Lady Hathaway's House Party Read Free Page B

felt a tingle of excitement. She wished she weren’t with dull old Arnold Henderson, but some dashing, dangerous buck. Some daring man who would make Oliver sit up and take notice. But what nonsense that was. Oliver would not be there.
    As their carriage pulled up in front of the columned entranceway to Ashbourne, Belle heard the sound of wheels behind them, and turned with interest to see who else was coming. She thought she saw a crest on the door of the carriage, and her mind flew to Avondale, but the carriage, and especially the horses, were not fine enough to belong to him. Nothing but the best for the Duke of Avondale. As the door opened, she recognized the occupant to be Lady Dempster. A wicked old gossip of a woman. One would be sure of hearing all the doings of the city—and the city would be sure of hearing that the Duchess of Avondale had come out of hibernation too.
    Being a gossip, Lady Dempster was delighted to see Belle was attending, and rushed up to her, her tongue flying with a million empty expressions of pleasure. Their entering Ashbourne together caused a frown to fly to Lady Hathaway’s pouched face, for it had been her intention to confess the dreadful fact of Oliver’s coming the minute Belle set her foot inside the door. She wanted to get it over with, but it was not possible with Lady Dempster’s sharp ears flapping. Other guests too came almost immediately, so that it was a servant that showed Belle to her room, and she was left in ignorance of what dire fate awaited her. Ollie had said he’d be there for dinner—it was scarcely more than an hour away. He’d come anytime.
    As a result of her one other visit here, Belle was a little familiar with the layout of the place. She knew there was a very nice garden that could be reached through the library without entering the main saloon, where the other guests would be assembling. After her long trip in the carriage she wanted to go down to it and stretch her legs. She told herself that it was not a reluctance to go in and meet the guests that led her out the side door. She needed—wanted—air. Arnold had kept the windows closed the whole trip. So typical of Arnold.
    The others would only be gossiping and having wine. She knew the routine of house parties—remembered it well from the two she had attended with Oliver, one here and one at Crockett Hall. First wine and gossip, which was called “catching up,” but consisted in reality of the gentlemen gathering at one end of the room to discuss their horses, their mistresses and politics in that order, while the ladies talked around the grate of their friends’ lovers, for of course they none of them admitted to having one herself. She supposed her presence would be a boon for them. She could almost hear them. “My dear, she came with that gentleman in the corner. The tall one, rather handsome. Do you suppose he’s her lover?” “Well, she came with him!” “Does Avondale know?” “Does he care?” Anda polite concerted laugh.
    She was a little peeved to see someone had had the same idea of escape to the garden as herself, till she noted it was only Arnold, then she walked smiling toward him.
    “Are you afraid to go in too?” she laughed.
    “I’ve been in. That strange-looking lady we met at the door, Belle, was there and gabbing like a goose. She looks like a witch. Black hair and a black gown and a pointy nose. She asked me if I was your latest cicisbeo, in the most meaningful voice. Maybe we shouldn’t have come together.”
    “It’s only Lady Dempster, Arnold. She will ask worse questions than that before the weekend is out. When she asks me whether you are my beau, I mean to remind her I am a married lady, so pray do not feel yourself compromised.”
    “It’s you I’m thinking of.”
    “I know. Tell her what you like. What did you say?”
    “I said I didn’t speak Italian.”
    A little gurgle of laughter escaped Belle’s lips. “She will tell the world you’re a