poems and wondering whether they had also been Richard’s favourites. She could picture him alone in the library at Kestrel Court, one candle burning at his elbow as he flicked through the pages. A lock of dark hair would fall across his forehead and in the pale light he would look like one of the poets of old, penning lines to his lady love…
A line of text caught her eye. ‘If I by miracle can be this livelong minute true to thee, tis all that heaven allows…’
Deb sighed. If anything was true of Richard Kestrel, then it was that. He would never be able to be constant to one woman for longer than a minute and probably not even that. She was foolish to imagine it could be so.
Since Lady Sally’s ball the previous week, Deb had thought long and hard about Richard Kestrel-too long and too hard, probably. She had not been able to come to any conclusions other than that she was spending an unconscionable amount of time on him, which was unprofitable and made her heart ache. Her only hope was that the trip to Somerset for her brother’s wedding would distract her thoughts-and that the appointment of a temporary fiance would give her both purpose and interest.
She looked up to see that the other members of the group were watching her. Lady Benedict’s eyes were bright with malice and Lady Sally Saltire looked shrewd, as though she had already divined the cause of Deb’s trouble. Deb dragged up a bright smile.
‘Why do we not read “The World” by Henry Vaughan?’ she suggested. ‘It is a very beautiful poem.’
Some half an hour later the discussion had flagged and Lady Sally encouraged them to put their books aside and come out into the conservatory.
‘I am most excited,’ she confided. ‘You will recall that I had commissioned a watercolour calendar a few months ago? Well, I received my first copy from the publisher today. Only come and see. It is even better than I had envisaged. The ladies of the ton will be mad to buy it when I go up to London next month!’
When Lady Sally had first mooted the idea of a watercolour calendar featuring pictures of various local gentleman, the members of the reading group had been quite scandalised. Even though the project was for a charitable cause, it had seemed utterly outrageous to parade a group of eligible gentlemen simply to whet the appetites of ladies of fashion. The vicar, Mr Lang, on hearing of the calendar, had even taken to preaching against it from his pulpit, much to Lady Sally’s amusement. Already her rakes’ calendar, as she called it, had achieved exactly the effect that she desired. Anticipation amongst the ladies of the ton was extremely high and charitable causes would benefit!
The ladies crowded around the easel where Lady Sally had mounted the book. Helena Lang grabbed Deb’s arm in a thoroughly overexcited manner.
‘Oh, Mrs Stratton, I heard a rumour at the ball that Lord Lucas Kestrel had agreed to be sketched without his shirt!’
Olivia Marney, overhearing, could not help but laugh. ‘I fear that is completely untrue, Miss Lang, although if anyone were likely to be so outrageous I suspect it would be Lord Lucas. In fact, I had it from Ross that he posed in army uniform, and very fine he looked too.’
Lady Benedict was pushing all the other ladies aside in her haste to be first to view the calendar. She pressed one white hand to her lips to stifle a peal of laughter.
‘Oh, Sally-all our rakes, and in magnificent style!’
It was true. As Lady Sally turned the pages of the calendar slowly and the ladies viewed the pictures, it became evident that the conservatory at Saltires was one of the hottest places in the kingdom. The pictures were magnificent. There was the Duke of Kestrel, looking handsome and athletic mounted on his coal-black horse, Thunderer. There was Cory, Lord Newlyn, adventurer par excellence with the wicked twinkle in his eye that had melted the heart of every lady for miles around. Lucas Kestrel looked every debutante’s dream and every chaperon’s nightmare in his army uniform, whilst Richard Kestrel was dark and dangerous in evening dress. Deb felt her breath constrict in her throat and turned the page quickly, to where Ross Marney was depicted, virile and good looking in navy uniform, with the wind ruffling his dark hair and his blue eyes smiling.
Deb saw Olivia put a hand up to her throat and saw the pink colour stain her cheeks and smiled to herself that, for all their difficulties, Olivia and Ross were not indifferent to each other.
‘Good gracious,’ Olivia said, her voice not quite steady, ‘Mr Daubenay certainly knows how to present a gentleman looking his best. This book should make his reputation as a water colourist, Sally.’
