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

relief, he was spared the necessity of framing a reply by the gallant intervention of the parlor’s only other male occupant, a white-haired gentleman of imposing size whose creaking movements betrayed the necessity of a Cumberland corset to restrain his girth.
    “On the contrary, Miss Brandemere, on that day every young man in England will mourn. Why, if I were fifty years younger, I would wish for a coronet myself, so that I might lay it at your feet.”
    The widowed Mrs. Brandemere, who was not averse to making a second marriage herself, fairly beamed with pleasure. “Oh, prettily said, Colonel! I am sure you would make any woman a worthy suitor, title or no!”
    The colonel gave a soulful sigh. “That might have been true at one time, Mrs. Brandemere, but alas, my heart was long since lost to this young man’s grandmother. You are the dowager Lady Hawthorne’s grandson, are you not?” asked the colonel, addressing himself to Sir Harry.
    “I am indeed, sir.”
    “I knew her when she was still the Honourable Harriet Langford. Fine figure of a woman, your grandmama! I regret that I, too, arrived too late to see her. You’ve a great look of her about you, if I may say so.”
    “So I have often been told,” acknowledged Sir Harry with a smile.
    “Lady Hawthorne accompanies us to Covent Garden tonight,” Olivia told him. “May we hope to see you there?”
    Sir Harry’s smile faded. “No, er, that is, I should have liked to, of course, but a previous engagement—can’t be broken at this late date—you understand—”
    “Of course. I should not dream of inconveniencing you,” replied Olivia stiffly, never suspecting that Sir Harry was likely to find the night’s entertainment very inconvenient indeed.
     

Chapter Five
     
    These troublesome disguises which we wear.
    JOHN MILTON, Paradise Lost
     
    As her maid applied the finishing touches to her coiffure, Olivia looked forward to the evening’s divertissement with a variety of conflicting emotions. To be sure, she would have been less than female had she not enjoyed being the object of so much admiration from no less a personage than the marquess of Mannerly; and yet her pleasure in her own success was considerably lessened by the fact that Sir Harry, while quick to warn her away from the marquess, was not sufficiently disturbed by the connection to squire her about London himself. From on dits he had let fall in Leicestershire, she had the impression that Sir Harry frequented Covent Garden quite often while in Town. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, it had been in the hopes of seeing him there that she had accepted Lord Mannerly’s invitation so eagerly. How, she wondered, might Harry react when he discovered that she had deliberately defied him, and had accepted the marquess’s escort? A little shiver of anticipation coursed through her as she imagined Sir Harry in a jealous rage, declaring his undying love for her.
    Alas, a light tap on her door banished this thrilling image.
    “Olivia?” Mrs. Darby’s voice permeated the heavy wooden paneling. “Are you ready, my dear? Lady Hawthorne is here, and Lord Mannerly should arrive at any minute.”
    “Coming, Mama.” Turning to her pier glass, Miss Darby paused to study her reflection critically. It was, of course, impossible to judge one’s own appearance objectively, but Olivia thought she looked well enough in a cleverly designed evening gown with a low-cut bodice of black velvet over a skirt of filmy white crepe. Was it too much to hope, she wondered wistfully as she pulled on her long white kid gloves, that Harry might think her pretty? She made a moue at her image and turned away. Whatever the shortcomings in her appearance, staring into her looking glass was unlikely to alter them.
    She allowed her maid to drape her velvet evening cloak over her shoulders, then followed her mother down the curved staircase. There was Lady Hawthorne, resplendent in plum-colored velvet cut high to the throat in