two of you may I venture to guess that your excursion proved fruitful?”
“Oh ... yes, yes, of course.”
It was slightly disconcerting to see the carefree smile fade as she replied a shade too quickly, and his gaze sharpened as Claire said gaily:
“We were fortunate enough to find the most ravishing dress and Madame Louise promised to have it delivered here within the hour, so we need not impose on your good nature any longer than necessary.”
He bowed gracefully. “It is a pleasure, my dear Miss Carstairs, not an imposition, to be of some slight service to my ward.” His voice remained suave as he turned again to the latter, but the golden brown eyes were watchful.
“And are you equally thrilled with your purchase, Lady Marianne?”
“I trust it will prove suitable and that Lady Lunswick will approve,” she answered composedly, but his increasing sensitivity to her moods detected a shade of doubt.
Claire’s laughter was slightly edged. “Of course it is suitable, Marianne. Madame Louise is the best modiste in Bath.”
“And since it is widely known that Miss Carstairs has exquisite taste,” Lord Lunswick inserted smoothly, “your ladyship may rest assured that your gown will be both suitable and attractive.” Apparently tiring of the subject of feminine apparel, he inquired pointedly into Marianne’s impressions of Bath, and the conversation became general for the remainder of the luncheon. And since in the art of entertaining young females, the marquess was an experienced and charming host, it was indeed a pleasant interlude for both young ladies.
It was not until early evening, when Marianne made her appearance in the saloon wearing the new gown, that Justin recalled that his compliment to Miss Carstairs’ taste in fashion had been received by that young woman in uncharacteristic silence, accompanied by a swift lowering of long lashes.
As he stared expressionlessly at his ward, attired in the one color absolutely guaranteed to cause a fading tan to appear sallow, he wondered somewhat grimly if it would be his fate to spend his life protecting this strong but strangely vulnerable girl from the disingenuous attentions of her relatives. Although the gown could not be faulted as demodée, a subtle excess of fabric in strategic areas completely disguised the graceful curves of what he knew to be a perfectly balanced figure as thoroughly as though she were enveloped from head to toe in a cloak.
He had to concede a grudging admiration for Claire Carstairs’ single-minded determination to dim her cousin’s light, as he appreciatively witnessed the effect of her own tardy entrance a half hour later. She swept into the room on a wave of French scent and pretty apologies, wearing a softly draped gown that clung lovingly to her exquisite form. Justin quirked one eyebrow in a mocking tribute to her choice of color. The dense rich jonquil hue completely cast into the shade Marianne’s pale buttercup yellow while softly flattering Claire’s white skin and red-lit curls. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he observed his mother’s comprehensive study of her young guest, and he acknowledged the rueful twist of her lips as she turned involuntarily to him with a wicked half-wink of his own that prompted an unwilling smile and a somewhat hasty greeting to the earl who had entered behind his sister.
The marquess, although genuinely appreciative of the humor of the situation, was aware of an instinct he dimly recognized as protectiveness toward this awkward, faintly hostile, but unaffectedly genuine ward of his, and this hitherto unknown force derived a fierce satisfaction from the fact that no calculated spite on her cousin’s part could diminish the glory of that magnificent quantity of black hair skillfully arranged by someone who had seen its possibilities as a lovely frame for her incredible violet-blue eyes. It was drawn back smoothly from that center point on her forehead that caused her face to appear
“Oh ... yes, yes, of course.”
It was slightly disconcerting to see the carefree smile fade as she replied a shade too quickly, and his gaze sharpened as Claire said gaily:
“We were fortunate enough to find the most ravishing dress and Madame Louise promised to have it delivered here within the hour, so we need not impose on your good nature any longer than necessary.”
He bowed gracefully. “It is a pleasure, my dear Miss Carstairs, not an imposition, to be of some slight service to my ward.” His voice remained suave as he turned again to the latter, but the golden brown eyes were watchful.
“And are you equally thrilled with your purchase, Lady Marianne?”
“I trust it will prove suitable and that Lady Lunswick will approve,” she answered composedly, but his increasing sensitivity to her moods detected a shade of doubt.
Claire’s laughter was slightly edged. “Of course it is suitable, Marianne. Madame Louise is the best modiste in Bath.”
“And since it is widely known that Miss Carstairs has exquisite taste,” Lord Lunswick inserted smoothly, “your ladyship may rest assured that your gown will be both suitable and attractive.” Apparently tiring of the subject of feminine apparel, he inquired pointedly into Marianne’s impressions of Bath, and the conversation became general for the remainder of the luncheon. And since in the art of entertaining young females, the marquess was an experienced and charming host, it was indeed a pleasant interlude for both young ladies.
It was not until early evening, when Marianne made her appearance in the saloon wearing the new gown, that Justin recalled that his compliment to Miss Carstairs’ taste in fashion had been received by that young woman in uncharacteristic silence, accompanied by a swift lowering of long lashes.
As he stared expressionlessly at his ward, attired in the one color absolutely guaranteed to cause a fading tan to appear sallow, he wondered somewhat grimly if it would be his fate to spend his life protecting this strong but strangely vulnerable girl from the disingenuous attentions of her relatives. Although the gown could not be faulted as demodée, a subtle excess of fabric in strategic areas completely disguised the graceful curves of what he knew to be a perfectly balanced figure as thoroughly as though she were enveloped from head to toe in a cloak.
He had to concede a grudging admiration for Claire Carstairs’ single-minded determination to dim her cousin’s light, as he appreciatively witnessed the effect of her own tardy entrance a half hour later. She swept into the room on a wave of French scent and pretty apologies, wearing a softly draped gown that clung lovingly to her exquisite form. Justin quirked one eyebrow in a mocking tribute to her choice of color. The dense rich jonquil hue completely cast into the shade Marianne’s pale buttercup yellow while softly flattering Claire’s white skin and red-lit curls. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he observed his mother’s comprehensive study of her young guest, and he acknowledged the rueful twist of her lips as she turned involuntarily to him with a wicked half-wink of his own that prompted an unwilling smile and a somewhat hasty greeting to the earl who had entered behind his sister.
The marquess, although genuinely appreciative of the humor of the situation, was aware of an instinct he dimly recognized as protectiveness toward this awkward, faintly hostile, but unaffectedly genuine ward of his, and this hitherto unknown force derived a fierce satisfaction from the fact that no calculated spite on her cousin’s part could diminish the glory of that magnificent quantity of black hair skillfully arranged by someone who had seen its possibilities as a lovely frame for her incredible violet-blue eyes. It was drawn back smoothly from that center point on her forehead that caused her face to appear
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