Tangled Reins. Stephanie Laurens

vouchers for Almack’s at once! My dear, I had a dreadful premonition that the Season was going to be so dull, but with two such beauties around I can see there’ll be fireworks!’

      Both Dorothea and Cecily blushed.

      Lady Merion remained chatting to Lady Jersey for some minutes, exchanging information on who had or had not returned to the capital. It became apparent to the two girls that they were attracting considerable attention, from the ogling stares of the soldiers and young bucks, which Lady Merion had instructed them to ignore, to the far more disconcerting stares of other mamas passing by in their carriages with their hopeful young daughters. Under the soporific effect of the drone of their grandmother’s conversation, Cecily let her gaze wander to a group of elegant gentlemen chatting to two pretty young ladies on the nearby lawn. Dorothea, similarly abstracted, was abruptly brought back to earth by Lady Jersey. ‘I hear, my dear, that you are already acquainted with Lord Hazelmere?’

      Aware that to show the slightest hesitation would be fatal, Dorothea used her large eyes to great effect, lucently conveying an attitude of complete nonchalance. ‘Yes. As luck would have it, I met him again recently. He was kind enough to assist me at an inn on our way to London.’

      Her ladyship’s prominent eyes did not waver. ‘So you had met him before?’

      Dorothea’s composure held firm. Her brows rose slightly, as if the answer to that question should really be quite obvious. ‘His great-aunt, Lady Moreton, introduced him to my mother and myself some time ago. She was a neighbour of ours in Hampshire.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’ Lady Jersey was clearly disappointed in this undeniably mundane explanation of Dorothea’s acquaintance with one of society’s more rakish bachelors. She returned her attention to Lady Merion.

      After a further five minutes of acidly social intercourse the coachman was told to move on. As Lady Jersey fell behind, Lady Merion drew a deep breath and bestowed a look of definite approval on her elder granddaughter. ‘Very well done, my dear. Now we just have to keep it up.’

      What she meant by that became rapidly apparent as they engaged in conversation after conversation with dowagers and matrons and occasionally with mothers with unmarried daughters. Without fail, the incident at the inn would somehow find its way into the arena, in one version or another. After her success with Lady Jersey, undoubtedly society’s most formidable inquisitor, Lady Merion let Dorothea deal with all these enquiries, only stepping in when some of the younger ladies seemed anxious to lead the description into areas too particular for her ladyship’s sense of propriety. Cecily, absorbed in the Park and its patrons and too young for the matrons to waste much time over, largely ignored these conversations.

      Almost an hour later they stopped to talk to the Princess Esterhazy. After the introductions were performed, the sweet-faced and distinctly plump Princess smiled sleepily at the girls. ‘I saw you talking with Sally before, so I’m sure she must have promised you vouchers?’

      Lady Merion nodded. ‘She feels my girls will liven up proceedings.’

      ‘Oh, undoubtedly, I should think,’ agreed Princess Ester-hazy.

      At this point two elegant young gentlemen detached themselves from a group that had been eyeing the beautiful young things in the Merion carriage and approached. ‘Your servant, Lady Merion,’ said the first, raising his hat and sweeping a graceful bow, copied by his companion.

      Lady Merion, turning to see who had addressed her, promptly exclaimed, ‘Oh, Ferdie! Is your mother in town yet?’

      Assured that Mrs Acheson-Smythe would be in the capital by the end of the week, Lady Merion introduced her granddaughters to the elegant pair.

      Dorothea and Cecily looked down upon two stylishly correct gentlemen, both clearly of the first stare. Neither was tall or broad-shouldered, yet both contrived to give the impression of being well turned out, a perfect fit for whatever niche they occupied in the ton. Mr Acheson Smythe was slim and fair, his pale face characterised by a pair of frank and guileless blue eyes. Mr Dermont, of similar build, was less confident than his friend, letting the knowledgeable Mr Acheson-Smythe lead the conversation. Knowing that Ferdie Acheson-Smythe could be trusted to keep the line, her ladyship returned to her gossip with the Princess.

      Seeing the girls’ attention claimed by the young men, Princess Esterhazy took the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. ‘But tell me, Hermione. What is the truth of this story that Hazelmere rescued one of these two from a prizefight crowd at some inn?’

      By this time Lady Merion had the answer by rote. ‘Such a lucky thing he was passing, my dear. Dorothea had gone down to find her coachman, not realising that the gentlemen had already arrived.’

      ‘I had not realised your granddaughters were acquainted with Hazelmere.’

      ‘Most fortunately, Dorothea had been introduced to him by his great-aunt, Lady Moreton. You must remember, she died last year, and Hazelmere was her heir. The Grange borders Moreton Park, and Cynthia, my daughter-in-law, and Etta Moreton were close friends. Dorothea! Where was it you first met Hazelmere?’

      Dorothea, who had been trying to follow two conversations at once, turned to hear her grandmother’s question repeated. She answered easily, ‘Oh, out driving one day. He was taking Lady Moreton for a ride in his curricle.’ She turned back to Ferdie Acheson-Smythe, as if the details of how she had met the Marquis could not be of any possible consequence to anyone.

      Her lack of consciousness convinced Princess Esterhazy that the story was the truth. In her opinion, no young lady who had met Hazelmere in any ineligible way could possibly look as unconcerned as Dorothea Darent.

      On their return to Merion House shortly afterwards, Lady Merion led the way upstairs to her private drawing-room. Throwing her elegant hat on a chair, she subsided in a cloud of stylish velvets and breathed a heartfelt sigh. ‘Well! We did very well, my dears. That was an excellent start to your Season.’ She settled into her chaise-longue and, supplied with tea by Dorothea, consented to answer their questions.

      ‘Ferdie Acheson-Smythe?’ she said in answer to one of these. ‘Ferdie is the only son of the Hertfordshire Acheson-Smythes. Of very good family, first cousin to Hazelmere. Ferdie will have to marry some day, I dare say, but by and large he’s not the marrying kind. However, he is an acknowledged authority on all matters of etiquette, so if Ferdie drops you a hint on anything to do with your behaviour or dress you’d be well advised to take heed! He’s also completely trustworthy; he’ll never go beyond the line of what is pleasing. Ferdie is an unexceptionable companion for a young lady, and a very useful cavalier. It wouldn’t do you any harm to be seen with him.’

      ‘And Mr Dermont?’ asked Cecily.

      ‘Anyone Ferdie introduces to you as a friend will be much the same style, though Ferdie himself is unquestionably at the head of that class.’

      Lady Merion had accepted an invitation to a small party that evening, and both her granddaughters accompanied her. Entirely satisfied with their appearance, she was pleased to see that they mixed easily with the other young people present, although Dorothea, with her stunning appearance and air of calm self-possession, was deferred to as senior to the débutantes and in something of a different category. This was true enough. In a larger gathering, with more mature gentlemen, such as Hazelmere, to claim her attention, her elder granddaughter would not lack for entertaining partners.

      Watching Dorothea, she grinned, their words of that afternoon recurring in her head. Cecily had been resting when the rest of Celestine’s creations had been delivered; she and Dorothea had been alone in her parlour.

      ‘This is exquisite!’ Dorothea had exclaimed, holding up a blue sarcenet ballgown of Cecily’s.

      ‘Your own are every bit as alluring,’ she had returned.

      Dorothea had laughed, turning her attention to yet another of Cecily’s gowns. ‘But it’s Cecily who needs the husband, not I.’

      The comment had stunned her to silence. Then, in one revealing instant, she had seen Dorothea