them with rapt fascination until she realized what she was doing. Then she tore her eyes away and cleared her throat.
They drove down Piccadilly Street to Park Lane with only the most desultory of conversation. “That’s the King’s Palace there, across Green Park,” she pointed out to Valerie. “And there, at that fountain up ahead, that’s Hyde Park Corner,” she added, trying to keep her attention anywhere but on Ivan Thornton.
As they neared Stanhope Gate, which led into the park, the busy traffic grew heavier still. Once they turned in at the gate, however, it became little more than a queue lined up through the park, phaetons and curricles and landaus—even a hack or two. And whoever wasn’t in a carriage was mounted on a spirited steed.
Valerie was all eyes, staring about like the green girl she was. During her own first season Lucy had been just as impressed by the dazzling display of high society, of the silks and muslins, braid and ribbons, feathers and jewels. Her second season she’d affected a more blasé attitude. Now, however, she found a certain amusement in it. Like children, the ton had come to the park to show off their newest toys. One elegant woman remarked on another’s cunning bonnet. One top lofty fellow complimented another’s fine mount. And everyone kept a close watch on everyone else, all the while trying to display themselves in the best and most flattering light.
One rather regal-looking couple driving a royal-blue Berlin coach had two enormous cats settled on their laps and three leashed greyhounds following their vehicle, each one wearing a royal-blue cap with a royal-blue feather curving over it.
Lucy coughed behind one hand, trying to disguise her laughter. Valerie did not notice, but the earl did.
“Amused, Miss Drysdale? And by the elitest of our elite society? I doubt the countess would approve of your attitude.”
Lucy shot him a sidelong glance. He was teasing, wasn’t he? His lips were curved up on one side. Still, she couldn’t be certain. “It was only a tickle in my throat,” she vowed. Unfortunately, at precisely that moment an overaged roué trotted by, clad in a bright yellow jacket cut much too small. To make matters even more ridiculous, he was riding a pure white steed that was clearly not of a mind to appreciate the crowds on Rotten Row. Lucy could not quite hide the laughter that bubbled up.
“Don’t laugh,” the earl whispered in her ear. “He’s a marquess, recently come into his considerable inheritance from an uncle who lived to be eighty. And he’s newly in need of a wife, his three previous ones having died without giving him an heir. No doubt my cousin’s family would be overjoyed should you help her snag a marquess.”
Her distaste must have shown in her face, for it was his turn to laugh—and somehow maneuver his leg back against hers.
She answered that not-so-subtle move with an equally unsubtle jab of her elbow into his side. She heard his faint grunt of surprise. But the leg stayed boldly where it was.
“Oh, look, Miss Drysdale. That purple carriage. Is that the king, or one of his family?”
The earl leaned forward to answer Valerie, causing his hip to press against Lucy’s. Really, but the man was an out-and-out bounder to take advantage this way! So why was she reacting like a green girl with sweaty palms and racing pulse?
“That is the Duke of Cheltham, Lady Valerie. Or rather his wife, Lady Cheltham. And one of her particular friends,” he added in a dry tone when the spectacular carriage drew nearer. “He is rather proud of his familial connections to the royal family. Thus the purple landau.”
An intriguing bit of gossip. Lucy, however, was more interested in removing that hard, muscular thigh from hers lest she lose what little remained of her wits.
“Would you like to walk a while?” she asked Valerie in a strained voice. Once again she jabbed the shameless wretch beside her, only this time even more
They drove down Piccadilly Street to Park Lane with only the most desultory of conversation. “That’s the King’s Palace there, across Green Park,” she pointed out to Valerie. “And there, at that fountain up ahead, that’s Hyde Park Corner,” she added, trying to keep her attention anywhere but on Ivan Thornton.
As they neared Stanhope Gate, which led into the park, the busy traffic grew heavier still. Once they turned in at the gate, however, it became little more than a queue lined up through the park, phaetons and curricles and landaus—even a hack or two. And whoever wasn’t in a carriage was mounted on a spirited steed.
Valerie was all eyes, staring about like the green girl she was. During her own first season Lucy had been just as impressed by the dazzling display of high society, of the silks and muslins, braid and ribbons, feathers and jewels. Her second season she’d affected a more blasé attitude. Now, however, she found a certain amusement in it. Like children, the ton had come to the park to show off their newest toys. One elegant woman remarked on another’s cunning bonnet. One top lofty fellow complimented another’s fine mount. And everyone kept a close watch on everyone else, all the while trying to display themselves in the best and most flattering light.
One rather regal-looking couple driving a royal-blue Berlin coach had two enormous cats settled on their laps and three leashed greyhounds following their vehicle, each one wearing a royal-blue cap with a royal-blue feather curving over it.
Lucy coughed behind one hand, trying to disguise her laughter. Valerie did not notice, but the earl did.
“Amused, Miss Drysdale? And by the elitest of our elite society? I doubt the countess would approve of your attitude.”
Lucy shot him a sidelong glance. He was teasing, wasn’t he? His lips were curved up on one side. Still, she couldn’t be certain. “It was only a tickle in my throat,” she vowed. Unfortunately, at precisely that moment an overaged roué trotted by, clad in a bright yellow jacket cut much too small. To make matters even more ridiculous, he was riding a pure white steed that was clearly not of a mind to appreciate the crowds on Rotten Row. Lucy could not quite hide the laughter that bubbled up.
“Don’t laugh,” the earl whispered in her ear. “He’s a marquess, recently come into his considerable inheritance from an uncle who lived to be eighty. And he’s newly in need of a wife, his three previous ones having died without giving him an heir. No doubt my cousin’s family would be overjoyed should you help her snag a marquess.”
Her distaste must have shown in her face, for it was his turn to laugh—and somehow maneuver his leg back against hers.
She answered that not-so-subtle move with an equally unsubtle jab of her elbow into his side. She heard his faint grunt of surprise. But the leg stayed boldly where it was.
“Oh, look, Miss Drysdale. That purple carriage. Is that the king, or one of his family?”
The earl leaned forward to answer Valerie, causing his hip to press against Lucy’s. Really, but the man was an out-and-out bounder to take advantage this way! So why was she reacting like a green girl with sweaty palms and racing pulse?
“That is the Duke of Cheltham, Lady Valerie. Or rather his wife, Lady Cheltham. And one of her particular friends,” he added in a dry tone when the spectacular carriage drew nearer. “He is rather proud of his familial connections to the royal family. Thus the purple landau.”
An intriguing bit of gossip. Lucy, however, was more interested in removing that hard, muscular thigh from hers lest she lose what little remained of her wits.
“Would you like to walk a while?” she asked Valerie in a strained voice. Once again she jabbed the shameless wretch beside her, only this time even more
Similar Books
