self- confidence, she mentally catalogued her accomplishments: her table manners were flawless; she could dance exquisitely, play a simple tune on the piano, and speak without her accent or grammar betraying her. It was true that mathematics and needlework had escaped her; however, any well-bred young woman might be expected to have some failings, and thanks to the efforts of Constance and Mr. Hollingsworth, hers were few. She was even becoming proficient at making polite conversation, although it was frustrating to be restricted to such uninspiring topics as the weather or Mrs. Ann Radcliffe's latest romantic novel when she would much rather discuss more interesting subjects.
Noelle sighed as she thought of how much more there was for her to learn and wished she were curled up in the library, reading one of the books on the reading list Percy had left instead of standing here trying to get up enough courage to go downstairs. She moved to the mirror and checked her tawny hair. It was just long enough for her to catch up loosely off her neck with a satin ribbon. Wispy escaping curls brushed the nape of her neck and feathered charmingly around her face. Reluctantly she picked up a paisley shawl and draped it around the shoulders of her well-fit bottle-green cashmere dress.
'I'm ready, lions.' She smiled ruefully to herself as she slipped out of her room and prepared to step into the arena.
Robert Newcombe was bored. Dash it! He should have never let his mother talk him into coming with her today. Not that Mrs. Peale wasn't a pleasant surprise, but even she wasn't quite enough to make up for that cursed carriage ride, where he'd been captive to the incessant chatter of his mother and sister. Damn! He'd like to jump on a horse and ride to the nearest posting house for a full tankard of ale.
As the door of the drawing room opened, any serious intention Mr. Newcombe might have had of actually fleeing the Peale residence vanished instantly. Entering was a creature so exquisite, he could only stare speechlessly at her slender form.
'Dorian! Come in, my dear, and meet our guests.'
The creature smiled charmingly as Mrs. Peale presented her to his mother and sister. Then she was standing in front of him, their eyes nearly level.
'And this is Mrs. Newcombe's son. Mr. Newcombe, my ward, Miss Pope.'
The vision extended her hand and bestowed a smile so dazzling that for a moment Mr. Newcombe had difficulty finding his voice. 'Delighted, Miss Pope,' he finally managed as he took her hand and touched his lips to it.
Margaret Newcombe darted an angry look at her brother. He thought himself to be such a man of the world just because he had come of age and had his own lodgings in London. Well, if he could see himself now, he'd find that he looked like nothing so much as a love-sick calf! Obstinately she placed herself in his path as he tried to maneuver next to Miss Pope on the settee and seated herself there instead. She ignored the furious glare he shot at her and jealously studied the young woman who sat beside her.
Mrs. Newcombe, in the meantime, was proudly displaying a gaudy ruby and diamond bracelet to Noelle. 'My husband is such a generous man. He felt it was the least he could do, as I have been so wretchedly plagued with illnesses lately. I tell you, Miss Pope, shortness of breath is well known to be the first sign of consumption. It quite terrifies me.'
Observing the florid hue of the woman's complexion, Noelle thought it more likely that she was suffering from too tight lacing of her corset, but she wisely did not voice this opinion.
'Miss Pope, I understand you've lived most of your life in India!' Mr. Newcombe took advantage of the slight lull to inject himself into the conversation.
'Yes, I have. Until my parents' death.'
'Such a tragedy.' Mrs. Newcombe pursed her lips mournfully. But her son was not about to let her back into the conversation so easily. 'Tell me, how did you find India?' he asked.
'Have you ever been to India, Mr. Newcombe?' the beauty inquired innocently.
'No, I have not been so fortunate.'
'Well, then, let me tell you all about it.' She sent him a shattering smile that left him weak-kneed. He listened, entranced by her perfect features, as she described the air of Kashmir and cruel poverty of Calcutta to him.
Finally Mrs. Newcombe decided she had kept silent long enough. 'Tell me, Miss Pope, how do you find England now that you are here?'
'Much as I had expected, Mrs. Newcombe,' Noelle replied.
'Ohhh.' Mildred Newcombe drew out the single syllable and then gave a tight, offended sniff. She was obviously less than satisfied that one who had lived among the heathen for so long should dismiss His Majesty's realm so lightly.
Noelle looked at her solemnly, aware that her response had displeased the woman. A mischievous elf teased her.
'As a matter of fact, I found it just as I had dreamed it would be -a demi-paradise, a precious stone set in the silver sea. As I first set foot on England's soil, I thought, this blessed plot, this earth, this realm-this England!'
She smiled sweetly at the Newcombes and then folded her hands demurely in her lap.
Constance almost choked on her tea. The little imp! She was quoting
Mrs. Newcombe looked slightly bewildered. 'Quite so, Miss Pope,' she muttered faintly. A hush fell over the drawing room.
Constance jumped into the gap. 'Tell me, Mr. Newcombe, are you enjoying your stay in the country?'
'Very much so.' He responded with more enthusiasm than he could possibly have mustered a half hour before. 'The country is always pleasant, although I am generally partial to life in the city. Have you seen the sights of London yet, Miss Pope?'
Noelle picked up her teacup and took a small sip, then looked at him golden-eyed over the rim of her cup. 'What sights would those be, Mr. Newcombe?'
'Why, the Tower of London, Hyde Park, Oxford Street.'
'No,' she responded. 'I have not been so fortunate.'
'You must permit me the honor of being your guide when you do visit,' he urged. 'It is a fine city.'
'Fiddlesticks!' Mrs. Newcombe snapped. 'Fine city, indeed. I vow, I do not know what you see in the place, Robert. I only pray you shall soon come to your senses and settle down here where you belong.'
Margaret watched with satisfaction as her brother's face reddened in embarrassment.
'Why, you know very well what happened to your father only last month when he was in London.' Mrs. Newcombe turned to Constance and Noelle, her face stiff with indignation. 'The poor man had his pockets emptied while he was strolling through Piccadilly.'
Noelle's eyes flew open, and Constance gazed at her uneasily.
Mrs. Newcombe touched a lace handkerchief to the faint beads of moisture that had gathered on her upper lip. 'I see you are shocked, Miss Pope, that such a thing could happen in our civilized country. I assure you that it is commonplace in London. The city is filled with peddlers and beggars. I find the worst to be those dirty little guttersnipes that are always scampering about. Thieves, every one of them.'
'Guttersnipes?' Noelle purred dangerously. 'Do you mean children?'
'Children?' she responded haughtily. 'I don't know that I would dignify them with that description. They are barely human, Miss Pope. Yet they are permitted to run loose. It is a disgrace. Why, any person of good sense can't help but agree that they simply do not belong out in the open where they can taint the rest of us. How much better it would be if they were locked away in orphanages or asylums. Perhaps the prisons could even be used.'
'Have you considered the possibility of hanging them?' Noelle interjected, lifting one arched eyebrow.
Even Mildred Newcombe was taken aback. 'Why, I hardly think…'
'Oh, hush, Mama,' Margaret snapped. 'Don't you see that Miss Pope is poking fun?'
'Really, Margaret, she's doing no such thing!' Mr. Newcombe exclaimed, sounding more positive than he actually was.
Constance decided things had gone far enough. 'You misunderstood her, I'm sure, my dear. Here, let me pour you another cup of tea. Now, Margaret, you must tell me who made your frock. I vow, I can't remember when I've seen so many pink ruffles. Unusual to place them at the waist like that.'
Thus distracted, Mrs. Newcombe and her daughter launched into an enthusiastic account of their dressmaker's latest creations while Mr. Newcombe ate four chocolate madeleines and sighed over the tilt of Miss Pope's charming
