the formidable bosom and sharp tongue. A true dragon, she was; widowed these twenty years and spending every moment of it the soul of propriety and the terror of every debutante. Lord Quentin could remember Lady Harkins’s comments on the occasion of Jonathan and Celia’s marriage, and wondered how she came to be invited to Luton. Some connection of the late Lord Harkins, no doubt.
    Charles wandered over to the small table du vin , which was set with a sparkling assortment of crystal decanters. Two more Sinclair cousins–Sir Clarence Frost and Lady Jenkins–stood chatting by the fire, but it seemed that the marquess’s younger sister had not yet arrived at Luton. Charles, who claimed an acquaintance with Lady Pamela Sinclair through his long friendship with Jonathan, was disappointed. Lady Pam shared his disinclination to make ton society the whole of life, and Charles realized that he had been counting on her presence for intelligent conversation.
    Soft laughter from Miss Blankenship floated across the room, and Charles turned to see Lord Burgess whispering into her ear. This was quite improper, earning a glare from both Lady Harkins and the marchioness, the latter displeased to find the interest of any male fixed elsewhere than on herself.
    Lady Sinclair was easily roused to competitiveness, especially on her home turf. Perhaps her attention would now be diverted to Lord Burgess, thought Charles, feeling an odd mixture of relief and concern. Celia’s flirtatious attentions were flattering, of course, and for the most part harmless.
    Except when she was drinking. Charles had no desire to be the cause of a row between husband and wife; nor, he should think, did Lord Burgess. 
    The marchioness looked his way, and her eyes narrowed. Her gown was a clinging, high-waisted silk that claimed only a wisp of material for its bodice, and the candlelight cast intriguing shadows on the fabric of the skirt, faintly outlining the curves beneath. Charles reflected, once again, that Lady Sinclair could make more out of the edge of propriety than any other female he knew. She