gowns are abhorrent, naturally. There is mourning, my dears, and then there is mourning, if you understand what I mean. But the Scottish have no concept of dress and never have. These days I won’t even approach the border. Why, my hair quite stands on end at the thought!’ She patted her gingery ringlets happily.
Josie curtsied and slipped back behind the piano, where she was pretending to shuffle through sheet music. But given that Papa had never had the blunt to hire a musical tutor of any kind, Imogen -if no one else – knew that was a mere pretence. She only hoped that the duke wouldn’t think to ask Josie to play them something.
‘A diet of hard-boiled eggs and stewed cabbage should trim your little sister’s figure,’ Lady Clarice whispered loudly to Tess. ‘I was just the same when I was her age, if you can believe it! But look at me, I managed to catch a baron! You may not be able to look quite as high as that, but I think a lord is not out of possibility! Even the chubby little one should be able to make a good match, with the help of a modiste.’
Tess’s eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, but Holbrook was there before her, suddenly sounding quite ducal. ‘Josephine has a figure that many a young lady will envy.’
Lady Clarice gave him a liquorish smile and giggled. ‘Quite right, Your Grace. You mustn’t lose hope of firing off all four of them. There are men who prefer a poke pudding, as they say!’
Imogen could feel her spirits lowering. The hope that perhaps Lady Clarice would allow her son to marry for true love withered. Lady Clarice looked as if she hadn’t yet learned the meaning of the word love, and she certainly wouldn’t encourage the emotion if she had.
‘But I must introduce my son!’ Lady Clarice said, dragging him forward. ‘Although, darling girls, I must warn you that my darling is promised to another.’ She giggled shrilly. ‘We’ll do our best to find you someone just as suitable, however. Miss Essex, Miss Imogen, may I present my son, Lord Maitland.’
Imogen curtsied, as did Tess beside her. She felt a delicate wash of colour rise up her neck.
‘We are acquainted with Lord Maitland, Lady Clarice,’ Tess was saying rather coldly. ‘He is – was – a friend of our father, Viscount Brydone.’
Imogen knew her sister thought Draven was dissolute, and all because he was dashing and funny and too handsome for his own good, as their nanny would have said, back when they had a nanny.
Draven bowed, quite as if he had never shared a bread-and-cheese supper with them — and he had, time out of mind, because he was as horse-mad as her papa.
‘I have known the Essexes for some two years, mother,’ he said, but his eyes were holding Imogen’s. Her heart fluttered as if it were a bird caught in a cage.
‘What? Oh!’ Lady Clarice laughed. ‘You must have met each other when darling Draven hunts in Scotland, is that it?’ Something guarded entered her tone. Lady Clarice was no fool, and the Essex girls were astonishingly lovely.
Tess caught Lady Clarice’s inflection and felt a wave of panic. If Lady Clarice even caught wind of Imogen’s abject devotion to her son, she might refuse to chaperone them, and then what would they do?
‘I race in Scotland, not hunt,’ Draven told his mother. He was bowing over Imogen’s hand now, and Tess noticed with a sinking heart that he was looking at her sister with some semblance of the passion with which she looked at him.
‘I do believe that my son has a remarkable seat on a saddle,’ Lady Clarice said, not seeming to notice (to Tess’s relief) that Annabel had rudely wandered off without bothering to curtsy and was now standing far too close to the Earl of Mayne and giggling so hard that her curls bobbed around her shoulders like corks caught in a backwash. ‘Not that I can swear to this, because I abhor the out-of-doors.’ And, when Tess looked confused, ‘Fresh air, Miss Essex! It’s ruinous for the complexion to attend those races, I assure you. I only do so under the strongest duress. Of course, my son loves my company so much that it means the earth to him if I do watch one of his horses sail to victory. So I sacrifice … I sacrifice …’
My complexion is clearly ruined, Tess thought to herself. Their father had been dragging them to races since they were able to walk.
‘But I have ever encouraged dear Draven to follow his own delight in these matters,’ Lady Clarice was saying. ‘I do like a man to have an occupation. Far too many gentlemen of my acquaintance sit about all day and never rise from their chairs at the club. They end up with very ill manners, I assure you. And it causes’ — she lowered her voice ‘-a certain spreading in the derrière, if you follow me!’ She trilled with naughty laughter. ‘Although I shouldn’t say such a thing to you, an unmarried girl, for all you are a bit long in the tooth! But not to worry, dear, Holbrook will put you on the market the very first day that you’re out of blacks.’
‘Now, Duke,’ she said, turning from Tess without pausing for breath. ‘What are we to do? I mean, I am more than happy to chaperone your darling wards for a day or so, Holbrook, but London calls. My mantua-maker beckons. Allures me!’ she said with a giggle. ‘So I ask you, Your Grace, what are we to do?’
Their guardian didn’t even blink, so he must be used to Lady Clarice’s style of conversation. Not having had that pleasure herself, Tess could feel a headache coming on. She felt a light touch at her elbow.
‘Would you like to take a turn around the room, Miss Essex?’ The Earl of Mayne stood smiling at her.
‘I would,’ she said, ‘but-’ And she looked helplessly to where Imogen stood talking to Lord Maitland. Surely it wasn’t her imagination that there was something overfamiliar in the way that he smiled at Imogen, something complaisant in the way his fingers sat on her bare arm, just above her elbow.
The earl followed her glance. ‘Rafe,’ he said in a pleasant low tone that cut through the shrilling hum of Lady Clarice’s speech, ‘our guests are likely famished. Shall we adjourn to supper?’
Their guardian promptly towed Lady Clarice out of the room, her stream of gently vindictive conversation fading as they turned the corner into the dining room.
‘Imogen!’ Tess said, trying to sound commanding yet not motherly. Then she turned to the earl and put her hand on his arm.
He looked down at her for a moment, and Tess saw a smile lurking somewhere in his eyes. Then he took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘If you insist,’ he said softly.
Tess blinked. Could he be starting a flirtation with her?
But the next second Mayne was making smiling remarks about there being no need to attend to protocol amongst close friends and deftly bearing Imogen out of the room.
‘Miss Essex,’ Lord Maitland drawled, turning to her and putting her hand to his lips.
My goodness, Tess thought rather bewilderedly, this hand has been kissed more in the last hour than in my entire life.
‘Josie!’ she called, luring her little sister out from the piano, ‘you may retire to the schoolroom now.’
Maitland may have been wild, but he wasn’t rude. As Josie reluctantly approached, he bowed. ‘Miss Josephine, you look particularly exquisite this evening,’ he said.
‘Cut rope!’ Josie snapped at him.
‘Josie!’ Tess cried, aghast.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Josie said. ‘It’s only Maitland.’ She rounded on him. ‘You can save your faradiddles for others. You should know that I’m not the person for that sort of foolish talk!’
Tess felt a reprimand coming to her lips, and then bit it back. Josie was obviously on the point of tears. She must have heard Lady Clarice’s comment about a cabbage diet, and Josie was extremely sensitive about her figure.
But before Tess could decide what to say, Maitland tucked Josie’s hand under his arm, and said, ‘Do you know, I’ve a question you may be able to answer.