Wedding Night Revenge by MARY BRENDAN Read Free Book Online Page B

Winthrop's gaze relinquished the plaster cherubs to stab at her.
    'His lordship looks to be well catered for in the romance stakes, wouldn't you say?' Rachel explained innocently.
    Pamela Pemberton snickered. 'I think the young ladies my friend spoke of might insist on a more... regular relationship with the Earl than perhaps he presently enjoys with Signora Laviola.'
    'Oh, I have it on good authority it is a very...regular relationship that the Earl enjoys with Signora Laviola,' Rachel whipped back, squeezing comfortingly at her sister's arm as she heard June choke in embarrassment. She was edging dangerously close to being outrageously coarse. Well-bred ladies, even those with their debut far behind them, did not talk so indelicately. She wasn't sure she cared how that affected her. It was damage to her family's reputation, and especially June's, with her marriage imminent, that made her employ a little control and caution. This, after all, was a member of her sister's new family...however horrendous the idea.

    Mrs Pemberton glanced uneasily about as though pondering the wisdom of continuing to be party to such rough banter. June was then on the receiving end of one of her glares as though she, the only person present to have contributed nothing, was guilty of something.
    As June flushed miserably beneath that spiteful, silent censure, Rachel bridled and became more determined to squarely take the blame. 'Actually, I have a little related on dit to share...' she whispered, then deliberately paused and inclined her head conspiratorially. The older women exchanged a glance, then, too intrigued to care of vulgarity, moved their gross turbans closer to the sleek golden ringlets. 'I understand that it is with great regularity that his lordship...attends the signora's recitals. He is not known to have missed even one.' She smiled as the disappointed women recoiled in unison. Their rouged lips became more corrugated as they straightened their necks.
    Actually, Rachel understood nothing of the sort. She hadn't the faintest notion whether his lordship listened to his mistress sing or not. Nor did she care a jot either way. What did vastly annoy her was that she'd come here unaware what was in store for her. Had she known, she would as lief have spent the evening locked in a library with nothing to read but Philip Moncur's poetry. As it was she couldn't even retreat home to that task. If she cried off, pleading illness, it would only agitate more gossip. There was nothing to be done but endure this evening as best she could.
    'Well, I dare say your parents don't find the whole matter as amusing as you seem to, miss,' the childless Baroness primly lectured. 'Four daughters to settle is no joke. I know I should not like it above half if a younger girl of mine were married before the eldest were off the shelf.'
    'It is as well then that you will never be so troubled, ma'am,' Rachel said sweetly, pointedly.
    'Indeed, no, I should not like it either,' Pamela interjected shrilly as she noticed her friend's ruddy countenance boiling at that jibe. 'Although now, of course, I believe I'm right in saying there are but three Meredith girls. For poor Isabel is gone...and what a terrible to-do that must have been for your poor mother. I can't imagine such private grief...'

    'Indeed...and that's why it's best not to speak of it. Especially on such a public occasion as this.' The masculine voice was unyielding and held more than a hint of cold disgust.
    Pamela's complexion pinked beneath her powder as she looked at her only child. She adored him and was chary of his scolding over her love to gossip, although as she impressed on him, time and again, there was no harm done, for no malice was involved... To reinforce this, she gave her beloved boy a sugary smile; he returned her one that bled further colour into her cheeks.
    June's relief at the sight of him was almost audible, and, with a tender smile, he drew his willing fiancee close to his