Page 3 of Kismet

Her gloved fingers tightened on the wood handle of her parasol as she banished the memory. This was a time of celebration. Isabelle had found her heart’s desire in the form of Major Brant Hastings. The couple was to marry in two days’ time and Allegra couldn’t be happier for her friend. She only wished she could be happy about the second invitation she’d received just before leaving London.

With an adept move, she used her free hand to open the drawstring reticule in her lap and retrieve Cordelia’s letter. The missive already showed distinct signs of wear, evidence of the numerous times she’d read and reread her niece’s words. This time wasn’t any different than the hundreds of other instances she’d studied the letter. The content was always the same. She heaved a sigh.

Married.

Her sweet, lovely Cordelia was to be a countess.

She’d always imagined that a country squire or perhaps a wealthy merchant would steal her niece’s heart. It had never occurred to her that the girl might actually marry a member of the Marlborough Set. But not even in her wildest dreams would she have envisioned her niece becoming engaged to the nephew of her first patron.

Arthur would have found the entire matter uproariously funny. That his nephew, the current Earl of Bledsoe, was to marry the niece of his onetime mistress would have appealed to his sense of humor. But as much as it would have amused her paramour, she was equally certain his wife, the Dowager Countess of Bledsoe, would not find it humorous if she discovered the truth.

The chill coursing its way down Allegra’s back forced her to adjust her parasol so the sun’s heat could warm her shoulders. If the dowager were to find out she and Cordelia were related—no. She wouldn’t let that happen. She just wouldn’t go to the wedding. Allegra sighed. It wasn’t quite that simple, and she knew it.

The carriage turned off the street and rolled through the black wrought iron gates outside a small mansion. As the vehicle came to a halt, Allegra returned the letter to her reticule and focused her attention on the government residence. The Petit Palais was appropriately named. Isabelle’s new home was a beautiful little palace. Rounded arched windows culminating in a sharp point were complimented by sculptured stonework that gave the impression of stiff lace across the façade of the mansion. The stone itself had a delicate pink tinge that only enhanced the image of something magical and fragile.

Accepting the coachman’s assistance, she stepped out of the carriage as she continued to admire the Petit Palais. Although elaborate in its Moorish design, there was a welcoming quality to the house that made her suddenly realize how fortunate her friend was. Isabelle hadn’t just found love, she’d found a home.

It was something Allegra had never had. There was her house in London, of course, but it was simply a place to live. A home was much more than a place to rest one’s head. It represented something more intangible. It was a symbol of comfort, acceptance, and happiness. And it was that intangible she was determined to give Cordelia, no matter what the price.

“Allegra! Oh, how wonderful. You’re here at last,” Isabelle Denten exclaimed as she hurried out of the enchanting house with her arms outstretched. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Her friend’s excitement contagious, Allegra hastened forward to embrace the dark-haired beauty. Stepping back to look at her friend, Allegra smiled as she shook her head in admiration.

“Belle, you look positively radiant!”

“It’s Brant’s doing. I never thought it possible to be so happy.” Isabelle laughed as she turned toward Allegra’s maid. “Hello, Millie. Are you keeping my friend here in line?”

“I do my best, Miss Isabelle. I do my best.”

The woman’s world-weary sigh pulled another laugh from Isabelle as she issued a quick order to the butler who’d joined them outside and stood discreetly a few feet away. “Teabury, please have Ali see to the luggage and ensure Millie is settled in the room adjoining Miss Synnford’s.”

Satisfied everything was running smoothly, Isabelle wrapped her arm around Allegra’s waist and drew her inside. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve come to be my witness at the wedding.”

“How could I possibly refuse,” Allegra said with a warm smile. Arms entwined, they moved through a cool foyer into a cheerful, brightly lit salon. “Although I confess I was relieved to escape London.”

“Escape? Whatever from?”

“Cordelia is engaged.” Allegra sank down onto a green chintz-covered sofa.

“But that’s wonderful.”

“She’s to marry the Earl of Bledsoe.”

“Oh dear Lord.” Isabelle, an expression of horror on her face, collapsed onto the seat beside her.

“Quite.” Allegra closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I received her letter just before I left London. Apparently, she met Arthur’s nephew while on her holiday in Italy.”

“My dear, Allegra, I am so sorry. What are you going to do?” Isabelle reached over and squeezed her hand in a gesture of comfort.

“I don’t really know.” She shook her head at her friend’s question. “I only know I cannot do anything that might jeopardize Cordelia’s happiness.”

“What if you told her the truth?” Isabelle asked.

“The thought of doing so terrifies me.”

“Cordelia loves you, Allegra. She’ll understand.”

Isabelle turned her head at the sound of china rattling. A smile on her face, she instructed the maid to set the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch. With a sense of detachment, Allegra watched her friend pour a tall glass of lemonade. Would Cordelia understand? She wasn’t so sure.