Two Corinthians Read Online Free PDF Page B

first stare of fashion.
    To his utter disgust he was quite unable to fasten the pantaloons made for him by the best tailors in London not five years since.
    Turning to a rack of coats, he chose one that he remembered as being fairly loose fitting, not that he had ever cared for coats so tight he needed help in donning them. With a struggle he pulled it on, then leaned forward to adjust the cheval glass. There was a ripping sound as the coat split down the back.
    George groaned. He stripped to the buff and pondered his reflexion in the mirror, turning and twisting like a debutante before her first ball.
    It was no use pretending he was still a slender Adonis, but he was not yet ready for a Cumberland corset! There was no flabbiness, he decided with relief, poking and prodding at himself. He had always led an active life, riding and walking in the country, sparring with Gentleman Jackson and dancing till dawn in Town.
    There were other activities that had helped, no doubt, to keep him fit. None of his many mistresses, high-born or low, had ever complained of a lack of ardour on his part.
    He heard the door of his dressing-room open, followed by a ladylike shriek. The door slammed shut.
    “George!” came an indignant voice from without.
    He seized a crimson brocade dressing gown, wrapped it around himself, and went to the door. Outside stood a tiny, wispy lady of late middle years, wearing a quilted sacque of plum-coloured satin which would have been the height of alamodality some thirty years ago. Mrs Tilliot, once companion to the marchioness and now mistress of the house in all but name, did not believe in new-fangled fashions; somewhere in the wilds of Northumberland she had found a dressmaker to cater to her whims.
    Grinning, George swept her into his arms and kissed her cheek soundly, eliciting another shriek.
    “Put me down at once, you great bear!” she scolded, twinkling at him. “Indeed, I beg your pardon for walking in on you. I meant to check that all was set to rights, and I thought you were still with Bellingham in the library.”
    “You are welcome at any time, dear Tilly. Since you are here, perhaps you can advise me.” He explained his predicament.
    Mrs Tilliot tutted and clucked and gave it as her considered opinion that neither coats nor inexpressibles might be successfully let out to accommodate his expanded figure. She bore off the wrinkled clothes from his saddlebag, promising that his father’s valet would quickly produce something presentable from the heap.
    “We must hope your carriage will arrive tomorrow,” she said as she left. “These will do for tonight. Our only guests will be the vicar and Mrs Gates and their daughter, and Mr Bowe, the lawyer from Hexham. Miss Gates and Mr Bowe are betrothed.”
    George remembered Miss Gates as a pretty young woman with whom he had enjoyed a mild flirtation on his last visit. Doubtless her engagement ruled out that harmless pastime. He anticipated a dull evening.
    Neither Miss Gate’s discretion nor her presumed affection for her future husband were proof against the attractions of the handsome, dashing, rich and titled Lord Winterborne. She brought to bear on him her full battery of coy glances, fluttered eyelashes, rippling laugh, and flirted fan.
    George encouraged her. Better the man should know the worst before the knot was tied, he thought cynically.
    Before he left Bellingham a week later, a letter arrived from Lord Daniel in response to his father’s overture. Jubilant, the marquis announced that he would follow George south in a month or so. Besides Danny’s wedding there was Print’s coronation to be attended, and he expected to enjoy the Season with a lighter heart than any time these ten years. Mrs Tilliot, too, looked forward to renewing her acquaintance with old friends she had not seen this age.
    Even the constant rain which began when he reached York and continued throughout his journey could not dampen George’s high spirits.
    He