Not that the lady he had just met made a lot of sense inanyone’sworld. She wasLadyClara. Rose knew her, and she seemed a bit older than a recent debutante; she must have made her debut a few years ago. Yet her hair was unbound, a mane of curls so thick and wild it begged to be clutched in some man’s hands. Green eyes that flashed in both defiance and pride, dulling in embarrassment. A plush, round figure that reminded him more of the buxom wenches he had loved bedding over the past four years than the wraithlike debutantes who looked as if they would be lifted away by a stiff breeze. A body made for a man’s comfort yet a lady who chased with abandon after a lost kitten. Who had a peregrine falcon named Maid Marian and a dog named Moses—whohunted. With a house, like theirs, near Berkeley Square. Who was embarrassed because she had not recognized him as a lord, but not because she had found herself wallowing in mud—that had simply made her angry.
Mud she could cope with, but an offended aristocrat knocked her off-kilter.Whoisthis woman?
Not that Michael was particularly offended, and he felt confident Rose would reassure Lady Clara of that. No... offense was not at all what he felt.
Intrigue might be a better word—and a stirring deep inside, in a part of him Michael had long thought dead. It was as if a woman who represented the best of both sides of his world had suddenly dropped into his life. He wanted to know more.
But that would have to wait. Michael straightened and headed back toward the stalls. For now, he needed to convince Rufus that a certain kitten probably had a much better home waiting for her.
*
Clara felt bothguilty and relieved that Rose’s maid Sarah had taken charge of Radcliff, urging her toward the servants’ quarters for a wash and clean dress. The girl’s unending fussing had been silenced when Rose’s bedchamber door closed behind them. Rose pulled the blanket away from Clara and dumped it in a heap in the middle of the floor. The overwhelming stench of mud mixed with muck hit her again, and both women flinched.
“My apologies, Lady Newbury. I am so sorry. I should never have let you bring me up here. You have too many burdens already.” Clara’s guilt surged again as she realized how exhausted Rose looked. Even the simple hairstyle Sarah had arranged for Rose’s reddish-blonde hair looked deflated. All thetonknew what mayhem had settled on the Kennet family since Thomas and Rose’s wedding. Now Clara had added to that.
Rose, however, merely waved a hand. “Do not talk nonsense. And I’m still just Rose to my friends. I could not bear the idea of you walking across the square looking like that. And I certainly could not undress you in the game larder.”
“Both would probably serve me right. I’m sure Radcliff would think so. I am afraid I have given her far too much leeway in how she speaks to me.”
“She is... new, is she not?” Rose asked, surveying the caked mess of Clara’s gown.
“Yes. I cannot seem to keep an adequate lady’s maid.”
“Perhaps if you did not make them ride horses on your hunts.”
Clara felt heat sting her cheeks. “You have heard?”
“We have to get you out of this. There is no way to clean it while it is still on you. Hold your hair up.” As Clara did so, Rose went on as she loosened the laces at the back of Clara’s bodice. “Of course, I have heard. The servants tell me everything, especially what is going on in other households. I’m going to unlace you.”
“If my parents would only let me ride without a chaperone.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Maids as well.”
Clara sighed. “I will never be able to return this kindness.”
Rose pushed the bodice forward, and Clara pulled her arms from the sleeves. The brown muslin day gown fluttered to the floor, and Clara stepped out of it. As Rose kicked it over next to the blanket, she smiled. “Actually, I already owe you. And I am about to put you in one of my most detestable day gowns. You would do me a great favor to not return it. Ever.”
Clara scowled. “It will never fit.”
“Oh yes, it will. It may be a bit long, but you are not that much larger than I am, and if it does not come together in the back, I’ll slip a scarf beneath the laces to cover the gap. You are a bit more ample in the bodice—
“More than ample, according to my mother.”
“Mothers worry too much about their daughters’ size. We cannot all be slight as lampposts. But never mind that. We will tuck a fichu around your shoulders. It will service during the short walk to your house.” Rose disappeared into her dressing room.
Clara raised her voice a bit. “Why do you say you owe me?”
Rose returned carrying a gown in a shade of chartreuse that made even Clara’s eyebrows arch. At the expression on her face, Rose let out a burst of laughter. “My mother had two of these made. I have managed to divest myself of one. Now you will be taking the last one off my hands.”
Clara was aghast. “Why in the world would a countess pick such a color for her daughter?”
Rose smirked. “She believed it would make me invisible next to my sister Cecily on our daily walks. We soon realized it had the opposite effect.”
Clara had to smile. “It will certainly make my walk across Berkeley Square... intriguing.”
Rose pointed to a stool near her dressing table. “Another reason we need to complete your cleansing. Let me see if I can brush some of the mud out of those curls.”
Staring at her, Clara slowly shook her head. “You are a marchioness. You cannot brush my hair as if you were a maid.”
