Frederica in Fashion by MC Beaton Page A

stumbled wearily and would have fallen had he not caught her firmly round the waist. Ignoring her protests, he swung her up into his arms and set off up the path.
    He walked very quickly, disturbed by the feel of her body against his chest, remembering that kiss.
    Frederica was remembering her strange dream. It had seemed so real. She tried to recall the merman’s face but it looked like the duke’s.
    There was a shout from above. The duke stopped and lowered Frederica gently to her feet. A group of militia led by their captain were hurrying down the path.
    ‘Rescue at last,’ said the duke. ‘Remember. I only met you this morning.’
    Frederica looked up into his eyes with a steady gaze. Then those odd eyes of hers began to sparkle with humour and that bewitching smile lit up her face. ‘My dear duke,’ she said gently, ‘you really must believe me. I have absolutely no intention of marrying you. You must have been very lucky in love because you seem to find it impossible to believe I do not want you. And yet, it is almost as if you are hoping that I will try to compromise you in order toeither justify your low opinion of my sex or to restore your bruised amour propre .’
    ‘You little minx!’ said the Duke of Pembury with a reluctant smile. ‘I shall keep well away from you in London, or goodness knows what trouble you will embroil me in.’
     
    At that moment, Lady James was taking a fond farewell of Mr Guy Wentwater on the steps of her London house. He had enlivened the journey for her considerably.
    ‘I am sorry,’ said Mr Wentwater, ‘that you will not help me in my plans to confound the Armitages – particularly after you told me that Miss Frederica had been instrumental in speeding your departure.’
    Lady James laughed. ‘If I thought that tiresome little girl had attracted Pembury in the slightest, I would certainly help you in your schemes. But she was a passing whim, nothing more.’

SIX
    It was the eve of the beginning of the London Season and Frederica’s five elder sisters were gathered in Minerva’s elegant drawing room for a council of war over the teacups.
    Minerva was still looking pale and tired. Her children had been confined to the nursery. Deirdre had a one-year-old son and Daphne a six- mont-hold baby girl. It was too early yet to tell whether Diana was with child or not. But the three mothers tactfully avoided discussing babies or the possibility of babies. For Annabelle had still shown no signs of becoming pregnant and became cross and sad when her more fortunate sisters discussed their offspring.
    ‘To business,’ said Minerva, tapping her spoon against her cup. ‘We are all agreed that a husband must be found for Frederica. She is a gentle, goodlittle thing but it will take all our efforts to bring her to the notice of a suitable gentleman.’
    ‘I think Frederica has great charm,’ said Diana defiantly, her black eyes flashing. ‘Why rush her into marriage? Our husbands have all contributed to give her a large dowry. She may pick and choose.’
    ‘Frederica has a fine spirit,’ said Minerva. ‘But she is not precisely …’
    ‘Pretty,’ said Annabelle, complacently patting her golden curls.
    There were cries of protest from the other four. ‘Be sensible,’ said Annabelle. ‘We are all here to help her find a husband, because, if we do not, she may end up in the arms of a fortune hunter.’
    ‘Is there no hope of Pembury forming a tendre for Frederica?’ asked red-haired Deirdre. ‘After all, he did rescue her.’
    ‘I do not think any of us would wish to see our beloved Frederica married to a man such as Pembury ,’ said Minerva primly. ‘He has an unsavoury reputation and …’
    ‘And it does not say much for darling Frederica’s charms that she experienced no trouble from that quarter,’ said Annabelle.
    ‘You always were a cat,’ said Deirdre. ‘I suppose you feel you would have had to fight him off. Well, let me tell you it is well known that