The Romance Read Free

getting on with it,’ said Lord St. Clair. ‘I’m at this damned musicale being bored out of my wits, aren’t I?’
    ‘I thought the music very fine.’ Lord Gyre glanced at the beautiful face opposite him, wondering who Belinda was, and also wondering why she was so intently listening to their conversation.
    Mrs. Tamworth came up. ‘I trust you are enjoying your evening?’
    ‘Very much,’ said the marquess. A mocking gleam lit up his eyes. ‘Pray, will you not make it perfect by introducing me to this beautiful young lady opposite me?’
    With a certain bad grace, Mrs. Tamworth effected the introductions.
    ‘Beverley,’ mused Lord St. Clair. His finehair was so back-combed that it gave him an air of perpetual surprise. ‘Oh, I know, you used to own that place, Mannerling.’
    ‘It is the most beautiful place in the world,’ said Belinda, her eyes shining.
    ‘Then, pon rep, why did you leave it? Papa in Queer Street?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Oh, well, I wish you were saddled with it and not I.’
    ‘Did you enjoy the musicale, Miss Beverley?’ asked Lord Gyre.
    For one moment she hesitated, and then Belinda took the plunge. She gave an affected little laugh and said, ‘No, I thought it most horrendous boring.’
    Lord St. Clair beamed. ‘There you are, Gyre. A soul mate.’
    ‘Obviously,’ said the marquess drily. ‘What part did you find boring, Miss Beverley? The singing or the piano playing?’
    ‘Both,’ said Belinda airily.
    ‘Does anything about the Season amuse you?’ he pursued.
    Belinda giggled and cast her eyes down, giving both gentlemen a good view of her long black eyelashes. ‘I like the balls and parties,’ she said, ‘and we saw an excellent farce at the playhouse.’
    ‘Was that
The Beau’s Revenge?’
asked Lord St. Clair eagerly.
    seen it at all, but had read all the very long reviews of it and shrewdly guessed it was just the sort of dismal trite thing to appeal to this fop.
    ‘I say, you are a clever lady. That was the most funniest thing I had ever seen.’
    A look of weary distaste crossed Lord Gyre’s face. He rose to his feet. ‘Excuse me. I see some friends over there.’
    ‘Glad he’s gone,’ confided Lord St. Clair. ‘Stuffed shirt.’
    ‘Then why were you pressing him to go to Mannerling?’
    ‘Oh, Gyre sets the fashion. Bon ton. Can’t see it myself. Clothes so drab and plain.’
    He twitched the lapels of his buckram-wadded evening coat complacently.
    ‘Mannerling is really such a wonderful place,’ said Belinda.
    ‘Oh, let’s talk about something else. The thought of living in the country makes me feel ill.’
    Miss Trumble watched the pair with a sinking heart. What had happened to all the girl’s education, all her intelligence? Oh, Belinda! Simpering and flirting like the most empty-headed of débutantes. Did she not realize that the charade would have to go on for life if she married St. Clair?
    What must such as Lord Gyre think of her? Lord Gyre, Miss Trumble knew, was the catch of the Season. I am old and weary, she thoughtsuddenly. Four girls married well. Why should I trouble further? I promised Lizzie I would stay until she was wed. One failure would not matter.
    But her heart ached for silly Belinda.
    To Belinda’s amazement, she did not receive the expected jaw-me-dead from Miss Trumble in the carriage home. That lady fell asleep as soon as the carriage moved off, her ridiculous black wig slipping over one eye. Just in case the governess was feigning sleep, Belinda put a finger to her lips, cautioning Lizzie to silence.
    On arrival, they both made hurried good-nights, collected their bed candles from the little table in the hall, and climbed the stairs. Miss Trumble stood and watched them go until their bobbing lights and fluttering muslin skirts had disappeared.
    In Belinda’s room, Lizzie shut the door behind them and whispered eagerly, ‘How did it go? Someone said that ridiculous-looking young man was Lord Saint Clair. And