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“Then what is the point, pray tell?” she demanded, exasperated. “You’ve become such a prig of late! You used to enjoy tweaking his nose right along with me.”
“Yes, well, that was before nearly having to challenge him to a duel on your behalf. As fond of you as I am, I’ve no desire to die defending your honor. And neither does Pelham. And
yes, he and I are in complete agreement regarding the matter.”
“You’ve spoken with David about this?” she demanded, scowling.
“I have,” he clipped. “About this and many other things involving your recent behavior. He’s very concerned that you draw too much attention to yourself, attention that could be to your detriment.”
Apprehension quickened her pulse. Did David tell him? Does he know? Searching Reggie’s eyes, however, she saw no condemnation, no disgust. Only worry. Her secret was still safe, then.
“I see. It appears I have not one but two self-appointed chaperones.” Settling herself in a chair, she peered up at him. “One a known rakehell and the other fast becoming a degenerate right along with him. Yet, with me, you behave as though you belong in a cassock. If you’re not careful, I’m going to start calling you Father Stanton.”
Crossing the room, Reggie sat opposite and stared soberly into her eyes. “Melly, I know you’ve been given the title in your own right, but that won’t stop King George from marrying you off, should you become troublesome. You may be his godchild, but that does not make you immune to his wrath or his will.”
Though she did not like it, Mélisande knew he was right. It wasn’t worth the risk. “Very well. You may tell your fellow curate that I shall endeavor to use more discretion.” Her lips quirked upward. “When next I see him, I shall ask David to say a prayer of petition to the Almighty to keep Herrington out of my path for the remainder of the Season.”
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
London, 1750
STAMMA IS COMING back! Folding the letter, Mélisande immediately set forth to arrange another one of her now famous parties.
I’ll invite that fellow from Germany...Kesselman. He played an excellent match at the Sheffields’ ball last June. Georgiana just told me he’s a guest of Lord and Lady Renquist.
It would be just the thing to snap her friend out of his morose mood.
After Stamma’s demoralizing chess defeat at the hands of that upstart François-André Philidor, he’d left for the Continent to lick his wounds, depriving her of his company. It had been a sore blow, for she had few enough true friends these days. Having him back would be a delight.
As would having another female in the house. Reggie’s sister Charlotte would be here tomorrow. With Lord Stanton away overseas, his stepmother expecting another child any day now, and his only other female relatives a pair of ancient aunts currently living in Bath, Reggie had asked her to oversee the girl’s debut.
It surprised her how much she found herself looking forward to the task.
And it was with great anticipation that she also looked to the first ball of the Season, to be held in just three days. Her wardrobe was practically bursting with glorious new gowns. There was one in particular she could hardly wait to wear. The mere thought of it made her chuckle wickedly.
On impulse, she walked over to the wardrobe, flung open its doors, and fingered the midnight silk. The first ball would definitely set the tone for the rest of the Season.
Reggie’d better have practiced the steps while moldering away in the country, she thought. I’ll skewer him alive if he bungles it.
The road was clogged with coaches wending their slow way to Hawthorne Manor. Mélisande waited impatiently, fidgeting with excitement as they inched closer.
David eyed her busy hands and tapping feet with a droll expression. “For someone determined never to wed, you certainly seem eager to rejoin the fray. Have you decided to participate in the husband hunt, then?”
Mélisande looked back at him with unconcealed irritation. “You of all people know I’ve no intention of doing any such thing. I refuse to parade myself before a gaggle of fortune-seeking imbeciles with the purpose of bagging one of them and dragging his mercenary hide to the altar.”
“No, but you’re perfectly happy to bait the poor ‘fortune-seeking imbeciles,’ aren’t you?” He chuckled. “Rather like dangling a piece of raw beef before a pack of hungry dogs without ever intending to actually feed them. Just be careful you don’t get bitten.”
She made to protest, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand, grinning.
“I know you far too well, Melly. For you, the thrill is in the chase and in being chased, not in the catch. Relax. I know when a battle is lost, and this is one of those times. You, my dear, are a lost cause. Thus, I concede. Gracefully.” His salute was indeed graceful—and purely mocking.
“Well, at least you know when to give up.” She sniffed. Relaxing back against the cushioned seat, she winked at her fellow conspirator, Charlotte, who sat listening to their banter with round, sparkling eyes. “Unlike some,” she added, arching a brow at Reggie.
Though Reggie held his tongue, she knew he objected mightily. Especially the part involving Charlotte. Any moment now, he would try to convince her to—
“I’m still not entirely certain this is a good idea,” Reggie ventured weakly, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s Charlotte’s debut, after all. The dance is too provocative. I just don’t think it’s worth the risk.”
“We’ve been over this.” Mélisande rolled her eyes. “You’ll be right there alongside her to act as chaperone. It’s an excellent strategy to ensure she stands out from the rest of the debutantes. And you watch—she’ll skim off the cream of the eligibles all for herself. You’ll see. It’ll work perfectly!”
