Silver Splendor by Olivia Drake

is what I mean,” Marianne said sharply. “The upper class has high moral standards, much higher than commoners.” She slipped a hand around the earl’s arm and tilted a pretty smile at him. “Don’t you agree, my lord?”
    Realizing Marianne regarded her as a rival, Elizabeth stifled a bubble of laughter. If only her ladyship knew the earl’s true opinion of his houseguest!
    Indulgently he patted the pale hand on his black sleeve. “The young ladies of my acquaintance are beyond reproach. I have only the highest regard for their beauty as well as for their behavior.”
    Marianne emitted a trill of laughter. “Might I include myself in that assessment?”
    “I meant for you to do so.”
    “Thank you, my lord.”
    Watching them share a smile, Elizabeth felt her spirits sag inexplicably. They made a handsome couple, the earl so powerful and perfect. Lady Marianne so refined and feminine. She thrived on social situations, a woman from his own world, the sort of woman he would eventually marry.
    Cicely glided up, her face aglow with familiar devilry. “How charming to visit with you again, Marianne. I see you’ve met our new houseguest.”
    Apparently confident she had staked her claim to the earl. Lady Marianne dropped her hand. “Yes, thank you. We’ve been having a most stimulating discussion of moral behavior.”
    Cicely arched her eyebrows. “I would have thought you’d be discussing art.”
    “Art?” Marianne said, as if the word were foreign to her vocabulary.
    Lord Nicholas’s cheeks tightened as he glanced from his sister to Marianne. “Miss Hastings is an artist.”
    “Ah, I see,” said Marianne, looking appalled and yet smug, as if the news confirmed her opinion.
    Elizabeth bit back a smile. So her ladyship of the high moral standards was also a bigot. Well, let her enjoy her world of narrow views and tight corsets! Elizabeth wanted no part of it.
    Lady Melton hastened toward them, lorgnette raised, rose taffeta skirts whispering. “Did I hear you properly? You’re an artist, Miss Hastings?”
    Elizabeth lifted her chin with pride. “Yes, I am.”
    “Most curious occupation for a woman,” said Lord Melton, ambling up behind his wife, a glass of sherry in his beefy hand. “Most curious, indeed.”
    Lady Beatrice followed, her face grim. “Now, Edward, drawing is perfectly acceptable as part of a young lady’s education.
    “Even Queen Victoria is an accomplished artist,” Elizabeth pointed out.
    “Yes,” Cicely said with a guileless grin. “Her drawings are often sold to benefit charity.”
    “You see, it is quite the respectable pastime,” Lady Beatrice said smoothly. “Miss Hastings is here to instruct my niece in… ah… some of the finer aspects of art.”
    Laughter leapt inside Elizabeth. Of course, Lady Beatrice meant only to preserve her own reputation, yet there was something gratifying in seeing her forced to defend the woman she scorned.
    “Speaking of art,” she told the earl, “on my way downstairs, I couldn’t help admiring your paintings. You have excellent taste.”
    His finely chiseled lips crooked into a smile. “Regrettably I cannot claim your admiration. My forebears were the collectors, not I.”
    “You’ll do better to stick to more tried and true investments,” Lord Melton said, waving his glass of sherry. “Art’s too risky, too risky, indeed.”
    “Collecting brings enjoyment to the investor,” Elizabeth said. “Instead of letting your money gather dust in a bank vault, you can take pleasure in gazing at the art in your own home.”
    “Provided one purchases only the old masters,” Lady Melton said, her eyes appearing owl-like through the lorgnette. “However can one enjoy these silly aesthetic painters?”
    “Quite so,” her husband agreed. “Remember the twaddle that fellow Whistler tried to pass off as art? Might as well fling a pot of paint at a wall! Get the same result. The same result, indeed!”
    “Whistler.” Marianne aimed a sly