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But he seemed to be more generous lately and thus her service was less grudging. This evening he’d presented her with a little brooch. Lily knew it was trumpery, worth only pennies, but she was cute enough to coo over it and hint at how much she’d like another gift. In the mirror’s reflection she saw that James had scooped up the brandy bottle from the dirty floorboards and, in between watching her lacing the ribbons on her chemise, was swigging from it. Her eyes flitted over his stumpy torso. Although he’d only rolled off her fifteen minutes ago he appeared nearly ready to try again. He was a fellow who liked his money’s worth and Lily wasn’t expecting Johnny to come back with another punter for about half an hour.
She swivelled her posterior on the stool and made a show of fixing her garters, peeking provocatively at James from beneath her lashes. When he’d hurriedly pulled off his clothes earlier she’d seen his plump purse discarded on the chair atop his breeches. She wouldn’t mind a dip in it before he got bundled out. If she could distract him, she was sure she could slip some coins out of sight. All she must do was help him sink further into his cups so when he noticed the loss tomorrow he wouldn’t remember where he’d been this evening. As Johnny wouldn’t know she’d been light-fingered, he couldn’t help himself to a cut of the takings. She got to her feet and gave James’s flagging erection a saucy smile.
James elbowed himself off the bed and staggered to give Lily’s rump a playful slap. ‘You’re a minx to make me fall for you,’ he slurred, breathing hot alcoholic fumes against her cheek. ‘I swear if you were just a tiny bit decent I’d forget the vinegar-faced misses and take you down the aisle instead.’ Despite his inebriation James realised he’d spoken truthfully. He felt piqued at not getting an invitation to the Clemences’ ball and was sick of all the people who thought they were better than him. He and Jago Clemence had been friends...until he’d taken a loan from the fellow and failed to deliver on a repayment. But he’d sooner be here with a good-natured whore, he told himself, than prancing about with some silly chit who’d have a fit of the vapours if he so much as tried to kiss her.
* * *
Maude listened intently to her housemaid’s whisperings, then, as a wondrous smile spread across her face, she pivoted about to quietly clap her hands, drawing the attention of the four young ladies seated in the drawing room. Fiona had been sketching with charcoal; Verity, Elise and Bea had been taking it in turns to rifle through a journal and give and seek opinions on the fashion plates. They had been cooped up inside all day, watching grey clouds scudding over ivory sky, hoping the drizzle might blow over so they could take a walk and stretch their legs.
‘Viscount Blackthorne and Mr Kendrick have come to pay a call just as Elise said they might,’ Maude excitedly squeaked to her audience.
Having been shooed away, Winnie, the young servant, hurtled back out into the hallway to tell the gentlemen they were to be received. Maude’s bosom swelled high under her chin in pride as she gazed reverentially at the embossed parchment in her grip bearing the name and crest of the Blackthorne dynasty. She had impressed on the girls they should dress with care every morning for just this eventuality. As the days had passed with no sign of the illustrious fellow’s calling card, Maude’s hopes had flagged. She glanced about, pleased Winnie had remembered her instruction. The best china and silverware were set out for tea and she was determined to ensure that their guests stayed long enough to take refreshment. She would be the envy of every hostess in town...
On hearing the exhilarating news, Beatrice had jumped to her feet, but had been pulled back to sit on the sofa by her sister.
Elise’s countenance was grave. Once Beatrice had found out they might receive a call from Hugh and Alex following the Clemences’ ball, her sister’s expectation had rivalled Mrs Chapman’s, her pleasure transforming to moroseness as days wore on with no sign of them. They had socialised with their friends every evening, but neither gentleman had appeared at those soirées.
‘What will you do if Hugh asks you to marry him?’ Elise whispered, frowning and trying to quell her own butterflies at the realisation that Alex Blackthorne was close by and they had parted on bad terms only days ago.
‘I shall tell him yes, then say he must speak to Papa,’ Bea burbled joyfully.
‘But you know he has no means to make you his wife.’
‘Well...he won’t propose then, will he?’ Beatrice was again on her feet.
