Lady Myddelton's Lover by Evangeline Holland Read Free Book Online

exact expression he witnessed on the pale, porcelain smooth faces of the titled women watching Hedda Gabler from their expensive theatre boxes. Women like the thoroughly jaded Lady Marlowe, who drifted away to catch the attention of a fur clad young woman clutching the arm of a red-faced choleric he pegged instantly as a miserly, short-tempered “gentleman” who beat his wife and his horses on a regular basis. Men of his ilk usually died off in Australia from dominion’s low tolerance for cruel and supercilious men. He looked at Sir Carleton, forcibly restraining himself from as he tucked Aline’s arm into his own with a deeply doting look into her eyes.
                  Richard blazed with jealousy and frustration, and uncurled his fists before his inner restraint snapped and he either wiped the small, smug smile curving the baronet’s thin lips or took Aline on the floor in front of the man. Mine , he shouted mentally, not realizing he had taken a step forward until the baronet retreated a half step, pausing with a look of agitation. He stopped when he caught a glimpse of Aline’s anxious face…and his irrational suddenly struck him as disturbing to her sensitive notions of propriety. His anger fell from him like a burst balloon, replaced by a sounder and clarified mind. He glanced thoughtfully at Aline before addressing Sir Carleton.
                  “We would be delighted to dine with you,” he said, smiling wryly, almost happily at the baronet.
     
                  The baronet chose the very conspicuous Savoy in which to dine. Richard handed his hat and cloak to the wrap attendant just inside the hotel lobby, as Sir Carleton assisted Aline with her cloak, and collected their tickets. Her hair shone brilliantly beneath the elegant electric lighting, which caught and refracted against her beaded gown in a dazzling display. Her hand was small and sturdy as she swept up her train and permitted Sir Carleton to escort her down the crimson carpeted steps to the dining room, Richard trailing—though not so unhappily—behind them. Male and female guests, attired in the requisite black tails and diamonds, respectively, dined at the score of square and round-shaped tables of the principle dining room, whose green carpet reminded him of the rolling hills of Apollo Bay.
                  Immediately upon entering the dining room, a young mustached man Richard assumed to be the restaurant manager (a Monsieur Soi formerly of The Palace Hotel in St. Moritz, he was to later discover) greeted Sir Carleton in soft, respectful tones, expressed his continued admiration of Aline and his pleasure in meeting the new Earl of Myddelton. M. Soi led them to a table placed at a comfortable distance from the entrance, which also gave their party a very good view of the room. Aline shot him a wary look as he held her seat for her, remaining stiff and visibly suspicious of the placement of his hands until she saw him take his own seat across from her.
                  Richard picked up the gilt-edged menu at his cover, a bit taken aback by its being written entirely in French. What the devil was a “Diablotin Cancalaise”?
                  He looked up when Aline set her menu aside, placing a hand on Sir Carleton’s arm with a smile. “You are such a renowned gourmand, I fear Lord Myddelton and I must depend entirely upon your more discerning judgment concerning our menu.”
                  “I wouldn’t say renowned, my dear” Sir Carleton cleared his throat, adjusting his cuffs. “However, I did have a menu in mind for dinner—that is unless you mind, my lord?”
                  “I too defer to your expertise,” Richard lifted his shoulders.
                  The baronet signaled for M. Soi, who hovered at a discreet distance while they spoke. As Sir Carleton launched into a volley of French, complete with broad, Gallic gestures