Page 41 of A Stroke of Luck
The marquess nearly choked on his sherry, while Haverton paled and Abbingford turned a vivid shade of crimson.
“The proportions are all wrong.”
There was a moment of awkward silence as Lady Catherine and the other two young ladies looked on uncomprehendingly.
“I—I don’t understand,” said Miss Littleton, her mouth scrunched in a moue of confusion.
“I should hope not,” sputtered the marquess.
“Artistic license, Miss Greeley,” murmured the duke quickly, trying to ensure that she did not elaborate on her observation. “Uh, speaking of Florentine masters, Abbingford, did you have a chance to view the frescos of Masaccio at Brancaccio Chapel. He is recognized as the first artist to employ perspective in his paintings …”
To his relief, Zara let drop the subject of nude men.
After exchanging a few more general comments on foreign art, the talk turned to topics closer to home, and then the group slowly drifted apart to mingle with the other guests.
Seeing that Zara was left adrift in the middle of the room, Prestwick stepped forward and offered his arm. “Come with me. I should like to introduce you to Lord Barton and his sister,” he said quietly. His gaze strayed to the far end of the room, where arather tall gentleman with receding ginger hair and a stout lady clearly past the first bloom of youth were conversing before the blazing hearth.
“Why?” Her voice came out as a pinched whisper. “So that I may sink myself into further disgrace?”
“No. Because you may find them both interesting and?—”
“Prestwick, I am sure Miss Greeley does not wish to hang on your sleeve the entire evening. Come greet your other friends while your cousin introduces his relative to the rest of the guests.” Lady Catherine had suddenly appeared to take his other arm, and though her tone was light, there was no mistaking the implied rebuke.
With a graceful little flourish of her wrist, she caught Harold’s eye and summoned him over. “Be an angel, and see that Miss Greeley is made known to everyone present.”
Harold gave an unctuous grin. “It would be my pleasure, though I am sure the young lady has already accomplished that feat on her own.”
The duke had little choice but to relinquish Zara to his cousin, despite the fact that the other man’s veiled sarcasm boded no good. As she turned and moved away in stiff-gaited silence, he could only keep his fingers crossed that their rubbing together did not set off any further sparks.
Such a hope quickly went up in smoke.
“How very … odd.” Lady Haverstock’s voice, even more shrill than usual, caused several heads to turn.
Prestwick could almost see reddish highlights in Zara’s hair grow more fiery, but she appeared to be keeping her temper in check.
“You traveled all that way alone?” persisted the dowager countess. “Without a proper chaperone?”
“Not alone. My two brothers were with me.”
The answer seemed to mollify Lady Haverstock. That is, until Harold chose that moment to clear his throat and, with an air of innocence, add further explanation. “Yes, and the care of two children must have made the journey even more harrowing.” Seeing he had the attention of the lady and her friends, he went on. “How you managed to avoid any number of compromising situations along the way is, I imagine, a tribute to your strong spirit.”
One of the other matrons frowned and gave a shake of her turbaned head. “Highly irregular.”
“Spirit in a gel?” Lady Haverstock regarded Zara through the lens of her lorgnette. “Not at all the thing. But I suppose that since you mean to reside with Hermione?—”
“Oh, that has not been decided.” While outwardly innocuous, there was no doubt that Harold’s words could be interpreted as a questioning on the part of Zara’s own family as to her reputation.
The dowager’s squint became more pronounced.
“That arrangement is merely temporary,” agreed Zara coolly. “Indeed, my brothers and I are quite capable of looking out for ourselves.”
Such a bold statement caused another rustling of silk and round of murmurs.
Drat the chit! The duke’s lips thinned. Why couldn’t she simply ignore Harold’s sly goadings and leave well enough alone? He knew, however, that she was not one to retreat in the face of hostile fire.
“Prestwick.” Flashing a winsome smile to soften the reproach, Lady Catherine gave his arm a light tap. “I fear you have not been attending to a word I have said.”
“Forgive me.” It was really not his concern if Miss Greeley chose to sink herself in the eyes of the ton, he told himself. Yet try as he might to concentrate on Lady Catherine’s recital of thelatest ondits from Town, his attention kept drifting back to the other conversation.
