Экономическая теория. Учебник и практикум для СПО. Геннадий Евгеньевич Алпатов

mess. We just now received vouchers for Almack’s. Will you be in attendance next Wednesday, Miss Fennelwick?”

      “Oh, no. I attended twice my come-out year.” She inclined her head at a sympathetic angle. “I am sorry to bear such ill tidings, but the place is a dreadful bore. It may be a bastion of exclusivity, but I prefer to remain home with a book.”

      “But the status of having vouchers is important, is it not?”

      Frances selected a biscuit. “I suppose Almack’s is as good a place as any to meet a gentleman. But I am a bluestocking. It is a badge I wear with pride, not the scorn others attach to it. I do not need a husband, so I am freed from playing by the stifling rules imposed upon marriage-minded females.”

      “I do not require a husband, either.” As much as Gemma longed for adventure, a family of her own and freedom from Cristobel, she loved Petey and Eddie. They were enough for her. “I would simply like to experience all of London that I can.”

      Again Stott entered the room with the salver. At Amy’s nod, he left and returned, Tavin at his heels, clad in another formfitting black coat, his gaze intense. Gemma’s breath caught—how foolish—and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his until the weight of another pair of eyes drew her gaze away.

      Frances’s lips turned up in a smirk. Heat flooded Gemma’s cheeks.

      She’d told Frances she didn’t want a husband, but it was obvious Frances didn’t believe her now.

      * * *

      Sitting still was harder than it should have been, considering a decent percentage of Tavin’s career was spent waiting, immobile. But standing. Even now, he would have preferred to stand outside the box at Astley’s Amphitheatre, keeping watch from the hall. But the boys had begged and it would have seemed odd to say no, so he took his seat in the box with Gemma and her family.

      “Am-a-zing!” Petey cried as a trick rider galloped past.

      Eddie looked up at Tavin. “That horse is as fine as Raghnall!”

      Was he? Tavin hadn’t been watching. Not the riders or the pantomimes or acrobats who made the boys clap and laugh. Nor did he watch Gemma, although from the corners of his eyes he could see how she doted on her nephews, reading the program aloud to them and patting their arms. Love for the boys glowed on her features, adding an extra dimension to her beauty.

      Not that he should think of that. He focused on the crowd, searching for a lone man peering at Gemma a second too long. Even though it was a waste. No one hunted Gemma.

      Then Tavin saw the family in a box across the ring. His chest filled with dread. His aunt, the Duchess of Kelworth, was still beautiful, regal in bearing. A worthy duchess. Her husband, his mither’s brother, hadn’t joined her today, just the silvery-haired girls. While their eyes were wide as they watched the trick riders, they didn’t clap like Gemma’s nephews.

      Beautiful girls, his cousins. Helena, the eldest, was near old enough for marriage now. How she’d changed from the little girl who’d begged him to push her higher on the swings. Would he have recognized her or her younger sisters if they had not been seated with their mother?

      He stared too long. The duchess lifted her gaze. Heat rose up his chest as her gaze encompassed his party. Then she returned her focus to the ring, as if she didn’t know him.

      Tavin’s fists clenched. His legs twitched. He needed to move. Needed to do something, be anywhere but here. His aunt was a gossip. No doubt she’d tattle to her friends he was in town and at the circus, of all places.

      Worse, her whispers would reach his grandmother.