The Bumblebroth Read Free

simply forgot. It was a very casual arrangement between us, so I see no reason to harp upon it. I count on you not to annoy the dowager by bringing her error to her attention."
    "It will be as you wish certainly, Mama, but it is strange, is it not, that I was so thoroughly convinced Her Grace would be expecting us?"
    Lady Westbury did not take the bait on this occasion, so William sat down in an armchair and read something to hand while they waited for the duchess. From time to time, Lady Westbury made some proprietary remark in a loud whisper to him about how well appointed the rooms were, or how she would alter the furnishings if this were her parlour. To all of these, William offered no reply other than to smile at her in a disagreeably knowing way.
    They waited for what seemed like a very long time. The clock ticked loudly on the mantle, pointing out the uselessness of their venture. By the time they heard the sound of approaching footsteps, Lady Westbury had noticeably begun to fidget, though she would never give up her mission once embarked upon it.
    In the end, it was not the butler who appeared, but a very different sort of person altogether. The door to the garden opened, and a lady entered the morning room, a small-boned creature with that sort of English fairness that is always accompanied by rosy cheeks. The brisk breeze that blew that morning had raised the colour beneath her pale skin to give the appearance of roses set in alabaster.
    She strolled through the door, humming a little tune, and checked suddenly upon the threshold. Her blue eyes, set in a heart-shaped face, widened with dismay. A hand flew to her lips.
    "Oh, dear!" she said on an indrawn breath.
    It was easy to see why she was discomposed, for she was certainly not prepared to receive visitors. She carried a quantity of cut flowers in both hands— so many, that her sudden stop caused half a dozen of them to fall upon the floor She tried snatching at them but, in doing so, lost twice that number.
    The flowers were not the only evidence that she had been gardening, for a rather significant quantity of dirt clung to the hem of her gown and to the pair of tattered gloves she wore. A smudge of earth appeared on the end of her nose.
    Clearly, she had groomed herself with the expectation of being dirtied, for her fine, blond hair had been drawn up upon her head as if to get it out of the way rather than to achieve any particular style. Half of it had rebelled against this haphazard confinement and fell in silky strands about her face.
    Her dress showed a similar lack of concern. Her gown was old and outmoded, a flimsy confection of muslin with a low bodice and narrow skirt, dating, William guessed, from her girlhood, when les merveilleuses had been the fashion leaders in Paris. A bosom of pleasing maturity appeared above her décolletage, set above an attractively small waist.
    Considering her untidiness, a man of less perception might have been excused for thinking he had been intruded upon by the scullery maid; but William noted a certain grace to her movements and an unmistakable air of quality in her carriage. A quick estimate of her age and her casual air convinced him of her identity.
    Seeing that surprise had paralyzed her for the moment, William stepped forward and stooped to pick up her flowers. He held them out to her with a bow.
    "Your flowers. . . Your Grace?"
    She blushed and tried to take the flowers from him, losing another dozen in the process.
    "Oh, do forgive me!" she said. "I am not always so shatterbrained. But you see, I was not expecting visitors!"
    William cleared his throat, but refrained from glancing at his mother, who instantly exclaimed, "How awkward! Well, perhaps I ought to have written a note to remind you, Duchess, but it does not really signify, you know, for we are here now."
    Her Grace of Upavon seemed perplexed by this rambling speech, but she overlooked it and, assuming her role as hostess, begged them both to be seated