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Aunt Georgiana’s eyes widened. Selina wasn’t cowed by the Dowager Duchess —there were many of her ilk all over London and Paris. The trick was to become friends with all—whether they seemed disagreeable on a first meeting or not.
“Well, I have to try, Your Grace,” she replied boldly. “My own mother would never forgive me.”
“Have I met your mother?” the Dowager Duchess asked. She snapped open her fan—ostrich plumes, to match her headgear.
“I imagine so, Your Grace,” Selina replied. “Lord and Lady Quinton are often at St. James’s.”
“Your sister?” The Dowager Duchess turned to Aunt Georgiana. “Is the Lady Quinton?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Aunt Georgiana inclined her head, shooting Selina a look. Selina smiled back serenely at her aunt.
“I know your mother, My Lady,” the Dowager Duchess said, beaming. “She’s quite the fashion icon.”
“She would be pleased to hear you say that, Your Grace,” Selina replied, smiling. Her mother would have been ecstatic at the compliment.
“Why, why have your parents not come, as well?” The Dowager Duchess was glancing about, as if Selina’s parents were about to walk in.
“They’re in Paris, Your Grace.”
“Paris? At this time of year?” she fanned herself, shaking her head.
“My mother would say that Paris is best at any time of the year,” Selina said.
The Dowager Duchess laughed. “Such a delight, your mother. When you write to her next, do tell her that I send my regards.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Selina murmured.
The Dowager Duchess made her polite excuses and then bustled off to go and attend other guests. Aunt Georgiana looked at Selina, who smiled.
“Do you often name-drop your own mother?” she asked her.
“It never hurts to own up to your own blood,” Selina said, opening her fan. It was obvious that the Dowager Duchess was a bit of a battle-ax. Selina herself intended to be one of the same at that age.
* * *
The party felt as though it were dragging on. Jasper found himself in a discussion with his fiancée, his mother, and their neighbor, Lady Morton.
“I’ve made the acquaintance of your cousin, Lady Selina,” his mother said.
Jasper watched his fiancée’s face fall.
“She’s a very fashionable young lady,” his mother said, approvingly.
“Yes,” Lady Leah said, her features rearranging into polite disdain. “She’s always a favorite.”
“Indeed? I can see why,” his mother said.
“I’ve not made her acquaintance,” Lady Morton said. “Whose daughter is she?”
“Lord and Lady Quinton,” Lady Leah said. “Their estate is in Hertfordshire.”
“So close to London!” Lady Morton mused.
“Indeed,” Lady Leah said. “They’re often in the City.”
“Don’t you wish that you could be in London more often?” his mother asked, looking at him, pointedly.
“No, Mother,” he replied. “I do not.”
