THE COUNTERFEIT
CAVALIER, VOLUME THREE:
A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
Amazon Edition Copyright 2012 Lydia M. Sheridan
This ebook is licensed
for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away
to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,
please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this
book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please
return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the
work of this author.
THE COUNTERFEIT
CAVALIER, VOLUME THREE:
A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
“Lady Alice, Lady Katherine, Lady Lucy, Lady Carolyn Thoreau!”
announced Mr. Hubert Throgmorton, veteran of the war and, glory of glories!
new Master of Ceremonies, hired by the village elders to give the local
assemblies an elegant touch.
As Kate descended the three shallow stairs to the newly
refurbished hall, awash in gilt and ferns, she darted a sharp glance about for
Mr. Dalrymple. The rooms were already full to bursting even as more attendees
promenaded down the stairs. It seemed as though the whole county had come to
celebrate the opening of the assembly rooms, a testimony to the newly
refurbished village coffers. Even the highest sticklers, who last year would
have made an appearance for form’s sake only, believing the tourists made it
Too Vulgar for words, were in attendance. Though money was not spoken of
openly in their rarified atmosphere, they knew as well as anyone on which side
their bread was buttered and socialized accordingly.
Entry to the dance was a mere token for the locals, for no one
wanted to be left out of the fun. Hardworking trade folk mixed with yeoman
farmers, who rubbed shoulders with eager tourists and satin-clad nobility,
glittering with gems that usually saw the light of day only at the most
fashionable of London parties. All were gathered in the same cause: the
survival of Oaksley and the surrounding lands and estates.
In front of a stand of potted palms, Miss Belinda Dogget waved
frantically, pointing to four empty chairs between her and her mother. As the
Thoreau ladies slowly greeted their way through the crowd, Kate glanced
surreptitiously into the supper and card rooms. Satisfied her prey was not yet
present, she settled herself beside Mrs. Dogget on a chair as elegant as it was
uncomfortable, wondering how long it would be before she was able to claim a
megrim and go off in search of counterfeiters.
“Well, Kate, who were you looking for just now?” asked Mrs.
Dogget roguishly. “A new beau?”
"The Honorable Mr. Frederick Dalrymple!” trumpeted Mr.
Throckmorton.
The crowd glanced casually to the new arrival; a hush fell as
the gaggle of persons in the entry formed into a line and proceeded down the
stairs and into the room.
First came a parade of servants from the Lady and the Scamp,
carrying, respectively, an upholstered chair, cushions, more cushions, a
footstool, a small table, a decanter of brandy which had never paid duty at any
port, and a pillow. There was a brief pause as the servants arranged these
comforts in the corner across from Kate and her party. Then, missing only a
fanfare of trumpets, Mr. Frederick Dalrymple tottered down the stairs and
across the floor, kindly supported on either side by two stout young fellows
more usually seen in the inn’s stable.
Gently, the sufferer was escorted to the chair. Reverently,
he was eased down on the cushions. Tenderly, the footstool was placed beneath
his feet. The loving hands of a serving wench adjusted his pillow, her lavish
bosoms billowing in his face. Only a blind man could fail to glimpse the
charms she so generously shared, and Mr. Dalrymple certainly was not. To the
rest of the room, he appeared merely to wince and place a limp hand on his
forehead, but Kate, who knew, caught the gleam of mischief in his eye as he
looked her way.
“Why, Katherine, isn’t that your friend from
CAVALIER, VOLUME THREE:
A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
Amazon Edition Copyright 2012 Lydia M. Sheridan
This ebook is licensed
for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away
to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,
please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this
book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please
return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the
work of this author.
THE COUNTERFEIT
CAVALIER, VOLUME THREE:
A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
“Lady Alice, Lady Katherine, Lady Lucy, Lady Carolyn Thoreau!”
announced Mr. Hubert Throgmorton, veteran of the war and, glory of glories!
new Master of Ceremonies, hired by the village elders to give the local
assemblies an elegant touch.
As Kate descended the three shallow stairs to the newly
refurbished hall, awash in gilt and ferns, she darted a sharp glance about for
Mr. Dalrymple. The rooms were already full to bursting even as more attendees
promenaded down the stairs. It seemed as though the whole county had come to
celebrate the opening of the assembly rooms, a testimony to the newly
refurbished village coffers. Even the highest sticklers, who last year would
have made an appearance for form’s sake only, believing the tourists made it
Too Vulgar for words, were in attendance. Though money was not spoken of
openly in their rarified atmosphere, they knew as well as anyone on which side
their bread was buttered and socialized accordingly.
Entry to the dance was a mere token for the locals, for no one
wanted to be left out of the fun. Hardworking trade folk mixed with yeoman
farmers, who rubbed shoulders with eager tourists and satin-clad nobility,
glittering with gems that usually saw the light of day only at the most
fashionable of London parties. All were gathered in the same cause: the
survival of Oaksley and the surrounding lands and estates.
In front of a stand of potted palms, Miss Belinda Dogget waved
frantically, pointing to four empty chairs between her and her mother. As the
Thoreau ladies slowly greeted their way through the crowd, Kate glanced
surreptitiously into the supper and card rooms. Satisfied her prey was not yet
present, she settled herself beside Mrs. Dogget on a chair as elegant as it was
uncomfortable, wondering how long it would be before she was able to claim a
megrim and go off in search of counterfeiters.
“Well, Kate, who were you looking for just now?” asked Mrs.
Dogget roguishly. “A new beau?”
"The Honorable Mr. Frederick Dalrymple!” trumpeted Mr.
Throckmorton.
The crowd glanced casually to the new arrival; a hush fell as
the gaggle of persons in the entry formed into a line and proceeded down the
stairs and into the room.
First came a parade of servants from the Lady and the Scamp,
carrying, respectively, an upholstered chair, cushions, more cushions, a
footstool, a small table, a decanter of brandy which had never paid duty at any
port, and a pillow. There was a brief pause as the servants arranged these
comforts in the corner across from Kate and her party. Then, missing only a
fanfare of trumpets, Mr. Frederick Dalrymple tottered down the stairs and
across the floor, kindly supported on either side by two stout young fellows
more usually seen in the inn’s stable.
Gently, the sufferer was escorted to the chair. Reverently,
he was eased down on the cushions. Tenderly, the footstool was placed beneath
his feet. The loving hands of a serving wench adjusted his pillow, her lavish
bosoms billowing in his face. Only a blind man could fail to glimpse the
charms she so generously shared, and Mr. Dalrymple certainly was not. To the
rest of the room, he appeared merely to wince and place a limp hand on his
forehead, but Kate, who knew, caught the gleam of mischief in his eye as he
looked her way.
“Why, Katherine, isn’t that your friend from
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