Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley by Daphne du Bois Page A
Authors: Daphne du Bois
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charmingly. “Never.”
“Now, Marguerite, balloons aside, I insist that you join us for a musicale tomorrow evening, if you have no prior engagement. The guest of honour is the great composer himself, Sir Lucian Blake, and he has promised that he will treat us to something completely new. He is the son of a dear friend of mine. You may have heard of him? Sir Lucian is very much the thing in musical circles right now. I shall host the evening at my townhouse at seven. It would be wonderful to have you among the guests, would it not, Hartley? I hope you have no other engagements?”
Maggie considered this. To spend even more time in Hartley’s company could prove positively fatal. Yet was this not exactly what she had hoped for, from her London Season? And was she not all for being brave?
“None at all! I delight in musicales, Madame, and I am quite at your disposal,” she said, returning the countess’s smile.
“Excellent. What a delightful evening it shall be. I think I particularly wish to introduce you to our composer – a most accomplished gentleman. You know, I am told the ladies quite swoon the minute he walks on stage.”
When they had at last arrived back at the avenue de Richelieu, it was already growing late and Maggie felt rather worn out from the unusual day she had had.
Still, she was filled with an overwhelming urge to write to her brother and assure him of her well-being. Now that Hart had found her, there was no real reason for her silence.
She didn’t quite know where to begin for a moment, as she sat poised at her escritoire, pen raised in mid-air. But that was ridiculous, Maggie reminded herself. Frederick was till her brother, same as he had been her whole life, and if she had nothing to say to him, then that was a poor reflection on her and not at all on him.
Dearest Frederick, she wrote. Do you remember when we were children and I fell out of the oak tree? I cut my knee and you were convinced we’d be in the greatest trouble, but Hart stepped in and…
*
Dressing for the musicale, the marquess of Hartley found his thoughts returning yet again to Miss Margaret Dacre. Of late, his thoughts had shown a very alarming tendency to stray in that direction, when he ought to have been focussed on getting her home as soon as possible, and rejoining the Season.
It was important that he stop noticing her lovely figure and the ease with which she could make him laugh one moment and exasperate him the next. And, most especially, he had to ignore the fact that the time he had spent with Maggie in Paris was a hundred times more fun than any London Season he had ever attended.
She was a breath of fresh air amidst the poised society beauties with whom he had danced so many cotillions over the years.
What would it be like, he wondered, to dance the cotillion with her? Maggie could make even that societal obligation new and enjoyable.
Alarmingly, these musings were becoming a rather common state of mind for him, and they caused him to adopt a certain uncharacteristic carelessness in his dress, which was visibly distressing his valet. Lost in the memory of her windblown tresses and the way she had clung to him on the Promenades , Hart nearly crumpled his coat of superfine as he moved to put it on.
“Is anything the matter, my lord?” asked Marks, his tireless valet, in a very pointed tone of voice.
“Wrong? Not in the least, Marks. Not in the least.” He ignored the man’s doubtful expression.
After all, there really wasn’t anything in the least bit wrong. Except perhaps for the fact that matters were slipping quite completely out of his control.
He certainly had never thought that he would feel in any way enamoured of the girl. She was just Maggie. He had known her nearly his whole life, and had teased her mercilessly for most of it. Granted, now that he gave the question due consideration, she had always been pretty, stubborn and lively, but she was also the younger sister of his oldest
“Now, Marguerite, balloons aside, I insist that you join us for a musicale tomorrow evening, if you have no prior engagement. The guest of honour is the great composer himself, Sir Lucian Blake, and he has promised that he will treat us to something completely new. He is the son of a dear friend of mine. You may have heard of him? Sir Lucian is very much the thing in musical circles right now. I shall host the evening at my townhouse at seven. It would be wonderful to have you among the guests, would it not, Hartley? I hope you have no other engagements?”
Maggie considered this. To spend even more time in Hartley’s company could prove positively fatal. Yet was this not exactly what she had hoped for, from her London Season? And was she not all for being brave?
“None at all! I delight in musicales, Madame, and I am quite at your disposal,” she said, returning the countess’s smile.
“Excellent. What a delightful evening it shall be. I think I particularly wish to introduce you to our composer – a most accomplished gentleman. You know, I am told the ladies quite swoon the minute he walks on stage.”
When they had at last arrived back at the avenue de Richelieu, it was already growing late and Maggie felt rather worn out from the unusual day she had had.
Still, she was filled with an overwhelming urge to write to her brother and assure him of her well-being. Now that Hart had found her, there was no real reason for her silence.
She didn’t quite know where to begin for a moment, as she sat poised at her escritoire, pen raised in mid-air. But that was ridiculous, Maggie reminded herself. Frederick was till her brother, same as he had been her whole life, and if she had nothing to say to him, then that was a poor reflection on her and not at all on him.
Dearest Frederick, she wrote. Do you remember when we were children and I fell out of the oak tree? I cut my knee and you were convinced we’d be in the greatest trouble, but Hart stepped in and…
*
Dressing for the musicale, the marquess of Hartley found his thoughts returning yet again to Miss Margaret Dacre. Of late, his thoughts had shown a very alarming tendency to stray in that direction, when he ought to have been focussed on getting her home as soon as possible, and rejoining the Season.
It was important that he stop noticing her lovely figure and the ease with which she could make him laugh one moment and exasperate him the next. And, most especially, he had to ignore the fact that the time he had spent with Maggie in Paris was a hundred times more fun than any London Season he had ever attended.
She was a breath of fresh air amidst the poised society beauties with whom he had danced so many cotillions over the years.
What would it be like, he wondered, to dance the cotillion with her? Maggie could make even that societal obligation new and enjoyable.
Alarmingly, these musings were becoming a rather common state of mind for him, and they caused him to adopt a certain uncharacteristic carelessness in his dress, which was visibly distressing his valet. Lost in the memory of her windblown tresses and the way she had clung to him on the Promenades , Hart nearly crumpled his coat of superfine as he moved to put it on.
“Is anything the matter, my lord?” asked Marks, his tireless valet, in a very pointed tone of voice.
“Wrong? Not in the least, Marks. Not in the least.” He ignored the man’s doubtful expression.
After all, there really wasn’t anything in the least bit wrong. Except perhaps for the fact that matters were slipping quite completely out of his control.
He certainly had never thought that he would feel in any way enamoured of the girl. She was just Maggie. He had known her nearly his whole life, and had teased her mercilessly for most of it. Granted, now that he gave the question due consideration, she had always been pretty, stubborn and lively, but she was also the younger sister of his oldest
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