‘I hope so,’ Lady Sally said, smiling. ‘He did have remarkably good raw material to work on!’
Lady Benedict was fanning herself ostentatiously. ‘I do believe that I need to sit down, Sally,’ she said, ‘and perhaps a cool drink, after that display of unabashed manhood. One scarcely knows where to look.’
Deb knew it was evident from the reaction and from Lady Sally’s self-satisfied smile that the project would be a raging success. None of the ladies of the ton would be able to resist parting with their money for such a good cause-and for the benefit of ogling a dozen personable gentlemen.
‘You will have ladies beating a path to your door to buy a copy, Lady Sally,’ she said, with feeling.
Lady Sally laughed. ‘I plan to hold a ball at the end of October to launch the book and I am trying to prevail on all the gentlemen to attend. I am hoping it will be quite a sensation. In fact…’ she ushered them back into the drawing room and rang the bell for refreshments ‘…I had another idea. I thought to auction the original of the book as well as sell copies. I suspect there might be much competition for the original version.’
The ladies were much struck by this and whilst they drank their cooling lemonade they discussed the plans for Lady Sally’s ball. Helena Lang, whose father the vicar disapproved so heartily of the calendar, was extremely upset that she would not be able to attend the London ball, and Lady Benedict also expressed her disappointment that her husband’s ill health kept her, as always, in the country.
‘What would be simply marvellous,’ she said, eyes lighting up, ‘would be if you were to hold a special private view here, Sally, before auctioning the calendar up in London. It would attract a great deal of notice-why, the Hertfords and the Prince of Wales might even attend!’
Helena Lang clapped her hands. ‘Oh, please, Lady Sally! That way I may persuade Papa to allow me to be present…’
Deb’s heart sank. She felt peculiarly out of sorts at the thought of Lady Sally’s calendar heroes displaying their undeniable physical prowess before the ton. However, since everyone else thought it a marvellous idea, she was obliged to concur and walked back to Midwinter Marney with Olivia in rather a bad mood.
‘Is Lord Marney at home?’ Olivia enquired casually of the butler as they went under the Doric portico and through the big front door.
‘Yes, my lady,’ Ford replied. ‘Lord Marney and Lord Richard Kestrel returned a little while ago and are down in the stables.’ He hesitated. ‘Shall I ask them to join you for tea, madam?’
Deb pulled a face and shook her head, for the thought of Lord Richard’s company was the final strain on her poor temper, but unfortunately Olivia was stripping off her gloves and appeared not to notice her sister’s disapproval.
‘Please do, Ford,’ she said. ‘We shall all take tea together.’
Deb sighed and went through to the drawing room, whilst Olivia went upstairs to remove her bonnet. The maid was already laying out afternoon tea in preparation for their return. Deb reflected that her sister’s household ran like clockwork. Olivia was so efficient. Nothing ever seemed to go awry in her life.
There was the sound of voices raised in the hall and the gentlemen came in.
‘If you wanted to go to Newmarket this week, I should be delighted to accompany you, Ross,’ Lord Richard was saying.
Although she had known that he was present, Deb found that she was so flustered to see Lord Richard again that she dropped her poetry book on the floor. It skidded across the polished wood and bumped against the leg of the rosewood table. She bent to pick it up and a sheet fell out. Cursing herself for her clumsiness in loosening the pages, Deb whisked the paper up and hoped that Lord Richard had not noticed her carelessness with his gift. She stuffed the loose sheet inside the cover and put the book under her arm.
‘Good afternoon, Deb,’ Ross said, coming over to kiss her cheek. ‘Did you enjoy your meeting of the reading group?’
‘It was quite pleasant,’ Deb said. She could feel herself blushing under Richard’s scrutiny with all the self- consciousness of a green girl.
‘How do you do, Mrs Stratton?’ he said. His tone was scrupulously courteous, but the message in his eyes was very different, warm and speculative, and it heated Deb down to her toes. ‘Were you studying Christopher Marlowe
