Page 20 of The Lady Knows Best

Daphne managed a nod. They weren’t wrong; scandal swept through the ton like wildfire, and her family had proved itself strong enough to withstand those flames more than once. Still, spending more time in Lord Deveraux’s company was not without risk.

More time . . .

“But this Season will be nearly over by the time the next issue is available,” she pointed out. “I’m quite sure he expects to be married by then.”

“We could publish the essay more quickly as a separate pamphlet, or a broadside.” Two pink spots burned on Constantia’s cheeks. “Illustrated, perhaps?”

“What a clever notion,” said Lady Stalbridge, jotting notes on the sheet of figures. “We can reach more readers that way, too, and use the opportunity to promote our magazine. Now then, are we agreed?” She looked around the table at each of the contributors, marking their assent to the project on a tally. “Very well. Miss Burke, I recommend you continue your research tonight at the Estleys.”

“Do you really think it likely Lord Deveraux will attend this evening, ma’am?”

Gentlemen found any number of excuses to avoid musicale evenings—ironic, given that young ladies usually acquired musical accomplishments because it was supposed to help them attract a husband. But, since most young ladies played insipidly and sang worse, Daphne couldn’t exactly blame the men for suddenly remembering they had another engagement or even coming down with an otherwise inexplicable bout of dyspepsia.

“I think it more than likely, Miss Burke,” was Lady Stalbridge’s reply. “Unless and until he finds someone foolish enough to marry him, you’ll find him everywhere respectable young ladies are gathered.”

“As opposed to his general habit,” proclaimed Constantia, “of associating only with the less-than-respectable ones.”

General merriment greeted that witty remark.

Daphne leaped to her feet. “It’s late. My, uh, my sister will be looking for me. Come, Zwolf.” Still mesmerized by Miss Addison’s attention, the dog ignored Daphne’s command. She had to grab him by the collar to persuade him to accompany her from the room.

“Oh, Zwolf,” she moaned softly when they were on the pavement in front of the shop. “Now I’m caught between an essay on rakes and a hard place. What am I going to do?”

The dog looked up at her with sorrowful eyes.

You’re meant to be the clever one.

Well, yes. She was fairly clever, last night notwithstanding.

But was she clever enough to figure her way out of this?

CHAPTER 7

That evening, as Daphne was climbing the steps of the Estleys’ Grosvenor Square townhome, the solution to her dilemma came to her.

Not, to be sure, a perfect solution. It would almost certainly create new problems.

But it would answer both Lord Deveraux’s and Lady Stalbridge’s demands, and it would give Daphne ample opportunity to research a rake’s ways.

A breath shuddered from her.

If she weren’t careful, it could be more than ample opportunity.

From the doorway, Cami glanced over her shoulder. Concern wrinkled across her forehead at Daphne’s hesitation. “Is everything all right?”

Daphne dragged up a smile and looped her arm through Bell’s. “Of course.”

They were greeted by the Marquess of Estley, a handsome gentleman of about forty, with pale blue eyes, dark blond hair that Daphne refused to compare to Lord Deveraux’s, and a thin scar along one cheek. He had come into the title some two years earlier, on the death of his father.

He bowed. “Lady Ashborough, Miss Burke, Miss Bellis. My wife hopes you will excuse her for not being here to welcome you.”

“Of course,” said Cami. “Her mind must be on her and her daughter’s performance. We are honored to have an opportunity to hear them play.”

Upstairs, the drawing room had been rearranged to accommodate rows of spindly chairs, all facing a Broadwood pianoforte. Daphne and her sisters found three seats near the front. In the row ahead sat Lady Stalbridge, accompanied by her stepson Lord Manwaring. She turned to speak briefly to Cami, offering little more than a polite nod to Daphne; after all, they were not meant to know one another well.

But when no one else was looking, young Lord Manwaring—the person behind the shadowy figurehead, Mrs. Goode—sent her a saucy wink. Lady Stalbridge must have told him of her plan.

What, Daphne wondered, would either of them make of her plan?