Page 57 of Doxy for the Ton
“But…you know Florence?” Foxton asked, coloring.
“My late husband and I were traveling to Florence when…” She hesitated.
“Adam, leave the poor lady alone,” Lady Portia said. “I can’t think what you’re doing.”
“I’m asking about Italy,” Foxton said. “I find it astonishing that Sawbridge never mentioned Lord Rex to his friends.”
“Perhaps because I don’t count you as a friend,” Alexander said. “Besides, while you might show an interest in aLord Rex, I doubt you’d consider a mereSir John Rexgrand enough for you.”
“Sir John, eh? A baronet or a knight?”
“That’s enough!” Lady Portia said, then turned to Mimi. “Lady Rex, accept my apologies for my brother’s incivility. Be assured that not everyone in London is such a boor.” She arched an eyebrow and glanced at Alexander.
“Except perhaps myself, Lady Portia, given what your brother’s told you about me?” he asked.
“Too many people observe the world through the lens of gossip,” Lady Portia said. “I prefer to discover the truth for myself. Gossip obscures the truth.”
“As do deceivers, sister.”
A flicker of mischief shone in Lady Portia’s eyes.
Yes, Foxton—I doubt your sister is the obedient debutante you’d have her be.
“Forgive us for not tarrying,” Foxton said. “We’re taking tea with Lady Jersey. Do you know her, Lady Rex?”
“No, I do not,” Mimi said.
Foxton nodded, then steered his sister along the pavement. Lady Portia’s harsh whisper floated through the air.
“Really, Adam! There was no need to be so insufferable.”
Alexander led Mimi toward the entrance to the park.
“I like her,” Mimi said.
“And Foxton himself?”
“He is as I’d expect, given his rank.”
“You didn’t find him attractive?” Alexander said. “Most women do—at least, that’s what I’m told.”
“My opinion is immaterial,” she said, “but, for my part, I don’t find him attractive—though I can see how most women would.”
“Because?” Alexander couldn’t help asking, unable to contain his jealousy.
“Because, almost without exception, everyone in Society judges others by their appearance and their rank, rather than the quality of their soul.”
“Almostwithout exception?”
His heart soared with hope—did she consider him the exception?
“Duchess Whitcombe is different to anyone else I’ve encountered. Behind the titled women lies a good soul—which renders her unique.”
“If Society judges by appearance, then you will triumph,” he said, swallowing his disappointment. “Even the most insightful observer would believe your act just now. Your distress was almost convincing when the conversation turned to the nonexistent Sir John Rex. We have a fair chance at passing you off as a lady.”
“Afair chanceis all we need, given the level of intelligence of most members of theton,” she said, almost in a snarl.
Unable to think of a suitable response, he said nothing, and they entered the park in silence. It was already busy—couples strolled arm in arm; children held hands with prim, plain women in starched gowns. The occasional rider passed by, and in the distance, the honk of swans echoed across the landscape, against the backdrop of the chorus of songbirds that never seemed to cease.
