The Wagered Widow by Patricia Veryan

and one that seemed, to Rebecca at least, in keeping with the joy of knowing that not only was The Plan working, but it had progressed much faster and further than she had dared to hope.
    The golden moments drifted past; the air grew warmer. By half-past three the afternoon was very still, the countryside seemed to be dozing, and all that could be heard were the gurgling chuckle of the river, the snores of several guests who had dropped off to sleep, and the occasional drowsy song of a bird. The musicians, having been given trays and tankards, were happily occupied in the stern; the servants were enjoying their own meal; and even Mr. de Villars seemed content to perch quietly on the rail close to The Monahan. Having returned Rebecca to her chaise, Major Broadbent went off to throw dice with Ward. Mrs. Boothe and Mr. Melton were standing in the bows together, and Rebecca watched them thoughtfully. The gentleman appeared to be saying very little. It was debatable whether her aunt would be able to bring him up to scratch, yet surely this delightful excursion must be a perfect opportunity—
    â€œMay I join you, ma’am?”
    The gentle voice was that of Letitia Boudreaux, lovely in her blue muslin trimmed with white lace.
    â€œPray do,” said Rebecca warmly. “I have been hoping for a cose with you.”
    A blush of pleasure warmed Miss Boudreaux’s cheeks. She occupied the chair Mrs. Boothe had vacated, murmuring shyly, “Do you know, I feel as though we were old friends.”
    â€œAnd I expect we would be, had I not been in mourning, for we would certainly have met at some function or another. Perhaps you are acquainted with my brother?”
    â€œDo you mean Mr. Snowden Boothe?” Miss Boudreaux pleated a fold of her gown with nervous fingers. “I have danced with him a time or two. It was brave of him to stand up with me, under the circumstances.”
    Rebecca’s gaze sharpened. The blue eyes were lowered, but the blush in the cheeks had deepened. She thought, “Oh, no!” but said kindly, “Why, I am sure Snowden was honoured.”
    â€œHe said so, of course, for his manners are beyond reproach. But—” Miss Boudreaux gave a wry smile. “I am so wretchedly tall, you see. He could only have been embarrassed.”
    Despite the deprecating words, she was very obviously in hopes of an encouraging reply, and Rebecca positively ached with sympathy. The poor girl harboured a tendre for Snow! And there was no hope at all, for not only was he enjoying a mild flirtation with a petite damsel, but Rebecca suspected that he had a pronounced interest in a certain Green-Eyed Cat who was at present exerting every wile at her command to keep The Lewd Rake at her side. What a pity it was, to be sure, for there was not another girl in all London Rebecca would sooner have had for a sister-in-law, or who might have made her rackety brother a more suitable wife.
    â€œI am sure he was not at all embarrassed,” she lied staunchly. “If you did but know how I envy you your height, for tall ladies always look so superb in their garments. Have you never noticed that all the styles in the fashion magazines are worn by extreme tall creatures—so very elegant.”
    â€œYes. And one wonders if any woman living could have such incredibly long”—Letitia glanced around cautiously and lowered her voice—“long legs! I vow even so tall a gentleman as my cousin de Villars would not dare stand up with one of them!”
    They laughed merrily together, and by the time Miss Boudreaux went over to chat with Martha Street, their friendship was firmly cemented.
    Rebecca was not accustomed to taking a large luncheon and, although it seemed wasteful to nap, she was beginning to feel drowsy. She yawned, put back her head and prepared to close her eyes, just for a few minutes. She had reckoned without the wide brim of her straw, and found it necessary to remove the