Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire by Juliet Landon Page A

the coach house and stables.
    In the Peak District of Derbyshire, Amelie’s previous existence had been countrified on a larger scale than this, herentertaining both lavish and frequent in accordance with her husband’s status. At Chester Hall she had tended the preserving of plums and the drying of apple rings, she had pickled walnuts and helped to lay down spare eggs in ash, store the pears, pot the beef and concoct lemon wine using brandy smuggled through Scarborough and Whitby. She had fish on her table from her own ponds and streams, her own ducks and geese, vegetables and fruit enough to send up to the Manchester house and, best of all, she had her own blooms to draw and paint. There was very little that Sir Josiah had denied her—intended, they both knew, to make up for what she could not have.
    Being offered her niece’s company for the next phase of her life had required some consideration, but whereas it meant accepting a responsibility she had not anticipated, the diversions had so far been entertaining, even satisfying. Caterina was good company, eager to learn, intelligent, well-mannered and, thank heaven, possesssed of a natural grace that was easy to clothe. The new riding habit she had worn that morning fitted her shapely young figure like a dream, already attracting some admiration from the men and envy from the women.
    They had gone riding in the park well before breakfast to avoid meeting certain acquaintances, and a party of young officers from the local militia at Kew had hung around them to stare and to vie for her attention. But Caterina had acquitted herself well and had even managed a comfortable trot attached to the head groom’s leading rein. Fortunately, they had not met anyone disagreeable to Amelie, who had already begun to reap the benefits of having attended the ball, for now there were several waves and smiles and calls of, ‘Good morning to you, Lady Chester.’
    ***
    Clattering into the stable yard two hours later, however, was like a sneaky winter breeze to cool Amelie’s warm praise of her niece, for there, being walked up and down by a groom in Lord Elyot’s grey livery was a very large and glossy dark bay with a double-bridle. On a marble table in the front hall of the house lay a beaver hat, a pair of leather gloves and a riding whip, with a rather concerned Henry standing by to tell his mistress that Lord Elyot felt sure she would not mind him waiting.
    Biting back the very obvious reply, she asked instead, ‘Where?’
    ‘In the morning room, m’lady.’
    ‘Very well, Henry. Caterina, go up and change, dear. Then go and take a little breakfast, then perhaps a little practice on the pianoforte. The new Haydn sonata we bought the other day—you might take a look at it.’ She would have given much to go with her instead of to the council of war in the morning room. The staircase seemed twice as high, for she knew why he had come at this early hour and why he had insisted on waiting.
    Pausing only to remove her gloves, hat and veil, Amelie half-expected to see her visitor standing on the hearth with hands clasped behind his back, as her late husband had often done to hear an account of her activities. But Lord Elyot was reading the newspaper over by the window and did not hear Amelie’s quiet entry through the rattle of the paper as he fought with a wayward page.
    She caught sight of herself in the round ornate mirror over the mantelshelf, like a miniature fashion plate of a highwaisted habit of soft violet velvet with a mandarin collar open at the neck to show the delicate ruffle of lace on her habit-shirt. Her brown curls, however, were in a mess. No matter,she thought. Who was there to impress? She closed the door with a loud click, taking pleasure in the crash of paper as he turned, quickly.
    ‘Ah, Lady Chester. Do forgive me.’ He laid the crumpled heap of newspaper upon the table, then stood to perform an elegant bow.
    ‘You’ve waited all this time to apologise, my