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Chapter 6.2 (Part 2)
Francis allowed his eyes to travel, gently, so as not to startle her, over the delicious figure before him. Very nice. His smile grew. The silence around him penetrated his mind, entirely otherwise occupied. “Rickshaw, I think you’d better introduce us.” he said to his brother’s astounding butler.
Rickshaw almost allowed a frown to mar his impassive countenance. But he knew better than to try to avoid the unavoidable. Exchanging a glance of fellow feeling with Mr. Cunnings, he obliged in sternly disapproving tones. “Captain Francis Cambridge, Miss Emma Fleming. The young lady is His Grace’s youngest ward, sir.”
With a start, Francis’s gaze, which had been locked with Emma’s, flew to Rickshaw’s face. “Ward?&rdquo
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An hour later, Felix crosses the threshold to be met by Rickshaw, displaying, quite remarkably, an emotion very near agitation. This was instantly explained. “Miss Emma’s here. In the drawing-room with Mr. Francis.” Felix froze. Then nodded to his butler. “Very good, Rickshaw.” His sharp eyes had already taken in the bored face of the maid sitting in the shadows. Presumably, Emma had been here for some time. His face was set in grim lines as his hand closed on the handle of the drawing-room door. The sight which met his eyes was not at all what he had expected. As he shut the door behind him, Francis’s eyes lifted to his, amused understanding in the blue depths. He was seated in an armchair and Emma occupied the nearest corner of the chaise.
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The coach swayed as it turned a corner and Maribella clutched the strap swinging by her head. As equilibrium returned, she settled her skirts once more and glanced at the other two occupants of the carriage. The glow from a street lamp momentarily lit the interior of the coach, then faded as the four horses hurried on. Maribella grinned into the darkness. Margaret had insisted that she and Emma share their guardian’s coach. One had to wonder why. Too often these days, her eldest sister had the look of the cat caught just after it had tasted the cream. Tonight, that look of guilty pleasure, or, more specifically, the anticipation of guilty pleasure, was marked. She had gone up to Margaret’s room to hurry her sister along. Margaret has been sitting, staring at her re
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The heavy Twyford coach lumbered along in the wake of the sleek Delmere carriage. Lady Hillsborough put up a hand to right her wig, swaying perilously as they rounded a particularly sharp corner. For the first time since embarking on her nephew's crusade to find he Fleming girls suitable husbands, she felt a twinge of nervousness. She was playing with fire and she knew it. Still, she could not regret it. The sight of Felix and Margaret together in the hall at Twyford House had sent a definite thrill through her old bones. As for Sophia, she doubted not that Daniel Hammington was too far gone to desist, resist and retire. True, he might not know it yet, but time would certainly bring home to him the penalty he would have to pay to walk away from the snare. Her shrewd blue eyes studied the pale face opposite her. Even in the dim light, the strain of the past few days was evident. Thankfully, no one outside their party had been aware of that contretemps. So, regardless of
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Francis puzzled over Felix’s last words on the Flemings but it was not until he met the sisters that evening, at Lady Maitland’s drum, that he divined what had prompted his brother to utter them. He had spent the afternoon dropping in on certain old friends, only to be, almost immediately, bombarded with requests for introductions to the Flemings. He had come away with the definite impression that the best place to be that evening would be wherever the Misses Fleming were destined. His batman and valet, Higgins, had turned up the staggering information that Felix himself usually escorted his wards to their evening engagements. Francis has found this hard to credit, but when, keeping an unobtrusive eye in the stream of arrivals from a vantage-point beside a potted palm in Lady Maitland’s ballroom, he had seen Felix arrive surrounded by Fleming sisters, he had bee
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As supper time was not far distant, there were only two other couples on the shallow terrace, and within minutes both had returned to the ballroom. Francis, food very far from his mind, strolled down the terrace, apparently content to go where Emma led. But his sharp soldier’s eyes had very quickly adjusted to the moonlight. After a cursory inspection of the surroundings, he allowed himself to pause dramatically as they neared the end of the terrace. “I really think...” He waited a moment, as if gathering strength, then continued, “I really think I should sit down.” Emma looked around in consternation. There were no benches on the terrace, bit even a balustrade. “There’s a seat under that willow, I think,” said Francis, gesturing
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Margaret smiled her practiced her smile and wished, for at least the hundredth time, that Felix Cambridge were not their guardian. At least, she amended, not her guardian. He was proving a tower of strength in all other respects and she could only be grateful, both for his continuing support and protection, as well as his experienced counsel over the affair of Sophia and Lord Daniel. But there was no doubt in her mind that her own confusion would immeasurably eased by dissolution of the guardianship clause which tied her so irrevocably to His Grace of Twyford. While she circled the floor in the respectful arms of Mr. Chistlebury who, she knew, was daily moving closer to a declaration despite her attempts to dampen his confidence, she was conscious of a wish that it was her guardian’s far less gentle clasp she was in. Mr. Chistlebury, she had disc
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Maribella closed her eyes tightly, the opened them again but he was still there. As she watched, Lord Byron unfurled his long length and stood, magnificent and, suddenly; to Maribella at east, oddly intimidating, before her. In the light o the full moon spilling through the large windows, his tawny eyes rover appreciatively over her. He caught her small hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I didn’t think you’d be long.” His lazy tones, pitched very low, washed languidly over Maribella. With a conscious effort, she tried to break free of heir hypnotic hold. “How could you know I was coming here? I didn’t.” “Well,” he answered reasonably, “I couldn’t think where else you would go, if you didn’t have a par
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