Miss Darby's Duenna by Sheri Cobb South Read Free Book Online Page A

unimpressed with this speech, rolled her eyes heavenward. “Men!  Or women,” she amended quickly, casting a dubious glance at her brother’s female garb. “Whatever you are, Harry, I vow I’ll never understand you!”
    * * * *
    With his sister’s parting shot still ringing in his ears. Sir Harry returned to Stratton Street and laid aside his disguise. Half an hour saw him back in Curzon Street, this time in his own persona. He tossed his hat and gloves to an unsuspecting Coombes, then mounted the stairs to the parlor, where Mrs. Darby was still receiving callers. Lord Mannerly, he noted with satisfaction, was no longer among their number.
    “Why, Harry!” cried Mrs. Darby, holding out her hands to her future son-in-law. “You will never credit it, but your grandmama has returned to Town! If you had arrived a little earlier, you might have seen her yourself, for she paid us a visit not an hour ago!”
    Sir Harry expressed his surprise at this unexpected pleasure, then greeted his sister with a smile of bland innocence before turning his attention to his primary object.  Here his resolution wavered as he remembered their heated words at Almack’s.   Should he play the wronged lover, or the apologetic suitor?  He wrestled briefly with indecision before rejecting both roles in favor of cautious formality.
    “Your servant, Livvy,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “I trust I find you well?”
    Olivia responded in kind. “Quite well, Harry, and—why, Harry! You have shaved your sidewhiskers!” she exclaimed, every trace of constraint banished.
    “Well, yes,” admitted Sir Harry, rubbing his newly shorn jaw self-consciously. He was unused to the sight of himself sans barbe, and the face that had stared back at him from his looking-glass that morning following Higgins’s operation had seemed strangely unfamiliar.  “I daresay they would have soon been passé anyway, now that Brummell has shaven his.”
    Privately, Olivia felt their removal an improvement, although Sir Harry would have been less than pleased to learn that his clean-shaven look reminded her forcibly of the boy she had once followed about on her pony, in those halcyon days before he had discovered a preference for Town life.  These fond reflections she kept to herself, turning her attention back to her mama, who was engaged in making Sir Harry known to the other callers. Foremost among these was a stout matron and her pretty daughter, a petite blonde in a demure sprig muslin gown who nevertheless assessed the new arrival with a predatory eye.
    “Mrs. Brandemere, Miss Brandemere, may I present my future son-in-law, Sir Harry Hawthorne? Mrs. Brandemere and her daughter are in London for Miss Brandemere’s come-out,” explained Mrs. Darby as Sir Harry made his bow.
    “Sir Harry Hawthorne, is it?” asked the matron, training an appraising stare upon the newcomer. “Knight, or baronet?”
    “Baronet,” replied Sir Harry.
    Mrs. Brandemere nodded. “I thought you looked a bit young to have already been knighted, although it seems all one must do these days is lend Prinny a large enough sum of money. Better to be a baronet, at any rate, since your son will be a ‘sir’ someday. ‘Tis a great pity you are not a ‘lord,’ but I daresay you will do very well for Miss Darby.”
    “Mama, pray don’t start that again,” begged Miss Sylvia Brandemere, although her fluttering eyelashes and simpering smile belied her protestations.
    “You must know, Sir Harry, that I have every expectation of someday hearing my daughter addressed as ‘your ladyship,’ if not ‘your Grace.’ Although such an advantageous match for the daughter must be a disadvantage to the mother—imagine how very odd I shall feel when she precedes me in to dinner!”
    “Now, Mama, I am sure Sir Harry does not care who I should marry!” protested the future peeress, giving Sir Harry a look which clearly invited him to contradict this statement.
    Much to his