feigning boredom. “Furthermore, people will be too busy dancing to have
time to coddle you.”
“In that case, I depend upon you to introduce me about.”
Kate’s fingers tightened on her glass. “Under no
circumstances--”
“Lady Katherine, Lady Katherine,” twittered a voice in her
ear. “Oh, dear, have I interrupted?” Miss Barbara Radish appeared in front of
them, fluttering her handkerchief. “Please do excuse my poor manners, sir.”
"Such a charming lady as yourself could never be an
interruption,” Mr. Dalrymple returned gallantly. As Kate reluctantly performed
the introductions, he kissed the hand extended to him as the middle-aged
spinster giggled like a deb.
Never one to shirk her self-appointed duty as village gossip,
Miss Barbara wasted no time in coming to the heart of the matter. “Mr.
Dalrymple, a little bird told me,” she peeked coquettishly over her fan,
"That you were waylaid by the Grey Cavalier last night. So shocking!”
Here she paused for a moment to purse her lips and shake her
head that the rascal was not rotting in chains at that very moment. It was a
ritual much practiced in Oaksley by the more upright (or hypocritical)
citizens, and prefaced many conversations regarding the Cavalier. Homage thus
paid to morality and the law, Miss Radish felt free to discuss the Cavalier
with a clear conscience.
“Do tell us, Mr. Dalrymple, is it true you were able to fight
the villain off with only a hatpin? Did you really step in front of a blow
meant for the poor coachman? Did the Cavalier turn tail and run away like the
cowardly criminal he is?”
Kate listened to these idiocies with mounting ire. Beside
her, Mr. Dalrymple’s shoulders were shaking with ill-concealed laughter.
“Modesty forbids me admitting to any of those things, madam,”
he confided reluctantly, eyes carefully cast down with humility.
“Oh, for--I may be ill,” Kate muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” the warrior asked innocently. She glared
at him.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Kate snapped her fan together.
"The Cavalier is a gentleman!”
“Are you sure? As to his sex, I mean.” Mr. Dalrymple winked at
the lace-trimmed woman taking up so much space in front of them.
Kate gasped. Miss Radish tittered gaily at his naughty joke.
With a daring Kate had never known the spinster to possess, she tapped him on
the wrist with her fan and rose in a swirl of lace and ruffles more suited to a
girl in her first Season than a woman of two score and ten.
“Mr. Dalrymple, you are dreadful! I shall send over a jar of
my special salve. Mother’s recipe. It never fails.” Chattering happily, Miss
Radish left and was soon seen flitting from group to group, spreading the
choice gossip.
Mr. Dalrymple smirked. “Perhaps I shall not need to impose
upon your good nature after all, my lady.”
“I told you this morning, Mr. Dalrymple, I will not be
blackmailed.”
"That was not blackmail, Lady Cava--Lady Katherine.
Merely an opportunity for you to save your pretty neck.”
“Precisely what is the point of this conversation?” she
snapped, eyes blazing.
"The point of this conversation was to make you angry
enough so your eyes would glow like sapphires in the moonlight,” he murmured
soulfully. Caught off guard, Kate gazed back, unable to look away. A tingle
ran up her spine. A blush stole over her face. Then her common sense returned
with a rush.
“My eyes are brown!”
Mr. Dalrymple grinned. "So they are.”
Kate’s bosom swelled with indignation. “I would have you know
that I have had sonnets written about my ears, odes to my eyelashes, and a
limerick dedicated to my flame-like tresses--”
“You have?”
She shot him a look of utter loathing. “Most certainly. Do
you believe your feeble attempts at flattery will grant you an introduction to
my underworld connections?”
The man in black sobered. "This is no game for amateurs,
Kate. I advise you to get out while you still can.”
"That’s
time to coddle you.”
“In that case, I depend upon you to introduce me about.”
Kate’s fingers tightened on her glass. “Under no
circumstances--”
“Lady Katherine, Lady Katherine,” twittered a voice in her
ear. “Oh, dear, have I interrupted?” Miss Barbara Radish appeared in front of
them, fluttering her handkerchief. “Please do excuse my poor manners, sir.”
"Such a charming lady as yourself could never be an
interruption,” Mr. Dalrymple returned gallantly. As Kate reluctantly performed
the introductions, he kissed the hand extended to him as the middle-aged
spinster giggled like a deb.
Never one to shirk her self-appointed duty as village gossip,
Miss Barbara wasted no time in coming to the heart of the matter. “Mr.
Dalrymple, a little bird told me,” she peeked coquettishly over her fan,
"That you were waylaid by the Grey Cavalier last night. So shocking!”
Here she paused for a moment to purse her lips and shake her
head that the rascal was not rotting in chains at that very moment. It was a
ritual much practiced in Oaksley by the more upright (or hypocritical)
citizens, and prefaced many conversations regarding the Cavalier. Homage thus
paid to morality and the law, Miss Radish felt free to discuss the Cavalier
with a clear conscience.
“Do tell us, Mr. Dalrymple, is it true you were able to fight
the villain off with only a hatpin? Did you really step in front of a blow
meant for the poor coachman? Did the Cavalier turn tail and run away like the
cowardly criminal he is?”
Kate listened to these idiocies with mounting ire. Beside
her, Mr. Dalrymple’s shoulders were shaking with ill-concealed laughter.
“Modesty forbids me admitting to any of those things, madam,”
he confided reluctantly, eyes carefully cast down with humility.
“Oh, for--I may be ill,” Kate muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” the warrior asked innocently. She glared
at him.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Kate snapped her fan together.
"The Cavalier is a gentleman!”
“Are you sure? As to his sex, I mean.” Mr. Dalrymple winked at
the lace-trimmed woman taking up so much space in front of them.
Kate gasped. Miss Radish tittered gaily at his naughty joke.
With a daring Kate had never known the spinster to possess, she tapped him on
the wrist with her fan and rose in a swirl of lace and ruffles more suited to a
girl in her first Season than a woman of two score and ten.
“Mr. Dalrymple, you are dreadful! I shall send over a jar of
my special salve. Mother’s recipe. It never fails.” Chattering happily, Miss
Radish left and was soon seen flitting from group to group, spreading the
choice gossip.
Mr. Dalrymple smirked. “Perhaps I shall not need to impose
upon your good nature after all, my lady.”
“I told you this morning, Mr. Dalrymple, I will not be
blackmailed.”
"That was not blackmail, Lady Cava--Lady Katherine.
Merely an opportunity for you to save your pretty neck.”
“Precisely what is the point of this conversation?” she
snapped, eyes blazing.
"The point of this conversation was to make you angry
enough so your eyes would glow like sapphires in the moonlight,” he murmured
soulfully. Caught off guard, Kate gazed back, unable to look away. A tingle
ran up her spine. A blush stole over her face. Then her common sense returned
with a rush.
“My eyes are brown!”
Mr. Dalrymple grinned. "So they are.”
Kate’s bosom swelled with indignation. “I would have you know
that I have had sonnets written about my ears, odes to my eyelashes, and a
limerick dedicated to my flame-like tresses--”
“You have?”
She shot him a look of utter loathing. “Most certainly. Do
you believe your feeble attempts at flattery will grant you an introduction to
my underworld connections?”
The man in black sobered. "This is no game for amateurs,
Kate. I advise you to get out while you still can.”
"That’s
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