The Marquess and Miss Davies by Amy Lake Read Free Book Online

less certain of this. During the past few months Lord Leighton had fought several times at Gentleman John’s until he was bruised and bloody, been deep in his cups more often than usual, and his boisterous good nature had taken a turn for the difficult. The episode on the front lawn of Cardingham House was a first, but Lord Harcourt began to wonder if it would the last.
    ‘Tis all the fault of Josephine, thought Harcourt. The marquess had known for much of the past year that his youngest sister—out of all the siblings, the one the Lord Leighton was closest to, the only member of the family that he spoke with almost as frankly as with Benjamin himself—would be leaving soon, that the huge old house would be his alone, with only the dowager for company. But perhaps he had not quite believed it until Jo was really gone.
    Jo , thought Lord Harcourt, and his gaze locked on something unseen for a long moment.
    At any rate— Anthony and Lady Leighton were never an easy combination. Josephine’s wedding had taken up much of the dowager marchioness’s energies for a number of months, but now she was free to spend her time organizing the marquess.
    Anthony cannot wish to marry merely to satisfy his mother, thought the duke’s son. He is hardly in her pocket, and there is time enough to provide an heir. So why this sudden interest in Miss Carys Davies? Benjamin could only hope it was more than a whim born of boredom and the need for change—something, anything—in the marquess’s life.
    If Lord Leighton hurt Carys Davies, Isa would never forgive him—or Lord Harcourt. And Benjamin would rather ride Diablo on another moonless night than face Isolde Davies’s wrath.
     

Chapter 9: Negotiations
     
    “We are going,” said Isolde, “to the Lincolnshire’s ball.”
    “You may be going,” replied Carys. “ We are not.”
    Isa turned to one of the wardrobes. “You must go,” she said. “I have already purchased a new gown for you.” She held up a silk of the latest style, overlaid with gauze, the waist a l’empire in a pale, robin’s-egg blue. The dress seemed to shimmer in the candlelight.
    “It’s beautiful,” said Carys.
    “Isn’t it, though? The beading is just the right amount.”
    “You will look delightful in that colour.”
    “Pah. I have purchased another gown for myself,” said Isa. “You cannot wish this lovely silk to go to waste? Along with our brother’s blunt?”
    A threat of wasted money was usually enough to bring her sister around. But not this time.
    “Our brother,” said Carys, “can afford the loss. Besides, there will be other balls. You can wear it to one of them.”
    Isa’s head was back in the wardrobe. She emerged with a pair of ball slippers in the identical robin’s-egg blue, and a small reticule.
    “The marquess will be there,” said Isolde. She put on one of the slippers and demonstrated the elegant line of its strapping to her sister.
    “Very nice. And which marquess do you mean?” said Carys.
    “You are quite amusing, I’m sure. But a poor actress.”
    “Nevertheless, I am not going to the Lincolnshire’s ball.”
    Isolde chewed on her lip for a few seconds, and then said, “Oh, very well.”
    Carys glanced up at her sister. It could not be that easy.
    “Remain home and embroider something. Butif you do go to the ball I will allow you to teach me to ride.”
    There was a long moment of silence as Carys stared at her sister. “Truly?” she said finally.
    “Truly.”
    “Well ... perhaps ... “
    “I cannot believe that you hesitate. One evening—one!—against a chance for your beloved sister to join proper society in all of its horsey manifestations.”
    Carys snorted. “You’ve managed perfectly well in a carriage.”
    “Lord Deshram asked me to join him for a canter in Hyde Park only last week. And I could not.”
    Her twin was surprised. “You never said.”
    “I was chagrined.”
    * * * *
     
    Isolde Davies could not ride.
    ‘Twas a skill assumed