Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) by Lisa Andersen Page A
Authors: Lisa Andersen
Ads: Link
The ladies were dressed much as Rebecca was, with tight ringlets of hair and elaborate dresses. Rebecca’s dress flowed around her as though she was walking upon clouds. Father leaned in and whispered. “What do you make of our chances of coming face to face with His Grace, himself?”
“They have just increased, I should say,” a voice came from behind.
Father almost jumped up in surprise. Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca turned swiftly. A footman circulated, handing out cups of wine; and for a moment the voice was obscured by two of these footmen passing in opposite directions, creating a momentary shield. But then they passed, and His Grace came into view. It was clear that it was His Grace; he was the only man wearing military garb, his jacket studded with medals and commendations. He was a well-built man, with a handsome face and cold, blue eyes.
“You are the Emersons, I should say?” His Grace said.
Father bowed profusely, and Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca curtseyed so deeply their knees almost touched the ground. There was a general murmur of Your Grace, Your Grace . “Lord Lloyd Emerson,” His Grace said, facing Father. “I was thrilled when I heard you were coming, I must say, but now I am doubly thrilled.” A caustic spark played in His Grace’s eye. “Not only have you partaken of my hospitality, but I have also been the tool to facilitate your witty gossiping. It is rather a bifurcated vindication one feels at present.”
“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” Father said in deep tones of apology. “One sometimes forgets one’s surroundings.”
“You must crash into a lot of walls,” His Grace said, but then he allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “I am merely making sport of the encounter,” he went on. “You need not fear that I am genuinely distressed. Once one has faced hordes of bloody men, one does not fear ballroom gossip.”
“I must protest, Your Grace, I really did not mean to gossip—”
“It is irrelevant,” His Grace said. He moved around Father and stood before the women. “You must be Lady Esther Emerson.” Mother curtseyed once more. “And you are Miss Garnet Leverton.” Auntie curtseyed, somewhat awkwardly. “And you are Lady Rebecca Emerson.”
Rebecca curtseyed deeply, and snuck a quick look up into his face. He was smiling down at her as though mightily pleased with something she had done. When she rose, His Grace smiled at her once more. “Bantering aside, I must say I am glad you are here,” His Grace said. “One must extend one’s home to as many people as possible when one has been at war for so long.”
This was not the sort of thing a lord should say to a lady, and if some minor lord had broached the topic of war in the presence of her daughter, Mother would swiftly end it. But this was His Grace, the Duke of Waltren, and different rules applied to him. The Emersons (and the Leverton) stood in a circle and looked at His Grace with anticipation for his next comment, but presently some esteemed guest arrived, and he was forced to go and greet them. “Lady Emerson,” he said, facing Rebecca. For a moment Rebecca felt as though His Grace and she were the only people in the ballroom. “May I take a dance, once I am free?”
“If chance permits it,” Rebecca said, before she could stop herself.
“Daughter!” Mother cried, at her shoulder.
Even Father looked abashed.
But His Grace only smiled once more. “Let us hope chance is on our side this day,” he said.
Then he left them and circulated the room.
“That was frightfully silly of you,” Mother said. “He is a Duke , my daughter. You cannot play your bantering games with him. And you,” she went on, turning to Father. “What madness caused you to speak so carelessly when your tongue should have been guarded?”
Father looked at his wife – who was half the size of him in stature – like a chastised boy. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said. “We all know my traitor tongue can say
“They have just increased, I should say,” a voice came from behind.
Father almost jumped up in surprise. Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca turned swiftly. A footman circulated, handing out cups of wine; and for a moment the voice was obscured by two of these footmen passing in opposite directions, creating a momentary shield. But then they passed, and His Grace came into view. It was clear that it was His Grace; he was the only man wearing military garb, his jacket studded with medals and commendations. He was a well-built man, with a handsome face and cold, blue eyes.
“You are the Emersons, I should say?” His Grace said.
Father bowed profusely, and Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca curtseyed so deeply their knees almost touched the ground. There was a general murmur of Your Grace, Your Grace . “Lord Lloyd Emerson,” His Grace said, facing Father. “I was thrilled when I heard you were coming, I must say, but now I am doubly thrilled.” A caustic spark played in His Grace’s eye. “Not only have you partaken of my hospitality, but I have also been the tool to facilitate your witty gossiping. It is rather a bifurcated vindication one feels at present.”
“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” Father said in deep tones of apology. “One sometimes forgets one’s surroundings.”
“You must crash into a lot of walls,” His Grace said, but then he allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “I am merely making sport of the encounter,” he went on. “You need not fear that I am genuinely distressed. Once one has faced hordes of bloody men, one does not fear ballroom gossip.”
“I must protest, Your Grace, I really did not mean to gossip—”
“It is irrelevant,” His Grace said. He moved around Father and stood before the women. “You must be Lady Esther Emerson.” Mother curtseyed once more. “And you are Miss Garnet Leverton.” Auntie curtseyed, somewhat awkwardly. “And you are Lady Rebecca Emerson.”
Rebecca curtseyed deeply, and snuck a quick look up into his face. He was smiling down at her as though mightily pleased with something she had done. When she rose, His Grace smiled at her once more. “Bantering aside, I must say I am glad you are here,” His Grace said. “One must extend one’s home to as many people as possible when one has been at war for so long.”
This was not the sort of thing a lord should say to a lady, and if some minor lord had broached the topic of war in the presence of her daughter, Mother would swiftly end it. But this was His Grace, the Duke of Waltren, and different rules applied to him. The Emersons (and the Leverton) stood in a circle and looked at His Grace with anticipation for his next comment, but presently some esteemed guest arrived, and he was forced to go and greet them. “Lady Emerson,” he said, facing Rebecca. For a moment Rebecca felt as though His Grace and she were the only people in the ballroom. “May I take a dance, once I am free?”
“If chance permits it,” Rebecca said, before she could stop herself.
“Daughter!” Mother cried, at her shoulder.
Even Father looked abashed.
But His Grace only smiled once more. “Let us hope chance is on our side this day,” he said.
Then he left them and circulated the room.
“That was frightfully silly of you,” Mother said. “He is a Duke , my daughter. You cannot play your bantering games with him. And you,” she went on, turning to Father. “What madness caused you to speak so carelessly when your tongue should have been guarded?”
Father looked at his wife – who was half the size of him in stature – like a chastised boy. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said. “We all know my traitor tongue can say
Similar Books
