Laurence Bretton really was.
She had seen him shine in a world that was not his own. She was curious to see how he conducted himself in one that was.
* * *
That evening saw Joanna and her father, along with Lady Cynthia and Mrs Gavin and her husband, engaged for cards and dancing at the home of Lord and Lady Breckinridge. Not surprisingly, her cousin Jane did not attend.
‘She’s at home, poor darling,’ Mrs Gavin murmured in response to Joanna’s question. ‘Her stomach wasn’t quite the thing so I sent her off to bed with a posset.’
Joanna offered a suitable response, but in truth she hadn’t expected anything else. Jane often came down with an illness right before a social engagement. Her mother tended to put it down to a delicate stomach, while Lady Cynthia was of the opinion the girl suffered from a weak constitution. Only Joanna knew the poor girl was paralytically shy and that she would do almost anything to avoid having to appear in public.
How she was ever to find a husband was a question no one seemed willing to address, but as Joanna walked into the magnificent Park Lane mansion, she thought it just as well Jane hadn’t come tonight. The fashionably dressed crowd, most of whom occupied the upper echelons of society, would certainly have made Jane’s knees tremble. Joanna was thankful she had chosen to wear the newest and most elegant of her gowns, knowing that anything less would have been deemed inappropriate. Fashioned in exceedingly flattering lines, with a bodice cut low enough to expose the rounded tops of her breasts and in a shade of pink not deep enough to be called rose, it was as stylish as any in the room.
‘Why look, Joanna, there is Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Gavin said as they moved into the largest and most ornate of the reception rooms. ‘And keeping very good company, I might add. Lord Trucklesworth is to his right, Lord and Lady Kempton are to his left and he is speaking to Mr Devlin, who is, of course, married to his eldest sister. And is that not Lady Mary Bidwell standing with them?’
‘I do believe it is,’ Lady Cynthia said, ‘and looking quite fetching in that gown, though the colour does make her look somewhat pale. I wonder if her parents are here.’
‘I suspect the duke and duchess are at cards,’ Mrs Gavin said. ‘They are both mad for whist. So much so that I generally try not to end up at their table. I love my husband dearly, but he is quite hopeless at the game.’
‘Why don’t you go over and say hello, Joanna?’ Lady Cynthia suggested. ‘I believe I saw Mr Bretton glance over this way just now.’
‘I suspect he was looking at someone else,’ Joanna said, self-consciously redirecting her gaze. ‘Besides, I have no wish to intrude on their conversation. I do not know Lord Trucklesworth or Lord and Lady Kempton.’
‘Pish-tosh, these are the circles in which you now move and you must start feeling comfortable in them,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘Mrs Devlin will surely introduce you to Lord and Lady Kempton, given that they are her in-laws. Besides, it will be good for you to be seen standing next to Lady Mary, given how much prettier you are than her.’
The cutting remark, so typical of her aunt, did nothing to make Joanna feel better as she reluctantly made her way across the floor. She was well aware that she was expected to move in a different circle now and that being the daughter of an earl entitled her to be treated as an equal. But she had lived too many years as plain Miss Joanna Northrup to feel at home in the company of lords and ladies. Unlike Mr Bretton, whose relaxed posture and enviable poise seemed to suggest he found nothing in the least awkward about mingling with his betters.
‘Why, good evening, Lady Joanna,’ Mrs Devlin said, again greeting her with that warm and engaging smile. ‘How lovely to see you. I don’t believe you are acquainted with my husband?’
Joanna replied that she was not and the necessary introductions were
She had seen him shine in a world that was not his own. She was curious to see how he conducted himself in one that was.
* * *
That evening saw Joanna and her father, along with Lady Cynthia and Mrs Gavin and her husband, engaged for cards and dancing at the home of Lord and Lady Breckinridge. Not surprisingly, her cousin Jane did not attend.
‘She’s at home, poor darling,’ Mrs Gavin murmured in response to Joanna’s question. ‘Her stomach wasn’t quite the thing so I sent her off to bed with a posset.’
Joanna offered a suitable response, but in truth she hadn’t expected anything else. Jane often came down with an illness right before a social engagement. Her mother tended to put it down to a delicate stomach, while Lady Cynthia was of the opinion the girl suffered from a weak constitution. Only Joanna knew the poor girl was paralytically shy and that she would do almost anything to avoid having to appear in public.
How she was ever to find a husband was a question no one seemed willing to address, but as Joanna walked into the magnificent Park Lane mansion, she thought it just as well Jane hadn’t come tonight. The fashionably dressed crowd, most of whom occupied the upper echelons of society, would certainly have made Jane’s knees tremble. Joanna was thankful she had chosen to wear the newest and most elegant of her gowns, knowing that anything less would have been deemed inappropriate. Fashioned in exceedingly flattering lines, with a bodice cut low enough to expose the rounded tops of her breasts and in a shade of pink not deep enough to be called rose, it was as stylish as any in the room.
‘Why look, Joanna, there is Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Gavin said as they moved into the largest and most ornate of the reception rooms. ‘And keeping very good company, I might add. Lord Trucklesworth is to his right, Lord and Lady Kempton are to his left and he is speaking to Mr Devlin, who is, of course, married to his eldest sister. And is that not Lady Mary Bidwell standing with them?’
‘I do believe it is,’ Lady Cynthia said, ‘and looking quite fetching in that gown, though the colour does make her look somewhat pale. I wonder if her parents are here.’
‘I suspect the duke and duchess are at cards,’ Mrs Gavin said. ‘They are both mad for whist. So much so that I generally try not to end up at their table. I love my husband dearly, but he is quite hopeless at the game.’
‘Why don’t you go over and say hello, Joanna?’ Lady Cynthia suggested. ‘I believe I saw Mr Bretton glance over this way just now.’
‘I suspect he was looking at someone else,’ Joanna said, self-consciously redirecting her gaze. ‘Besides, I have no wish to intrude on their conversation. I do not know Lord Trucklesworth or Lord and Lady Kempton.’
‘Pish-tosh, these are the circles in which you now move and you must start feeling comfortable in them,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘Mrs Devlin will surely introduce you to Lord and Lady Kempton, given that they are her in-laws. Besides, it will be good for you to be seen standing next to Lady Mary, given how much prettier you are than her.’
The cutting remark, so typical of her aunt, did nothing to make Joanna feel better as she reluctantly made her way across the floor. She was well aware that she was expected to move in a different circle now and that being the daughter of an earl entitled her to be treated as an equal. But she had lived too many years as plain Miss Joanna Northrup to feel at home in the company of lords and ladies. Unlike Mr Bretton, whose relaxed posture and enviable poise seemed to suggest he found nothing in the least awkward about mingling with his betters.
‘Why, good evening, Lady Joanna,’ Mrs Devlin said, again greeting her with that warm and engaging smile. ‘How lovely to see you. I don’t believe you are acquainted with my husband?’
Joanna replied that she was not and the necessary introductions were
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