A Crime of Manners Read Free

voice of the old duke he grumbled, “Giles. A suitable gel. Marriage.”
    Giles ignored the bird and wondered idly if the unworldly, artless Miss Henrietta Lanford would have suitors when she went to London. Perhaps with enough Town bronze and that rather charming blush she might be lucky and attract a well-to-do landowner.
    Thankfully, her parents had done nothing to push the girl forward, nothing to bring her to his attention. Just the opposite looked to be the way of things. With a wry twist of his lips, Giles recalled the squire’s reaction when Miss Lanford maligned horses. Obviously she took second place to the cattle in her family’s affections.
    No doubt he would not meet her again as they would hardly be moving in the same circles in Town. He flicked the memory of the girl from his mind.
    * * * *
    The second the duke had quit the room, an excited Henrietta rounded on her mother. “Mama! Pray tell me at once if it is true I am to go to London.”
    The squire’s jowls quivered with indignation. “Yes, Mrs. Lanford. Tell us how we are supposed to take our leave of three mares ready to foal in the next fortnight to go roistering up to Town! You know very well I cannot abide London at any time, and the thought of doing the pretty to a pack of high-in-the-instep fools discussing politics, gambling on cards, while my dear horses ... It is not to be borne, madam!”
    Mrs. Lanford had experienced the uncomfortable feeling a mother has when she realizes she has somehow been remiss in her parental role. The Duke of Winterton’s presence reminded her forcibly that it was past time her daughter had a husband. Not that she considered Henrietta capable of attracting someone of the Duke’s rank and standing in Society.
    “Of course, we will not go to Town, Mr. Lanford. What a chuckleheaded notion. Henrietta will go to my sister in London, Lady Fuddlesby. Clara is very much of the bon ton and received everywhere. She keeps a town house in Grosvenor Square. Count on it, she will find our gel a suitable husband.”
    “London ... a husband,” Henrietta uttered faintly. The Fantasy Henrietta’s thoughts rushed ahead to a courtship filled with romantic nights beneath a glowing moon, poems written in her honor, beautifully decorated ballrooms where he would twirl her round and round in his arms in that shocking dance, the waltz.
    Still unmollified, the squire asked, “Are you not
thinking of the expense, Mrs. Lanford? Why, I could
expand the stables, improve on the lower pasture.”
    For once, Mrs. Lanford’s ambitions were solely for her daughter. “Nonsense. It will be horribly dear, naturally, for Clara will need funds for Henrietta to have a complete new wardrobe, pin money, and oh, any number of costly things. And a decent dowry must be offered. But you are not thinking, Mr. Lanford! It is our duty to see our daughter married well.”
    There was no argument to that statement. The
    squire heaved a great sigh and said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right, m’dear. Well, it’s off to Town you go then, Henrietta. See that you know what is owed us after all the care we have given you over the years.” Wagging a finger at his daughter, the squire admonished, “If you play your cards right, you might just snare a gentleman from the Four in Hand Club.”
    With this speech, the squire considered his duty done and took himself off to sit in front of the library fire with a copy of Pick’s Racing Calendar . Mrs. Lanford went to her desk to write Lady Fuddlesby that she was to bring out her niece, and Henrietta floated up the stairs to her bedchamber to dream about her imaginary beau who now wore the Duke of Winterton’s face.
    * * * *
    Several days later, at Lady Fuddlesby’s town house in Grosvenor Square, a cat walked up the stairs with a letter clamped in his jaw. He was an unusual looking animal. Stark white with a black tail, he had a wedge of black that extended across his eyes, quite like a domino mask.
    A push with his