Greetings of the Season and Other Stories Read Free

for a chit just out of the schoolroom, of course, even without the diamonds Allissa wanted, but the minx had been begging for one this last age. Allissa was growing into the type of spoiled, grasping featherbrain Bevin most disliked, but he recalled her cherubic infancy and put his card atop the tiara. The pearls could wait for her official presentation in the spring, he decided, when the budding beauty was bound to set London on its ear no matter what she wore. He groaned to think of all the young sprigs haunting Montford House and the idea of having to listen to their petitions for Allissa’s hand. Gads, he wasn’t that old, was he, that some spotty youth might come quaking into this very library? He downed another swallow of sherry. Mayhap he could get the prattlebox buckled to some country lad before the time, or a beau from Bath, where she and his mother were going after the holidays. Ah, well, at least Miss Sinclaire would not let the rattlepate wear the tiara to any of the country gatherings, so none would know what an expensive bit of fluff she’d be. And in the spring he’d have Lady Belinda to help with the presentation.
    For Squire Merton, his mother’s faithful cicisbeo, Bevin choose the riding crop over the snuffbox with a hunting scene on the cover. The old fool would only spill the snuff on Montravan’s own furniture. Lord Montravan quickly scrawled “Happy hunting” on the card and moved on.
    The next grouping was labeled Miss Corbett. Ah, Marina, the earl thought fondly, but not so fondly that he was tempted to keep the raven-haired actress on as his mistress. She was exquisite, voluptuous—and boring. She hadn’t always been, of course, so he designated the heavily jeweled bracelet as her Christmas present. The extravagance alone would tell her it was also a parting gift, but he added a few words to the card to ensure Marina knew he would not be returning to her when he returned to London after the holidays. Vincent could deliver the package, saving Montravan an unpleasant scene when Marina received her congé. Not that he was a coward, he told himself, just discreet.
    And wise. Too wise to leave town without securing the affections, or attentions, at any rate, of the latest highflier to soar over London’s demimonde. He tucked his message under the card addressed to Mademoiselle Bibi Duchamps and put both alongside the pair of diamond earbobs, setting the matching necklace aside for another occasion, such as the formalization of their arrangement. Bevin had no doubt there would be such an understanding, not when his note expressed his intentions. Bibi was no fool; she’d wait until Montravan came back before selecting her protector. He was bound to be the highest bidder, even if the earl modestly refused to consider his other attractions. No woman had turned him down yet.
    Bevin had never asked a woman to marry him, but he did not expect Lady Belinda Harleigh to refuse him either, if he decided to make the offer. She was an acknowledged beauty, well educated for a woman, and two years beyond that first giddy debutante stage. The on-dit was that her father, the duke, was also holding out for the best offer. A wealthy earl was like to be the best, or they would not have accepted his invitation to Wiltshire, where Montravan wanted to see firsthand how Belinda reacted to his home, his tenants, and his ramshackle family. He also wanted to have some private conversation with her, impossible in Town, and at least one tender embrace before deciding to spend the rest of his life with the young woman. Besides, he wanted to get a better look at her mother, to extrapolate the daughter’s future.
    The Harleighs were not arriving at Montravan until a day or two before the New Year’s ball, so a gift for the earl’s almost-intended would have to be delivered here in London. The present could not be too expensive and personal, such as jewels or furs, without being a declaration; it could not be too trifling