Page 24 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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The streets of London faded from view to be replaced with countryside as the ducal carriage neared Lady Masterson’s small estate outside the city. Dressed again in a coat of indigo, Welles had arrived on time to escort the duchess, Romy, and Margaret. Romy had protested her brother’s lack of a costume, but Welles only shrugged and said again that he’d no interest in appearing in public as a woodland animal.

Margaret took in the dark blue of his coat, the buff trousers and boots, everything elegantly cut and exquisitely tailored, but free from any sort of embellishment. He could have easily been a barrister or a wealthy merchant rather than a future duke. But no one would ever mistake him for either of those. Ordinary gentlemen didn’t look like Welles. Nor did most of the titled ones.

Romy and the duchess kept up a steady stream of conversation, requiring Welles to interject occasionally while Margaret listened. Every so often he would glance in her direction, but he’d not spoken to her directly, not beyond the polite greeting he’d murmured as he’d handed her into the coach.

Margaret told herself she didn’t miss his teasing.

The duchess looked out the window and clapped her hands in pleasure. “I’d no idea Lady Masterson was hiding such a treasure only an hour’s ride from London,” she exclaimed as the carriage pulled onto a winding drive. A lawn stretched out from a lovely stone two-story house sporting profusions of blooms hanging from every window.

Margaret wasn’t certain what she’d been expecting as she exited the carriage behind Romy and the duchess. Her vision of a garden party was limited to the few she’d attended in Yorkshire where elderly women showcased their hothouse orchids and won a ribbon for a splendid tasting pie.

Lady Masterson’s garden party was quite different.

Several gentlemen and ladies were bowling on the lawn while liveried servants ran to and fro. The grass further down the rise had been cut to resemble a large chessboard. A dozen guests, sporting either a black hat or a white hat as they were “moved” about by the two teams played a friendly game of chess. Cards were being played under one tent. Everywhere, servants circulated carrying trays heavy with refreshments.

The hostess, golden and beautiful, was far younger than the Yorkshire matrons by several decades. Lady Masterson was closer in age to Margaret and already a widow, as the late Lord Masterson had died several years ago. She stood boldly at the entrance to her lavish gardens, daring anyone to remark on the bright fuchsia gown hugging her voluptuous curves with its scandalously low-cut bodice. Fat, golden curls, woven with tiny rosebuds, fell about Lady Masterson’s shoulders in artful disarray as she greeted her guests, the flat American accent drawing looks of disdain.

Lady Masterson was quite something.

At their approach, she gave a little wave with one gloved hand and excused herself from the group of guests she’d been speaking to.

Welles, a smile crossing his wide mouth, bowed and took her hand, brushing his lips across the knuckles.

“Lord Welles, how kind of you and the rest of theBeautiful Barringtons,” she arched one plucked eyebrow, “to grace my little party.” Lady Masterson dropped his hand and executed a perfect curtsy before the duchess. “Your Grace, I’m so pleased you could come. Lady Andromeda.”

The duchess took her arm and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Georgina, the name is likely to stick if you keep referring to us as the Beautiful Barringtons, and you know how little I care for notoriety.”

“Your Grace, every single Barrington is a sight to behold, even Theodosia who lives beneath the eaves.”

“Or Leo?” Margaret heard Welles say under his breath.

The only sign Lady Masterson heard him was a slight tightening of the smile on her lips.

The duchess laughed. “There are some who grow concerned I’ve locked Theo in her room as some sort of punishment. I need no more gossip directed at us.” She gave a discreet nod in Welles’s direction.

“Better a nickname extolling your family’s beauty than the alternative. I speak from experience. I’ve several nicknames myself.” Lady Masterson smiled. “Though I won’t repeat them.”

“Oh, do tell, Lady Masterson,” Welles said.

Lady Masterson swatted him affectionately with her fan.

Margaret watched the interplay between the three. It was clear Lady Masterson was a friend of the family from the affectionate way the duchess spoke to her. But what of the beautiful widow’s relationship with Welles?

Jealously pricked her, unexpected and sharp.

“You must be Miss Lainscott.” Lady Masterson turned and greeted her.

Margaret bobbed. “Lady Masterson. Your gardens are lovely.”

“How kind of you to come to my party.” She leaned closer and Margaret was enveloped in a cloud of something floral. “And kinderstillfor not bringing your aunt.”

“The pleasure is mine.” It was impossible not to like Lady Masterson.

After conversing with the duchess and Romy for a few more minutes, Lady Masterson looked up at a pair coming up the lawn. Her expression became coldly polite before she excused herself to greet them.

The gentleman was tall and gaunt, almost stork like. Thick salt and pepper hair was combed back from a broad forehead and he sported a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. The lady clutching his arm reminded Margaret unpleasantly of her aunt. She had the same judgmental look in her eyes as she scanned the lawn full of guests. The moment she spotted Lady Masterson, her lips curled in a sneer.

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