favorite theme. “She was originally Lady Webster before she ran off with Baron Holland—married, I believe, at sixteen. And then there are the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire and their ‘dearest Bess.’“
“All three of whom,” retorted Miss Lennox, under cover of Catalini’s rather piercing voice, “live together in the utmost amity. What is the point of all this, Aunt Eulalia?”
Eulalia smoothed the velvet skirts of her gown—which was mouse-colored, turned up with scarlet and richly embroidered with silver, and leaned closer still. “I have confirmed certain disturbing rumors that have recently reached me, and I do not think you should be kept longer in ignorance.”
Jynx hoped fervently that those rumors had not concerned her own sudden interests in gambling and low life. She turned her head to look at her aunt. Eulalia’s air was nothing short of triumphant. “What rumors are these?”
“Child, I am sorry to tell you this, but you have been misled.” If Eulalia harbored any such regret, it was not apparent to the eye. “I am not one to discount the advantages of a title, but there are limits to how far one should go to become a ladyship. In short, dear Jessamyn, I fear that Lord Roxbury is no better than one of the wicked, if not the greatest blackguard alive! Those who consider him an unexceptionable young man have been gravely deceived.”
Such comments might have been—in truth, had been— expressly designed to pierce Jynx’s equanimity. Still, she did not react as Eulalia might have wished—with curiosity, or embarrassment, or dismay. Instead, Miss Lennox’s haughty nose quivered with outrage. “Fudge!” said she, in tones so firm that they called to her the attention of Prince Paul Esterhazy, Austrian Ambassador to the Court of St. James, who smiled benevolently.
“Mind your tongue!” hissed Eulalia. “You may not mind making a spectacle of yourself, but I do!” Jynx refrained from commenting upon which of the pair of them was behaving outrageously, and Eulalia continued more calmly. “I see I must be frank. Very well! I do not scruple to tell you that your precious viscount—with whom you have been behaving in the most imprudent manner!—has been most friendly with a certain lady for years.” She paused in anticipation of mortification and piqued vanity.
But Miss Lennox was totally free of the sin of vanity, and she had—owing to her most unpaternal sire’s open propensities—more than a passing acquaintance with the habits of unmarried gentlemen. She remarked only that, in light of the way in which women fawned upon Lord Roxbury, it would have been a great deal more remarkable if he hadn’t availed himself of such companionship.
“Lud, if you ain’t a green-head!” It was Eulalia’s voice that, this time, caused heads to turn. She lowered it, hastily. “I suppose you won’t mind that your husband’s fond of women, although tied up, and that he neglects you for highflyers? For I must tell you, miss, that he ain’t given up his little ‘companion,’ for all he’s betrothed to you!”
“I don’t see,” retorted Miss Lennox, unenthusiastically, “why you must tell me anything of the sort, especially when I don’t wish to hear it. Ah, here comes Percy. I am promised to go into dinner with him.”
Eulalia did not concede defeat so easily. She held her niece immobile with a hand on the skirt of her gown. “Then ask Peverell,” she retorted, “about Roxbury’s association with Adorée Blissington! And ask him, too, how Roxbury occupied himself during the two hours he spent at Blissington House today!” That would make Jessamyn sit up and take notice! Eulalia rose and swept magnificently away.
“Lady Bliss?” Jynx echoed blankly. This novel notion explained a great many things, such as that aborted encounter in Hyde Park, and Cristin’s knowledge of the viscount, and even Percy’s odd behavior. But that gentleman— resplendent in evening attire, to
“All three of whom,” retorted Miss Lennox, under cover of Catalini’s rather piercing voice, “live together in the utmost amity. What is the point of all this, Aunt Eulalia?”
Eulalia smoothed the velvet skirts of her gown—which was mouse-colored, turned up with scarlet and richly embroidered with silver, and leaned closer still. “I have confirmed certain disturbing rumors that have recently reached me, and I do not think you should be kept longer in ignorance.”
Jynx hoped fervently that those rumors had not concerned her own sudden interests in gambling and low life. She turned her head to look at her aunt. Eulalia’s air was nothing short of triumphant. “What rumors are these?”
“Child, I am sorry to tell you this, but you have been misled.” If Eulalia harbored any such regret, it was not apparent to the eye. “I am not one to discount the advantages of a title, but there are limits to how far one should go to become a ladyship. In short, dear Jessamyn, I fear that Lord Roxbury is no better than one of the wicked, if not the greatest blackguard alive! Those who consider him an unexceptionable young man have been gravely deceived.”
Such comments might have been—in truth, had been— expressly designed to pierce Jynx’s equanimity. Still, she did not react as Eulalia might have wished—with curiosity, or embarrassment, or dismay. Instead, Miss Lennox’s haughty nose quivered with outrage. “Fudge!” said she, in tones so firm that they called to her the attention of Prince Paul Esterhazy, Austrian Ambassador to the Court of St. James, who smiled benevolently.
“Mind your tongue!” hissed Eulalia. “You may not mind making a spectacle of yourself, but I do!” Jynx refrained from commenting upon which of the pair of them was behaving outrageously, and Eulalia continued more calmly. “I see I must be frank. Very well! I do not scruple to tell you that your precious viscount—with whom you have been behaving in the most imprudent manner!—has been most friendly with a certain lady for years.” She paused in anticipation of mortification and piqued vanity.
But Miss Lennox was totally free of the sin of vanity, and she had—owing to her most unpaternal sire’s open propensities—more than a passing acquaintance with the habits of unmarried gentlemen. She remarked only that, in light of the way in which women fawned upon Lord Roxbury, it would have been a great deal more remarkable if he hadn’t availed himself of such companionship.
“Lud, if you ain’t a green-head!” It was Eulalia’s voice that, this time, caused heads to turn. She lowered it, hastily. “I suppose you won’t mind that your husband’s fond of women, although tied up, and that he neglects you for highflyers? For I must tell you, miss, that he ain’t given up his little ‘companion,’ for all he’s betrothed to you!”
“I don’t see,” retorted Miss Lennox, unenthusiastically, “why you must tell me anything of the sort, especially when I don’t wish to hear it. Ah, here comes Percy. I am promised to go into dinner with him.”
Eulalia did not concede defeat so easily. She held her niece immobile with a hand on the skirt of her gown. “Then ask Peverell,” she retorted, “about Roxbury’s association with Adorée Blissington! And ask him, too, how Roxbury occupied himself during the two hours he spent at Blissington House today!” That would make Jessamyn sit up and take notice! Eulalia rose and swept magnificently away.
“Lady Bliss?” Jynx echoed blankly. This novel notion explained a great many things, such as that aborted encounter in Hyde Park, and Cristin’s knowledge of the viscount, and even Percy’s odd behavior. But that gentleman— resplendent in evening attire, to
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