haring off without the sense that God granted them."
Lady Mary inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord."
Abigail finally found her tongue. “But, Grandmama, surely you and Grandpapa are not leaving Brussels!"
"Your grandfather is as stubborn as your own mother, child. He shall not be satisfied that there is any substance to what we have heard until Bonaparte himself knocks at the door,” Viscountess Catlin said with asperity. She realized when her husband laughed that she had exposed herself again to his sardonic sense of humor. “But let's not talk about nasty politics. My sweet Abigail, I have the most wonderful news. I have gained an introduction to the Comte l'Buc and he has indicated significant interest in meeting you, my dear! In fact, I am nearly positive that he can be induced to partner you at Lady Charlotte Greville's party this evening."
"But, Grandmama, I have already half-promised myself to Lord Hay for that evening,” Abigail said, dismayed. She liked young Lord Hay, who was seventeen like herself and could be counted on for merry talk.
Viscountess Catlin smiled brightly. She patted her granddaughter's cheek. “Indeed, Lord Hay is a very eligible young gentleman. As an elder son he will certainly inherit his father's title; but his lordship is still in his prime, and so that day will be long in coming. The Comte l'Buc, on the other hand, has already come into his own and he has the advantage also of being some years your senior, so he can be counted upon to be a proper guide for a young wife. He will naturally be proud of his wife's social accomplishments and perhaps be more inclined to be lenient of her circle of admirers than would be a gentleman of lesser years, who might exhibit distressing signs of jealousy."
"Mother, that will be enough,” Lady Mary said.
Her tone was such that the viscountess looked up at her in surprise. There was a certain coolness in Lady Mary's wide gray eyes, the slightest rise of her winged brows, that the viscountess recognized from old, and she tightened her lips. “Really, Mary! One would think that you do not wish Abigail to make a brilliant match."
"I do not believe marriage to a confirmed old roué to be a brilliant match, my lady. Furthermore, I shall not sit quietly by while you intimate to Abigail the mistaken notion that all husbands and wives must expect dalliance from their spouses,'’ Lady Mary said.
The viscountess regarded her daughter with a measure of superiority. “My dear Mary, how can you still be so incredibly naive at your years? Why, I had no notion that sitting about the country for all those years would blind one so completely. If the truth but be known, Sir Roger was probably little different from any other gentleman, and—"
Lady Mary smiled, but the warmth of her expression did not quite reach her eyes. At that moment she looked uncannily like her paternal parent at his most dangerous. “You shall not finish that unworthy thought in my presence, nor ever to my daughter."
Viscountess Catlin rose precipitately, two spots of angry color in her face. “Well! I have never been treated so shabbily! Victor, I think it past time that we leave.” She turned away without thought to the social amenities and sailed out of the drawing room.
The viscount was slow to follow his wife's hasty exit. He bowed to Lady Mary, a small sardonic smile playing about his lips. She half-expected him to rebuke her, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to his granddaughter and raised Abigail's hand to his lips. Her eyes reflected her distress at the scene just ended, and he laughed softly. “Pray do not appear so anxious, dear child. Your grandmother has never understood the nature of your mother's character. Indeed, it took a great many years for me to become reconciled to it. But I do understand your mother, perhaps more than she suspects, and I can assure you that what she says of your father can be believed in whole cloth."
He left then, leaving Lady
Lady Mary inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord."
Abigail finally found her tongue. “But, Grandmama, surely you and Grandpapa are not leaving Brussels!"
"Your grandfather is as stubborn as your own mother, child. He shall not be satisfied that there is any substance to what we have heard until Bonaparte himself knocks at the door,” Viscountess Catlin said with asperity. She realized when her husband laughed that she had exposed herself again to his sardonic sense of humor. “But let's not talk about nasty politics. My sweet Abigail, I have the most wonderful news. I have gained an introduction to the Comte l'Buc and he has indicated significant interest in meeting you, my dear! In fact, I am nearly positive that he can be induced to partner you at Lady Charlotte Greville's party this evening."
"But, Grandmama, I have already half-promised myself to Lord Hay for that evening,” Abigail said, dismayed. She liked young Lord Hay, who was seventeen like herself and could be counted on for merry talk.
Viscountess Catlin smiled brightly. She patted her granddaughter's cheek. “Indeed, Lord Hay is a very eligible young gentleman. As an elder son he will certainly inherit his father's title; but his lordship is still in his prime, and so that day will be long in coming. The Comte l'Buc, on the other hand, has already come into his own and he has the advantage also of being some years your senior, so he can be counted upon to be a proper guide for a young wife. He will naturally be proud of his wife's social accomplishments and perhaps be more inclined to be lenient of her circle of admirers than would be a gentleman of lesser years, who might exhibit distressing signs of jealousy."
"Mother, that will be enough,” Lady Mary said.
Her tone was such that the viscountess looked up at her in surprise. There was a certain coolness in Lady Mary's wide gray eyes, the slightest rise of her winged brows, that the viscountess recognized from old, and she tightened her lips. “Really, Mary! One would think that you do not wish Abigail to make a brilliant match."
"I do not believe marriage to a confirmed old roué to be a brilliant match, my lady. Furthermore, I shall not sit quietly by while you intimate to Abigail the mistaken notion that all husbands and wives must expect dalliance from their spouses,'’ Lady Mary said.
The viscountess regarded her daughter with a measure of superiority. “My dear Mary, how can you still be so incredibly naive at your years? Why, I had no notion that sitting about the country for all those years would blind one so completely. If the truth but be known, Sir Roger was probably little different from any other gentleman, and—"
Lady Mary smiled, but the warmth of her expression did not quite reach her eyes. At that moment she looked uncannily like her paternal parent at his most dangerous. “You shall not finish that unworthy thought in my presence, nor ever to my daughter."
Viscountess Catlin rose precipitately, two spots of angry color in her face. “Well! I have never been treated so shabbily! Victor, I think it past time that we leave.” She turned away without thought to the social amenities and sailed out of the drawing room.
The viscount was slow to follow his wife's hasty exit. He bowed to Lady Mary, a small sardonic smile playing about his lips. She half-expected him to rebuke her, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to his granddaughter and raised Abigail's hand to his lips. Her eyes reflected her distress at the scene just ended, and he laughed softly. “Pray do not appear so anxious, dear child. Your grandmother has never understood the nature of your mother's character. Indeed, it took a great many years for me to become reconciled to it. But I do understand your mother, perhaps more than she suspects, and I can assure you that what she says of your father can be believed in whole cloth."
He left then, leaving Lady
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