Really, she didn’t know what George was thinking. Not to have warned poor Imogen about the reputations of some of the gentlemen present. Between the attentions of Gabriel Angelstone, Ste Huntington, and Lord Reevesby, all of whom Helen had seen her dance with, Imogen could rapidly become the talk of the town if she didn’t look out.
All it took was for one of the tabbies here tonight to take umbrage, and tongues would be wagging all over London within the week. It didn’t even require one of the stiff-rumped sticklers to have noticed. The Duchess of Devonshire could unwittingly do just as much damage with a few careless conversations.
The plan had been to bring Imogen back into favour, not to blacken her reputation further, and Helen was determined to reclaim her friend. She was simply enraged every time she bumped into William Perrin and his oh-so-superior new wife. She’d given them both the cut direct recently, and she’d enjoyed doing so immensely.
Laughing loud enough to attract attention, she pulled Imogen out of the ballroom and onto the terrace. This was a moment to make oneself conspicuous. A moment to be noticed.
Chapter Seven
It would appear that London’s most amusing divorcée has resurfaced…Could it be that Lord S—— has grown tired of his wife already?
Tête-à-Tête, 20 August 1789
Imogen buttered a piece of toast and chewed it slowly while all around her the breakfast parlour churned: Maids and footmen delivering crockery, ale, laden trays straight from the kitchen. The guests milled about, filled their plates, found places to settle at the table to eat before returning to their rooms to finish dressing.
Those not leaving were heading down to the beach for the morning; an outing which was excitedly, and loudly, anticipated by the children.
‘For after all, what’s the point of owning an estate right on the sea, if one never goes down to the water? I’m longing for a nice, restful morning.’ George covered her mouth while she yawned, blinking her eyes sleepily.
‘We’ll have to put it off for another or hour or so, though. I don’t think the Morpeths have risen yet, and Alençon hasn’t put in an appearance either.’
Somewhat more than an hour later everyone was gathered near the marble steps leading down to the drive, ready to follow the earl and countess down to the water. Carriages, loaded with bags and trunks, were already filling the drive.
Cardross, Alençon and Lady Beverley were already gone, and the Glendowers were in the process of getting underway. Colonel Staunton passed them, helping his wife out to their carriage. He paused to tug on his daughter’s long hair, recommending to her that she be a good girl, and listen to her Aunt George.
‘Papa,’ Simone said, a note of reproof in her voice. ‘I’m not a baby.’
The colonel merely chuckled and climbed into his carriage.
The beach combing party was small, compared to what Imogen had grown used to in the past weeks, consisting of only a dozen or so guests, the children, and, of course, Gabriel Angelstone. He hadn’t been at breakfast, but he’d appeared just as they were all setting out, obviously prepared to join them.
The group had suddenly transformed into a family party, the more formal air of the house party evaporating along with the more formal guests. Gabriel, his cousin’s youngest child once again perched on his shoulders, was seemingly prepared to do nothing but watch her.
Imogen adjusted the ribbon holding her hat in place and caught one side of her lower lip between her teeth, unsure how to proceed. Helen would have gone on as if nothing had happened, and she couldn’t imagine the countess allowing a little thing like last night to put her out of her usual cheer. But it would be so much easier if Gabriel would take the initiative and give her a hint as to what he was expecting.
She was rescued from her dilemma by the countess’s brother. Mr Glenelg suddenly appeared at her side, and smiled down at her, his merry grey eyes twinkling. He put out one hand. ‘Can I carry that for you, Miss Mowbray?’ He reached for the blanket she had draped over one arm.
‘Of course.’ Imogen relinquished the blanket. ‘Thank you.’
‘Shall we?’ He draped the blanket over his shoulder and extended his arm. Imogen smiled, feeling her shoulders relax. Sometimes it was simply so much easier to take the path of least resistance.
Gabriel pressed his lips together as his friend absconded with Imogen, repressing a grin. It didn’t matter whose arm she went down to the beach on, and while he would have preferred to have Imogen all to himself, he had a much better view from where he was.
Besides, she couldn’t be constantly chaperoned, especially since Mrs Perripoint was still abed, and would be gone by the time they returned to the house. Helen had quite effectively played duenna last night and he didn’t want her doing so again tonight.
George and her besotted husband led them down to the beach, George abandoned the effort to keep her hat on long before they reached their destination. There was a strong sea breeze. It tore several people’s hats away, moulded the ladies’ gowns to them, making their casual Chemises a la Reine all the more scandalous.
The twisting, rambling foot path followed a narrow stream across the back lawn from the lake to the ocean, eventually leading to a rather steep set of stairs cut into the bluff. The children and dogs scrambled down the stairs in a rush, but the adults took it a bit more slowly. Imogen allowed George’s brother to carefully help her
