Mistress in the Regency Ballroom: The Rake's Unconventional Mistress / Marrying the Mistress. Juliet Landon

silence being wasted on the company who had so much to say to each other. Letitia knew only too well that the news would be taken back, post-haste, to Lady Boyce and her twin daughters with predictable results.

      However, Aunt Minnie refused to relinquish her role as critic and, as soon as she was able, reminded Rayne that Letitia’s dear sisters had obtained vouchers for Almack’s that same evening and were hoping to see him there. But to her great annoyance, he refused to pass on any message to her nieces except an enigmatic smile. She tried again on a different tack. ‘Young Lieutenant Gaddestone and Letitia have always had a tendre for each other since they were children. He seems particularly interested in her now, doesn’t he, my lord?’

      ‘I suppose it’s to be expected, Lady Aspinall. They must have plenty of news to exchange after an absence of three years,’ he said.

      She did not give up. ‘Indeed, yes. He’s done terribly well for himself, you know. Went out to the Americas with pockets to let and came back with a considerable share of prize money. Yes, he’ll be a good catch for some fortunate young lady before too long. Of course, the army don’t go in for prize money, do they?’

      ‘No, my lady. They don’t.’ Cultivated through generations of blue blood, the patronising smile in his voice and the quirk of one eyebrow was quite enough to remind her that her observation had backfired. Cavalry officers, drawn mostly from the wealthy aristocracy, could afford to fight for the sake of adventure and glory rather than for the pay, which was not good. Their colours, kit and horses usually cost a fortune, and few officers emerged wealthier than they were already. After that, Aunt Minnie confined herself to observing the two cousins and making plans for their future.

      That evening, while her sisters were at Almack’s, Letitia spent several hours writing her notes into her journal and continuing her story about the young Perdita who, by coincidence, was experiencing similar emotions and conflicts to herself.

       She took her leave of him, allowing her hand to rest in his a moment longer than was appropriate for one who had only that day insisted they could never be good friends. To humour her, he had cheerily agreed, but the look in his eyes told a different story, and the pressure of his fingers was like a caress around her heart, adding to the slow thaw that had begun with his first disturbing kiss. He would never know what that had done to her. He would not understand how a maid could be melted, insidiously, by a gentle embrace offered that day out of compassion. What was an untutored girl to understand by this, except that he saw her as some trophy to be won? Was it too late for her to refuse him her heart? Had he already claimed it? ‘Good day, my lord,’ she said. ‘Thank you for…’

       ‘For what?’

       ‘For the drive. For staying. For being here.’

      He nodded, smiling with wicked brown eyes. ‘Progress, Miss Perdita? Are we making some progress at last?’

      She watched his two giant strides take him to his high curricle, revealing the length of his steely thighs and calves. Responding like quicksilver to his commanding hands, his team leapt away, leaving Perdita to watch him disappear into the blue autumn haze, already counting the hours before she would see him again.

      Lord Rayne, on the other hand, had said nothing about progress to the author, nor had his wicked brown eyes smiled as he took his leave of her after luncheon. He had looked sternly at her instead. ‘Well,’he said, ‘don’t be going on any drives with your cousin, will you? Naval officers don’t have much practice with horses, and you two together would be a liability.’

      ‘Thank you for your advice, Lord Rayne. Your concern is touching.’

      ‘My concern is mainly for the horses. Good day, Miss Boyce.’

       When shall I see you again?

      Halfway across the pavement, he stopped and turned as if he had heard her. ‘Tomorrow. At church. You’ll be there?’

      ‘Yes.’ She nodded, startled by his reading of her mind.

      His acknowledgement was curt to the point of incivility, his two strides to the curricle seat taken without another glance.

      Her intention to be at church next morning, however, was upset by an incident that shocked the adults involved in the smooth running of Miss Boyce’s select seminary.

      Letitia and Miss Gaddestone were preparing to leave the house, waiting for Mrs Quayle and the three girls to join them, when the three arrived with serious faces, without their chaperon.

      ‘Is she coming?’ said Letitia, drawing on her gloves.

      ‘Yes,’ said Edina. ‘She asks that you wait for her while we go on ahead. Shall we go?’

      ‘Yes. We’ll catch you up. Go with Miss Gaddestone.’

      Once they were out of the way, Mrs Quayle entered the house through the back door, leading an unkempt Sapphire Melborough, who ought to have been at church in her parents’ pew. Sapphire was sullen and indignant, her pouting mouth reddened as if she’d been eating strawberries. Her long fair hair, which should have been braided, hung down on to one muslin-covered shoulder, the fabric of which was loosened by the undone row of hooks and eyes down the back of her bodice. One hand held the front of her dress in place while the other carried her pink bonnet and reticule, and her prayer book.

      If Letitia was lost for words, Mrs Quayle was not. ‘I think,’ she said in her severest tone, ‘that this young lady has some explaining to do. First, she may like to tell us why she prefers to spend her Sunday morning in the potting shed rather than at church with her parents.’

      Guessing the answer to that, Letitia started from a more obtuse angle. ‘Where do your parents think you are, Sapphire?’ she said.

      ‘At church or at home, Miss Boyce,’ the young woman whispered. ‘They’re away visiting for the day, but I pleaded to stay behind.’

      ‘So you could come down to Paradise Road while we were at church?’

      ‘Yes.’ The blue eyes had lost their merry twinkle, taking on a heavy-lidded tiredness, guarded against probing personal questions.

      ‘To meet the gardener’s son?’

      ‘How…how did you…?’

      ‘Tell me! Never mind how I know.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Bristling with indignation, Mrs Quayle felt obliged to add details she knew Sapphire would not willingly have offered. ‘The great hulking lout ran off, buckling his belt up, leaving this young madam—’ she cast a jaundiced look at Sapphire’s dishevelled state ‘—to pull herself together as best she may. Down on the bench they were, when I found them, rolling about like a couple of pups, and him with a black eye as big as a cabbage.’

      ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Quayle. Sapphire, come here and sit down. Did you walk down Richmond Hill on your own? Without a maid?’

      ‘Charity came with me, ma’am, to keep watch.’

      ‘To keep watch? For pity’s sake, what has it come to? Where is She now? Still out there?’

      ‘I don’t know, ma’am.’

      ‘Sapphire, how long has this been going on?’ Before the girl could develop her fib, it was snapped off in a sudden burst of anger. ‘Don’t lie to me, young lady. The truth, if you please. How long?’

      ‘Not long, Miss Boyce. Since I first hurt my ankle.’

      Letitia closed her eyes, seeing the occasion in one quick blink. They had left Sapphire behind in Miss Gaddestone’s care to finish off her watercolour in the summerhouse while the rest of them went to the Royal Academy. Gaddy would have dozed off. The gardener’s son would have beckoned, offering Sapphire an irresistible alternative. She was not a girl to refuse that kind of adventure, as she herself had done. She would have pushed aside any reservations and