“Oh!” He exclaimed and pulled a collection of papers out from inside his coat. “In that case, I brought two or three you might like to hear.”
She smiled sweetly at her brother and St. Evert. “Won’t that be a rare treat?” She was certain one of them groaned.
Lord Byron’s poetry would not meet with any competition from Lord Pointy-Nose-It’s-A-Lucky-Thing-He-Has-Thirty-Thousand’s poetic attempts. If it were not for the fact that she needed Lord Horton to come up to the mark, Elizabeth would have expired from boredom. While he droned on, and on, and on, she had fallen into analyzing the construction of Lady Alameda’s superb gown.
She glanced up as Cairn walked quietly into the room with a small silver tray in his hand. The card was not for her. He presented it to Lord St. Evert, who read it quickly, nodded, and pretended to return his attention to the pitiable poet. Elizabeth wondered what St. Evert might be dwelling on, reasonably certain it wasn’t the noble song of sparrows and bluebirds. Did he recall kissing her the previous night? Or had he drifted off to sleep and forgotten all about it?
Cairn returned to the doorway and cleared his throat. Elizabeth’s overdramatic poet stopped mid-sentence, his arm in the air, pointing to some imaginary fowl, and turned with the rest of the room’s occupants to greet newcomers.
Cairn, in very stiff butler tones announced the arrivals. “Mr. George Dunworthy and his sister, Miss Susannah Dunworthy.”
Miss Dunworthy was everything Elizabeth was not—a sweet, demure little lamb with hair the color of lemon rinds curling out from underneath her clever chip straw bonnet. Definitely the fainting type. St. Evert was bound to approve. Not that Elizabeth cared. Heavens, no. Why should she? She didn’t. But she hated Miss Dunworthy anyway, just for good measure.
Elizabeth stood up to greet the intruders.
The girl curtseyed to her, low enough to appease the Queen Mother. It had, however, the annoying effect of making Lady Elizabeth feel nearly as old and ugly as the great matriarch herself. Miss Dunworthy smiled shyly. “I’m tho very honored thoo make your acquainthenth.”
Gadfrey! She lisps. Elizabeth momentarily forgot her manners and stared at her as if the wicked little kitten had just scratched her cheek. A contrived lisp if ever I heard one. The men drew closer to Miss Devious-Dunworthy, apparently loathe to miss overhearing her next bashful, babyish comment. Perfection. Elizabeth plopped like an artless old prune onto the divan.
The minx turned to Lord Horton and apologized effusively for interrupting his poetry. At least, it sounded like an apology. The childish lisp garbled her words so badly they were scarcely intelligible.
Thank heavens Lady Alameda breezed into the room, trailing a lacy shawl draped over her forearms as if it were royal robes. “There’s so many of you! Superb!”
Miss Devious-Dunworthy honored Lady Alameda with another dramatic curtsey and pouted. “I am thrying tho dethperately hard to convinth Lord Horton to finith rethiting hith marvelouth poem.”
“By all means.” The countess took her place in the large armchair beside the divan and waved him on.
Lord Horton struck a pose before beginning. “Upon the wing, the bluebird climbs.” His voice resonated with emotion. “Her spirit soars up with mine. Up. Up. Up! Above the clouds and leafy places, above the soot and city’s smut—”
“My dear boy!” Lady Alameda interrupted, thumping the arms of her chair. “We won’t have that sort of verse in this house. Not with young ladies present. Shame on you!”
Poor old Pointy-Nose was at a loss. “Oh, but... that’s not what it means... I…”
Elizabeth’s stomach twisted as she watched this man, her future husband, stutter helplessly. If he could not defend himself against Lady Alameda’s patently ludicrous accusation, how would he fare against a genuine problem? Drat this marriage business!
St. Evert tried to remedy the situation. “I think, my lady, you may have misunderstood Horton’s meaning. He refers, I believe, to the filth in the air, do you not?”
Lord Horton nodded dejectedly.
Lady Alameda stood up. “I think not! His first line clearly described a ladybird climbing upon the fellow’s wing.” She smoothed out a long imaginary tuft of feathers at a rather suggestive height.
Miss Devious-Dunworthy gasped.
Lady Alameda shook out her skirt as if some of the smut had landed in her lap. “I think you can see the implications without me spelling them out any further.” She smiled genially at Lord Horton, whose mouth hung open at an odd angle. “But never you mind,” she said. “I forgive you. After all, young men cannot help but have these kinds of thoughts.”
Lord Horton turned an interesting shade of pink. For being a poet, he was surprisingly short of words.
“Oh, do not be so distressed.” Lady Alameda rapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “You may return when there are not tender ears present and read your poem to me.”
She held open her arms, as if they were all her long-lost children. “Now for some amusement. I’ve prepared a surprise for all of you. We shall have our tea on the lawn, alfresco style.”
Miss Devious-Dunworthy clapped her hands excitedly. “How perthectly delithful!” One would think she’d found the gold coin in a Christmas pudding.
“Yes.” Lady Alameda stared speculatively at the girl. “It ought to prove a great deal more entertaining. And I’ve devised another surprise, as well. Come!” She waved them up. “Come see for yourselves.”
7
Flying Shuttles
If Elizabeth had to hear the devious kitten pronounce anything perthectly delithful again, she felt as if her head might explode. Naturally, that was the very expression Miss Dunworthy used when she discovered Lady Alameda had devised for them a game of battledore and shuttlecocks.
A child’s game. Elizabeth crossed her arms and went to stand under the shade of a large tree beside a beautifully appointed table and a row of chairs arranged to face a broad expanse of lawn.
Lady Alameda grinned at her. “Come along, dear. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t derive
