First Season / Bride to Be Read Free Page B

conversation that set the standard. She was slightly stung at being interrupted, but even more she was interested and challenged. “And you? Do you not go to Jackson’s, and Manton’s Gallery, and White’s, and the Daffy Club?”
    â€œNot?” There was an arrested look, and a shade of puzzlement, in his eyes.
    â€œClichés.” She left him to work it out, which he soon did, throwing back his head in a laugh so genuine and wholehearted that several nearby couples turned to look.
    â€œA leveler, Lady Wyndham! Or perhaps I should say a telling comment, not wishing to betray my lamentable lack of originality. How dare you hide in the country all this time when you might have enlivened the desert of society with such home thrusts?”
    â€œUngallant, sir. Not all this time,” she answered, looking demure.
    He didn’t laugh again, but the spark of delight remained in his eyes. “I most humbly beg your pardon.” He guided her in a sudden turn, his arm tensing around her, and Anabel drew in her breath. This was the most stimulating conversation she could remember.
    â€œYou are here for the season, I hope,” he added. “Have you taken a house?”
    â€œNo, I am staying with my mother, Lady Goring.”
    â€œAh. Yes, we are acquainted. I hope you will allow me to call upon you there?”
    Anabel inclined her head.
    â€œIn fact, as this is your first extended visit to London, perhaps you would allow me to show you some of our landmarks. The park at the fashionable hour is well worth seeing. Will you go driving with me tomorrow?”
    â€œIn a high-perch phaeton?” she asked.
    He laughed again. “In anything you like, my dear Lady Wyndham. A Roman chariot, a stagecoach complete with yard of tin.”
    She smiled speculatively up at him, then shook her head. “I should like to ride in a phaeton.”
    â€œLetting me off so easily?”
    â€œOh, no. I shouldn’t like being stared at in a stagecoach on Rotten Row.”
    â€œBut that is the chief object in London—being stared at.”
    â€œIn a particular way. Not with ridicule.”
    â€œIndeed. But many do not see the distinction.” The music ended, and Sir Charles looked disappointed. “Tomorrow, then?”
    Anabel nodded, and they drew apart with the end of the set. She felt both glad and sorry that it was over. It had been exhilarating but also a little overwhelming. She looked around for her mother and discovered her standing in the doorway that led to the refreshment room. Norbury offered his arm. “May I get you something?”
    They walked across to Lady Goring, who greeted them with raised eyebrows and turned to join their progress. “I have hardly seen anyone,” she replied to Anabel’s question. “I have spent most of the evening in here.” She sounded so irritated that Anabel and Norbury exchanged a glance. But Anabel had a suspicion of the cause, confirmed when she saw Georgina standing close to the buffet table, alone.
    They joined her, and Anabel made introductions. Neither Sir Charles nor Georgina appeared enthusiastic about meeting.
    â€œGeorgina, darling,” said Lady Goring. “You really must come into the ballroom. Everyone is still dancing.” Her voice was oversweet, and her eyes rested on the plate of lobster patties and meringues in Georgina’s hand.
    Georgina shrugged and took a bite of meringue.
    Anabel struggled with a smile. She looked at Norbury to see if he shared her amusement, but he was eyeing Georgina with a mixture of weariness and disgust. His mouth had turned down, and his lowered lids eloquently expressed contempt. Anabel felt uneasy about what he might say.
    â€œGeorgina,” said Lady Goring again, sharply. “This is a ball, not a dinner party. No one else is—”
    Anabel felt she had to intervene. “How are the meringues?” she asked, then grimaced. That was hardly