Slightly Dangerous Read Free

other gentlemen whom you will find personable and who are bound to delight in dancing attendance upon you. You do have that happy effect upon gentlemen, you know—even at your age. I would be mortally jealous if I were not still so attached to Bertie, though he can be horridly provoking when I decide to organize one of my entertainments. He huffs and rumbles and gives me to understand that he is less than enamored with the prospect of enjoying himself. Anyway, I daresay you will not need to exchange a single word with his grace if you do not choose to do so. He is a man famed for his arrogance and reticence and will probably not even notice you if left to himself.”
    “I promise,” Christine said, “not to trip over his feet but to keep a decent distance.”
    Eleanor’s lips curved into another smirk as she caught her sister’s eye.
    But the trouble was, Christine thought, that she was likely to do just that if she was not careful—trip over his feet, that was, or more likely over her own as she passed in full view of him, a tray of jellies or lemonade balanced on her hands. She would be
far
happier remaining at home, but that was no longer an option. She had agreed to go to Schofield for two weeks.
    “Now that I have even numbers again,” Melanie said, “I can begin to forgive Hector. This really will be the most famous house party. I daresay it will be the talk of London drawing rooms all next Season. I will be the envy of every hostess in England, and those who were not invited will clamor for an invitation next year. The Duke of Bewcastle never goes anywhere beyond London and his own estates. I cannot imagine how Hector persuaded him to come here. Perhaps he has heard of the superiority of my entertainments. Perhaps . . .”
    But Christine had stopped listening for the moment. The next two weeks were bound to be anything but pleasant. And now there was going to be the added aggravation of having the Duke of Bewcastle as a fellow guest and of feeling self-conscious—quite unnecessarily, since, as Melanie had just remarked, he was unlikely to notice her any more than he would a worm beneath his feet. She
hated
feeling self-conscious. It was something she had never felt until she was a few years into her marriage and had suddenly become the persistent object of unsavory gossip no matter how hard she tried to avoid it. After she was widowed, she had vowed that she would never put herself in such a position again, that she would never again step out of her familiar world.
    Of course, she was a great deal older now. She was twenty-nine—almost ancient. No one could expect her to frolic with the young people any longer. She could be a dignified elder. She could sit back and enjoy all the proceedings as a spectator rather than as a participant. It might be highly diverting to do just that, in fact.
    “May we offer you a cup of tea and some cakes, Lady Renable?” her mother was asking.
    “I have not a moment to spare, Mrs. Thompson,” Melanie replied. “I have a houseful of guests arriving the day after tomorrow, and a thousand and one details to attend to before they come. Being a baroness is not all glamour, I do assure you. I must be on my way.”
    She inclined her head regally, kissed Christine’s cheek and squeezed her arm warmly, and swept from the room, all nodding plumes and waving lorgnette and rustling skirts.
    “It might be worth remembering for future reference, Christine,” Eleanor said, “that it is altogether easier to say yes to Lady Renable the first time she asks a question, whether in writing or in person.”
    Their mother was on her feet.
    “We must go up to your room right
now,
Christine,” she said, “and see which of your clothes need mending or trimming or cleaning. Goodness me—the Duke of Bewcastle, not to mention Viscount Mowbury and his mother and Viscount Elrick and his wife! And Lord and Lady Renable, of course.”
    Christine fled upstairs ahead of her to see if perhaps a