The Diabolical Baron Read Free

the polite world can offer. Choose your future!” Mr. Fitzwilliam dropped the slips of paper in a bowl, first dumping the nuts it con tained on the table, then swirled the bowl ceremoni ously and held it well above his head.
    Jason stood, carefully adjusted his cuffs, and reached into the bowl. A moment’s fum bling, then he pulled a slip out, opened it, and stared at the name.
    “Who is she?” George said eagerly.
    “Caroline Hanscombe. The name is unfamiliar to me. What can you tell me about her?”
    His friend looked a bit disappointed as possession of the coveted team of grays became unlikely. “She shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. She’s a quiet lit tle thing with no conversation. Not unattractive, but two or three years older than the average debutante. Almost on the shelf. Her parents kept her back to pre sent her with a younger sister. Her father, Sir Alfred Hanscombe, is a bit of an oaf but wellborn enough. The sister, Gina, is a jolly strapping wench, much live lier—but she’s nearly betrothed. Still, I’m sure Miss Hanscombe will make you a fine, tractable wife, or I shouldn’t have entered her name.”
    “Caroline Kincaid, Lady Radford. It sounds well enough. I suppose she’ll be at Almack’s tomorrow night with the rest of the husband-hunting maidens. Lord, I haven’t been to one of those stuffy assemblies in years—courting has hazards I hadn’t anticipated. Shall we drink to my future wife?”
    Raising their glasses, they solemnly clinked them together. “To Lady Radford!”
    * * * *
     “Aunt Jessica, can you give me one good reason why I should go to Almack’s tonight?”
    Jessica Sterling raised her auburn head from her mending and smiled sympathetically at her favorite visitor. “Well, your stepmama will insist on it, for one.”
    “That’s a compelling reason but not a good one. Truly, Jess, isn’t there some way I can get off this marriage- go-round?” Caroline Hanscombe raised her tawny head from the lute she was tuning, her deep blue eyes shaded with humorous pleading. While her propor tions were pleasing and her movements graceful, she was characterized as “a mere dab of a girl” by more than one critical elder. She forgot her shyness only with close friends or when she was absorbed in music; then her delicate face relaxed to a dreamy, ethereal loveliness.
    More often, her considerable intelligence and humor were concealed behind the anxious look produced by her stepmother’s continual criticism. Her small stature and dark blond coloring gave her a chameleon-like ability to fade into the background on the numerous occasions when she wished to avoid notice. On this early-morning visit to the aunt who was also her best friend, she could speak her mind in a way impossible under her parents’ roof.
    “Oh, Caro, I do wish you enjoyed the parties more. They can be quite fun—I enjoyed my own come-out tremendously.”
    “Confess, Aunt: you haven’t a shy bone in your body. And beautiful as you are, half the men in Lon don must have been languishing for a single look from your glorious green eyes.”
    Jessica chuckled engagingly. “It wasn’t quite like that. While I attracted some attention—including, my girl, sixteen sonnets and no fewer than three odes—I was considered too headstrong by the high sticklers. And indeed, they were right. I wouldn’t want you to follow my social example too closely. Al though,” she said parenthetically, “I do believe I would have attracted less censure had I not had red hair. It was very hard to pass unnoticed! You are much better at rendering yourself invisible than I. But it would be nice if you could see the Season as something other than torture.”
    “But it is torture! I feel paralyzed by shyness whenever I meet someone new. And when one of the dragons looks me over and so clearly finds me wanting . . . ! Al mack’s is the worst of all. The patronesses are posi tively panting to find something wrong with us trembling