A Crime of Manners by Rosemary Stevens Page A

stoically, seeming to know the girl was upset.
    Henrietta spent several minutes crying and holding the cat to her. At last, with a slight hiccup, the tears ceased. She released Knight to reach over to a small nightstand for a handkerchief. After drying her eyes, she propped herself up with a pillow and addressed the cat.
    “Knight, this evening I behaved just like the schoolgirl Winterton accused me of being. I embarrassed myself and Lady Fuddlesby. Why must my foolish emotions take control whenever I see the duke?”
    Knight listened sympathetically, unable to provide an answer to the question.
    “That is what all this daydreaming has gotten me. I keep imagining the duke holding me in affection, when nothing could be further from the truth. But no more!” she resolved. “My days of spending time in dreams are over. After all, dreams are for children. The reality is I must work hard to enjoy this Season my parents are giving me, and find a husband they will be glad to call son.”
    Her fingers folded and refolded a bit of pale blue coverlet while she continued. “The duke is drawn to Lady Clorinda. She is more beautiful than I and has more... assets,” she concluded, thinking of her own petite figure. “I wish her the joy of him!” she declared, her chin coming up.
    Knight raised a paw to the girl’s face in support.
    Henrietta scratched the cat’s head before sinking down under the covers. “Lord Baddick thinks me well enough,” she said, and yawned. “From now on, I shall ignore the stuffy duke and bestow all my attentions on Lord Baddick.”
    Henrietta had made this decision before, but felt determined this time. She remembered the duke’s warning about Lord Baddick only hazily before she drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
    Knight sensed the need for his presence was over and silently left the room. His mistress would also require his assistance.
    Downstairs, Lady Fuddlesby had gone into the drawing room, an anxious Chuffley hovering behind her. “Shall I have tea served, my lady?”
    “Yes, please, Chuffley,” Lady Fuddlesby sniffled.
    Chuffley hurried down to the hall and gave the order to a footman, then scurried to the door as the knocker sounded. Who in the world could be calling at this hour? He wondered.
    Colonel Colchester thrust his hat and stick at the surprised butler and demanded, “Where is her ladyship?”
    “I will ascertain if she is at home,” Chuffley replied, awkwardly clutching the items in one hand and holding out a silver salver for the colonel’s card.
    “Blast it, man,” the colonel snapped, pushing his way past the butler. He took the steps with a sprightliness uncommon for a man of his years, rightly assuming Lady Fuddlesby to be in the drawing room.
    He came upon her quietly weeping. Crossing the room, he sat beside her on the brocade sofa. He took one of her gloved hands in his, and patted it reassuringly.
    “Oh, dear sir!” Lady Fuddlesby cried, astonished at his arrival. She used the remains of a shredded lace handkerchief to dry her eyes.
    “Now, now, my lady, you must calm yourself. I will not have you so distraught,” the colonel said bracingly.
    Chuffley entered with the tea tray, eyed the situation, and decided his mistress was safe. He retired, properly leaving the door open.
    Colonel Colchester hesitated as he prepared to take over the pouring out of tea. “Would something stronger help?”
    “No, thank you,” Lady Fuddlesby replied, and attempted a weak smile. “I cannot say what might help matters after the doings of this night! But I should not burden you....”
    “Nonsense!” the colonel said roundly, passing her a filled cup. “Only consider. Miss Lanford and my godson’s actions speak of passion between the two. Perhaps they do not realize it yet, but there can be no doubt a strong feeling exists between them.”
    “Yes, a strong feeling of dislike!” Lady Fuddlesby retorted miserably. She took a sip of tea and then set the cup down on the