Louise M. Gouge Read Free Page B

when he wed Mother. He cleared his throat. “To answer your question—” he resumed walking, and she easily followed his lead, as if they had often walked together “—yes, I do like cats.” His moment of enjoyment was cut short by a worrisome thought. “I am certain you are aware that cat scratches can lead to serious illness. Did you treat the injury?”
    Again, her eyes widened, and she looked away with a frown. “Oh, yes.” Another glance, another smile, and his heart tripped. “Do let us forget it.”
    He would be pleased to offer his physician’s services to examine the wound, but that would suggest that Lady Blakemore had neglected her companion’s health. “As you wish, Miss Hart.”
    They descended the wide, elegant staircase to the vast second-floor dining hall. Once there, and hoping to find two empty chairs near someone of influence in the diplomatic corps, Winston searched around the long table.
    “May I assist you, milord?” A footman in red livery extended a gloved hand toward two vacant places.
    “Will this suit you, Miss Hart?” Winston noticed the vibrant curiosity in her dark eyes. Perhaps this was her first formal outing with Lady Blakemore. And perhaps for just this one evening, he could forget his ambitions and do all in his power to ensure a pleasant experience for the lady at his side.
    “Oh, yes. I thank you.” She smiled at the footman who was pulling out her chair.
    Winston made a mental note to explain to her that she need not acknowledge the footman. The best servants were those who received their orders and performed their duties as if almost invisible. Acknowledgments often embarrassed them. But such schooling would come later, should there be a later for himself and the young lady.
    In the next chair, Lord Rettig lounged, goblet in hand, but offered them only a brief glance before sipping his wine.
    Warmth crept up Winston’s neck. Like him, Rettig was a baron, one with no special distinctions that qualified him to give his equals the cut. Before the footman could finish pulling the chair out for Miss Hart, Winston held up his hand to stop him so that he might test the waters.
    “Miss Hart, may I present Lord Rettig.” If the baron did not rise for the introduction, he would instruct the footman to find them another place.
    Rettig did not rise. He merely looked the lady up and down through his quizzing glass—a despicable practice meant to put inferiors in their places—and yawned.
    “Ah, yes. Lady Blakemore’s... companion. ” His tone dripped with disdain, and his lips curled into an arrogant sneer. He turned decidedly away to his own supper partner, a lady Winston did not know. Nor was an introduction forthcoming.
    Winston fisted his hands at his side, longing to strike that sneer from Rettig’s face. But Father’s scriptural admonition echoed in his mind. Be slow to wrath, my son. For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God. He took a quiet, deep breath and addressed the footman. “I think we would prefer—” He surveyed the table for another pair of empty chairs.
    “Oh, do let us sit here.” Miss Hart blinked her lovely eyes and leaned close to him, sending a whiff of rose-scented perfume his way. “The Dowager Lady Beckwith, on your left, is a dear old soul, though a bit deaf.” Her whisper fanned over his cheek and sent a pleasant sensation down his neck. “Perhaps we can make her evening enjoyable.” She nodded toward the lady’s partner, a rakish sort obviously more interested in the pretty young miss on his other side.
    Winston’s heart lightened at Miss Hart’s kindness. “Yes, of course.” How generous and even diplomatic of her to think of an old woman’s enjoyment rather than her own.
    As the footman resumed his attempts to seat them, the dowager viscountess looked up and gave Miss Hart a beneficent smile. “Ah, there you are, Kitty. I was hoping to see you this evening.”
    Beside him, Miss Hart jolted.

Chapter Two
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