glimpse of a light blue room filled with flowers, morning sunlight, and too many gentlemen for his peace of mind. But he couldn’t worry about that right now. It would only be a few moments before the butler returned, and he would rather not have to explain himself to the formidable family retainer.
Max quickly crossed the hall, and knocked on the wide paneled doors.
GAIL lay very, very still. The bed curtains were drawn. The window curtains were drawn. The covers were drawn up over her head. Sunlight was the enemy. As was noise, food, and any movement whatsoever. But she was awake. She had woken up just after dawn and tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use. Her body wouldn’t allow herself the luxury. But she couldn’t get out of bed—not now, not ever. Her head was pounding with such force that she was certain any sudden movement would dislodge her brain. She wasn’t going to be riding QueenBee today, that was certain.
At the thought of QueenBee, her mind automatically followed a course from her horse, to the black horse that had nearly run her over, to its rider. Gail cringed—which hurt.
At least she knew his name now: Maximillian Something Something Fontaine, future Earl of Longsbowe. Oh, how could she have acted so damned stupidly? She had been doing so well, she had dressed appropriately, and she had spoken and danced with at least three gentlemen. But then her natural tendency for disaster had to strike. Getting drunk was bad enough, but to be rescued by him ?
And he’s a peer of the realm, a Viscount, an Earl-to-be! Doubtless Max took no small pleasure in telling any and all of the guests last night that the young lady who was so abominably rude to him a few weeks earlier had gotten completely in her cups, nearly assaulted, and then cast up accounts all over his shoes.
A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. One day, one day out in London society, and she ruined it all.
She lay like that for hours, unable to think beyond her own misery. And rightly so, too! How much damage had she done to her own reputation? How much had she embarrassed her father, Evangeline, even Romilla…
Gail cringed, and then cringed again at the pain the first cringe caused in her forehead. Movement was tricky.
Romilla. Gail certainly remembered that her stepmother had been on an awful tear the night before about the punch. Hindsight was always annoyingly clear, and Gail could now see that young Ommersley was certainly no gentleman, and had likely tampered with the refreshments he was so diligent in procuring for her. Gail fumed. She dearly wanted to give that overentitled, unscrupulous little twit his comeuppance, but would have to think of exactly how later. The bloody nose Lord Fontaine had delivered would certainly not suffice.
As Gail’s brain threatened to loop back onto Max again, suddenly, the deafening squeak of door hinges exploded in her brain, followed by the positively earsplitting noise of someone bustling about the hearth.
“Please…not so loud,” she croaked out, her voice muffled to a whisper by all the cotton taking up residence in her mouth.
Sunlight burned a path into Gail’s tortured eyes when Mrs. Bibb unceremoniously pulled the bed curtains back.
“Ah! Good mornin’, Miss Gail!” Mrs. Bibb proclaimed cheerily, as Gail turned her frail head away from the light. “Glad to see yer awake. Quite a night you had, I’m surprised you dinna sleep till nightfall.”
“Please…” Gail whispered, “just let me die.”
Mrs. Bibb clucked her tongue. “Miss Gail, you always did have a knack for dramatics.”
Then, the loving housekeeper flung back the feathered quilts on the bed, forcing Gail to curl into a ball to keep warm.
“Now,” she began blithely while opening the windows, letting in a mild spring breeze. “All you need is some fresh air. Lord, you think yer the first person to feel their head after a night of too many? Stuff and nonsense, missy. Now, as I was sayin’, you
Max quickly crossed the hall, and knocked on the wide paneled doors.
GAIL lay very, very still. The bed curtains were drawn. The window curtains were drawn. The covers were drawn up over her head. Sunlight was the enemy. As was noise, food, and any movement whatsoever. But she was awake. She had woken up just after dawn and tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use. Her body wouldn’t allow herself the luxury. But she couldn’t get out of bed—not now, not ever. Her head was pounding with such force that she was certain any sudden movement would dislodge her brain. She wasn’t going to be riding QueenBee today, that was certain.
At the thought of QueenBee, her mind automatically followed a course from her horse, to the black horse that had nearly run her over, to its rider. Gail cringed—which hurt.
At least she knew his name now: Maximillian Something Something Fontaine, future Earl of Longsbowe. Oh, how could she have acted so damned stupidly? She had been doing so well, she had dressed appropriately, and she had spoken and danced with at least three gentlemen. But then her natural tendency for disaster had to strike. Getting drunk was bad enough, but to be rescued by him ?
And he’s a peer of the realm, a Viscount, an Earl-to-be! Doubtless Max took no small pleasure in telling any and all of the guests last night that the young lady who was so abominably rude to him a few weeks earlier had gotten completely in her cups, nearly assaulted, and then cast up accounts all over his shoes.
A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. One day, one day out in London society, and she ruined it all.
She lay like that for hours, unable to think beyond her own misery. And rightly so, too! How much damage had she done to her own reputation? How much had she embarrassed her father, Evangeline, even Romilla…
Gail cringed, and then cringed again at the pain the first cringe caused in her forehead. Movement was tricky.
Romilla. Gail certainly remembered that her stepmother had been on an awful tear the night before about the punch. Hindsight was always annoyingly clear, and Gail could now see that young Ommersley was certainly no gentleman, and had likely tampered with the refreshments he was so diligent in procuring for her. Gail fumed. She dearly wanted to give that overentitled, unscrupulous little twit his comeuppance, but would have to think of exactly how later. The bloody nose Lord Fontaine had delivered would certainly not suffice.
As Gail’s brain threatened to loop back onto Max again, suddenly, the deafening squeak of door hinges exploded in her brain, followed by the positively earsplitting noise of someone bustling about the hearth.
“Please…not so loud,” she croaked out, her voice muffled to a whisper by all the cotton taking up residence in her mouth.
Sunlight burned a path into Gail’s tortured eyes when Mrs. Bibb unceremoniously pulled the bed curtains back.
“Ah! Good mornin’, Miss Gail!” Mrs. Bibb proclaimed cheerily, as Gail turned her frail head away from the light. “Glad to see yer awake. Quite a night you had, I’m surprised you dinna sleep till nightfall.”
“Please…” Gail whispered, “just let me die.”
Mrs. Bibb clucked her tongue. “Miss Gail, you always did have a knack for dramatics.”
Then, the loving housekeeper flung back the feathered quilts on the bed, forcing Gail to curl into a ball to keep warm.
“Now,” she began blithely while opening the windows, letting in a mild spring breeze. “All you need is some fresh air. Lord, you think yer the first person to feel their head after a night of too many? Stuff and nonsense, missy. Now, as I was sayin’, you
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