dresses she’d just acquired, was cut with the wide sleeves, narrow waist and belled skirts of the latest style, done up in a deep blue silk that enhanced her eyes. Not the virginal white of a timid debutante, but the colour suited her—both in looks and temperament.
Telling herself she had no need to be nervous, she was walking down the stairs to collect her cloak and have the butler summon her a hackney when the door opened and Gifford Newell walked in. He looked up, saw her—and stopped short.
She froze, transfixed by the intensity of his admiring gaze, for the first time glad that the exaggerated style emphasised the smallness of her waist while the low bodice exposed her neck and shoulders. Then, telling herself not to be ridiculous, she lifted her skirts and continued downwards, ignoring the accelerated beat of her heart and the queer fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
He was, she discovered when she looked up after descending the last step, still gazing at her. ‘Exquisite!’ he murmured. ‘If being the most beautiful lady in the room means society will exile you, your Season will be over before it begins.’
She shouldn’t feel such satisfaction at knowing he found her attractive—but she did. ‘The colour is lovely, although I can’t admire the style. These sleeves and skirts! Impossible to do anything useful wearing something so wide.’
‘Of course not. As a society lady, you’re supposed to be admired and have everything done for you.’
‘In other words, be vacant-headed and decorative.’ She sighed. ‘Heaven help me survive this Season! You’re looking handsome as always, Giff. Come to find Gregory?’
‘No, I came to collect you. To escort you to Lady Sayleford’s. I’m pleased to find you ready. My godmother detests tardiness.’
‘You’re escorting me?’ she echoed. ‘I thought the tea would be a ladies’ affair.’
‘So did I, but when Lady Sayleford commands, one complies. Unless one is prepared to move to the Outer Hebrides, which would be a rather inconvenient location for a sitting Member of Parliament.’
‘I understand carrier pigeons can travel hundreds of miles in just a few hours,’ she offered, smiling. ‘But I agree, the Outer Hebrides would be inconvenient. Though if it is to be just ladies, I can’t imagine why she would require you to escort me. Surely she knows I’m capable of taking a hackney from Vraux House to hers!’
‘I long ago learned never to question my godmother’s inscrutable ways,’ Giff replied. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Yes. Hopefully once you’ve delivered me, she will release you back to your duties. As a sitting Member of Parliament.’
To her relief, Newell had brought his curricle, requiring him to keep his attention focused on his driving, rather than on her. With him otherwise occupied, she could sit beside him and enjoy the delicious frisson of attraction that sizzled between them without any chance of being tempted further down a road she had no business travelling.
The afternoon being busy and the traffic noisy, she made no attempt to converse as they made the transit. A short time later, he pulled up his team in front of Lady Sayleford’s town house, his tiger springing down to help her out.
They walked in, Harris once again showing them into the Grand Parlour where, this time, Lady Sayleford awaited them.
‘Here I am, ma’am, as summoned,’ Giff said as he bent to kiss his godmother’s cheek after the ladies exchanged curtsies. ‘Was that the extent of the service you wished me to render?’
‘You think I would require you merely to deliver Miss Lattimar, who is entirely capable of making the arduous journey from Brook Street to Grosvenor Square on her own? No, I have other plans, which will put all your wit and charm to good use.’
Motioning them to a seat, she said, ‘As you can see, you’ve been summoned before the other guests. I want you to meet my great-niece, Mrs Angela Moorsby, and instruct you, Gifford, on the role you must play. That first.’
‘What, precisely, would you have me do?’
‘I have invited a few of the most important society hostesses. After greeting them all, I wish to speak privately with each one. Your task, Gifford, will be to assist my niece in keeping the other ladies entertained, the conversation flowing brightly, so none are tempted—or able—to eavesdrop on my tête-à-tête.’
‘What part am I to play?’ Temper asked.
‘You, my dear, will be sitting by me, so that each lady gets a...proper introduction.’
And with that explanation, which explained nothing, I will have to be satisfied, Temper thought, suppressing a smile. Very well. She was quite prepared to recite her few lines while Lady Sayleford directed the overall action.
‘I don’t suppose I’m permitted to ask who, what or why?’ Giff said, posing what, from the frown Lady Sayleford returned him, Temper knew had been a rhetorical question.
‘Ah, here she is! Angela, allow me to present my godson, Gifford Myles Newell, and the young lady you are to chaperon, Miss Temperance Lattimar. Children, this is my great-niece, Mrs Angela Moorsby.’
Sucking in a breath in apprehension, Temper watched a small, plump woman cross the room, her rotund form garbed in a slightly out-of-fashion gown.
‘Mr Newell, well met!’ she said, curtsying to them, her pleasant face wreathed in a smile. ‘And Miss Lattimar! So you are the angel of mercy who is enlivening my dull life by providing me a Season in London. And a complement of lovely new gowns, as well! Thank you! I intend to enjoy myself exceedingly—and, I promise you, to chaperon with a very light hand.’
Temper smiled back at the friendly gaze and open, honest countenance of Angela Moorsby, her fear of having to deal with an incompatible chaperon melting into an instant rapport.
And a sharp stab of guilt, to doom this pleasant, innocent lady to the criticism and censure she expected her presentation would heap on the head of her hapless chaperon. Looking over at Lady Sayleford, she said, ‘Have you warned her what my Season will likely entail?’
‘Oh, no, my child. I thought it better to allow you to do that.’
So you can listen to me explain one more time before giving final approval? Temper would not be at all surprised, should she express something to incur Lady Sayleford’s disapproval, to have the offer of sponsorship revoked on the instant and the great-niece sent back to rural obscurity.
‘Are you acquainted with the...circumstances of my family?’ she asked Mrs Moorsby.
‘Yes, Lady Sayleford related to me the...unusual nature of your upbringing and the reason why you are in need of a chaperon.’
‘So you know society expects me to be ill behaved, amoral and capricious. Although I am none of those things, neither am I interested in marriage, so while my behaviour will give no credence to the first two traits, I am perfectly happy to play up the latter. In fact, I may take a few strategic actions to reinforce my reputation as an ungovernable woman no respectable gentleman would have as a wife. Acting as chaperon to such a creature may well be accompanied by...an unpleasantness that may make you wish you had remained in Portsmouth. Are you sure you want to take me on?’
‘So that you can fulfil your father’s requirement that you have a Season and go on to become a lady explorer? What a marvellous thing! If I hadn’t grown so fond of my snug hearth and my comfortable little Portsmouth community, I would almost be tempted to go exploring again myself. I was never the Beauty you are, but I was rather adventuresome myself as a girl, marrying a merchant captain over my family’s objections and going to sea with him.’
‘How wonderful!’ Temper declared, delighted. ‘You must tell me about your travels!’
‘Some other day, perhaps,’ Mrs Moorsby replied.
She looked up to find Lady Sayleford smiling and was struck again by her shrewdness. You sly old lady, she