His Forbidden Debutante. Anabelle Bryant

cat waiting at a crack in the floorboards.’

      ‘Diamonds not your preference?’ Jasper asked the question with a tone expressing his belief that only a clunch would refuse the opportunity to enter into business with one of London’s most successful jewellers; and since Jasper owned Inventive Investments, a company dedicated to gaining collateral for prospering innovators, he possessed sound judgement.

      ‘It’s more his zealous insistence that puts me off than the actual venture. He presented the proposition this morning and now here we are in late afternoon and he’s badgered me about it again. This single-mindedness is off-putting, a cryptic challenge of pursuit I’ve no interest in perpetuating.’ Penwick drew a long sip of brandy.

      ‘Perhaps he has a short memory?’ Randolph’s suggestion amused Jasper who smiled towards his good friend before he replied to Penwick. ‘Cork-brained and all that. My uncle suffered from the same malady until he died like a fuddle cap with barrel fever.’

      ‘Rather odd, indeed. Why press the issue? It causes one to doubt the motive.’ Jasper gave a thoughtful pause. ‘You don’t suppose the family is under the hatches? Despite their esteemed reputation with the ton, you possess a proper title. One cannot ignore your betrothed is the daughter of a businessman, no matter the merchandise is diamonds, and while she may exude polish, there’s no changing she’s a woman from a lower class of society.’ Jasper continued to speculate. ‘Could the family desire your wealth and prestige? Diamonds are as secure an investment as I’d propose, though if he’s overspent and dished up, that’s another matter entirely. Otherwise, why would Allington run the risk of entry in your black book? Only an addle pate would anger an earl, more exact, a model of probity and uprightness. The boot is more commonly on the other leg.’

      ‘Exactly.’ The same questions plagued Penwick. Yet he couldn’t put his finger on any particular evidence to condemn Allington’s enthusiasm. Could it be the man sought to welcome him into the family wholeheartedly? Or did he work at Claire’s behest? This possibility caused him to regret his surly attitude. He needed to travel to Clipthorne on the outskirts of London and visit with his intended. Not only did he neglect his duties in offering her due attention, but were he to spend an afternoon with Claire, the lingering feeling of ill-ease might dissipate once and for all. He rejoined the conversation between Jasper and Randolph though his mind had wandered and he had no idea of the topic.

      ‘My Aunt Minerva wore a diamond tiara whenever she left the house. It sat on her head, all sidledywry, and the centre stone caught the sun, shiny as a sovereign. I assumed it was cut glass, but perhaps she’d purchased the gems from Allington. Their reputation for fine stones is renowned.’ Beaufort’s mental reverie held the table hostage for another beat.

      ‘Oliver’s brother is in town, dressed as a swell of the first stare and full of juice. He mentioned purchasing a horse from your stable.’ Jasper knocked the tabletop with his fist, determined to steer the conversation onto a more sensible track.

      ‘That he is, on all three counts.’ Beaufort leaned back in a casual pose that marked him a man at ease with his subtle girth.

      ‘I remember Oliver being quite fond of his brothers. Which sibling is it?’ Penwick looked to Jasper for explanation.

      ‘The older brother, Randolph.’ Jasper made no attempt to stifle his amusement.

      ‘Another Randolph?’

      ‘It seems everyone is named Randolph of late. Quite fashionable moniker. No matter Oliver’s brother dresses as a dimber damber, my wardrobe is superior.’ Beaufort adjusted the knot of his gingerline cravat and straightened his shoulders. ‘What you need, Penwick, is a pre-marriage celebration, an homage to bachelorhood… in other words, a fond farewell to freedom.’

      ‘Now there’s a jolly idea.’ Jasper’s expression displayed unmitigated enjoyment at the opportunity to goad. ‘Every fellow should have one last rout before volunteering for the parson’s mousetrap.’

      ‘And did you?’ Penwick’s quick repartee caught his friend unexpected. ‘Before vowing your eternal affection to Miss Shaw, did you sample the sweet offerings at one of Beaufort’s frequent diversions?’

      ‘Mrs. St David and I constitute a rare union. I speak in generalities, nothing more.’ Jasper’s assertive declaration was spoiled by his broad grin.

      ‘But I speak in specifics.’ Beaufort warmed to the subject, anxiously rattling off a list of suggestions for debauched pleasure. ‘Every man needs a singular experience to celebrate the end of bachelorhood before becoming a tenant for life. It all comes to a fiddlestick’s end, after all.’

      ‘How we’ve digressed.’ Penwick smirked as he dismissed the conversation. He’d grown accustomed to Beaufort’s uniquely scattered conversation since their fast friendship a year ago.

      ‘It’s an art form.’ Jasper arched a brow and canted his head towards Randolph. ‘He can send a discussion downhill like a runaway cart with three wheels.’

      ‘Beaufort?’ Penwick chuckled the question.

      ‘Beaufort.’ Jasper nodded in the affirmative.

      The next morning, Livie sat in the library at Kirby Park, a fresh edition of Ackermann’s Repository nestled in her lap as if she guarded precious treasure. The illustrated periodical featured a fashion plate on the cover, the lady dressed in an extraordinary creation, sewn from sumptuous layers of satin, blue as a robin’s egg, to rival the most beautiful ball gowns Livie had ever seen. The daring neckline revealed a glimpse of cleavage, the model’s bosom displayed with flirtatious elegance, while the sleeves were no more than sheer wisps of fabric trimmed with the same detailed lace found in the bodice. The skirt flowed elegantly from an empire fall adorned by delicate floral embellishments with crystals and seed pearls. She followed the gown to the hem where the toe of a gorgeous pearl-white slipper caught her eye as if a flag waving her into surrender by temptation. This dress surpassed anything she’d worn or coveted on the pages of the Repository. With all her fashion sense, she couldn’t have created a better design of perfection.

      What an entrance she’d make descending Kirby Park’s grand curved staircase in the centre hall on the evening of her debut. She’d pause halfway to gaze out at the guests and allow them a collective breath. How she’d dreamed of the moment when she was bedridden and bored, unsure she’d ever walk again. Those daydreams, along with Randolph’s letters, had been the best part of her confinement.

      She brushed the pad of her finger over the pearl shoes displayed on the cover and in a flash remembered the glistening shoe clips she’d thrust into her skirt pocket before Whimsy rushed through her bedchamber door yesterday afternoon. She’d changed clothes several times since then. With any hope Dinah hadn’t discovered the clips because, at present, Livie had no answers to difficult questions. She hadn’t returned the walking boots Mr Horne handed her in error, nor had she decided precisely what to do with the exquisite accessories. How wrong to keep them and equally devastating to relinquish their beauty, most especially now that she’d found the ideal gown for her celebration. Perhaps if she wore the shoe clips once, at a single function, she could return them without despairing the loss, a reaction she abhorred to confront too closely.

      She returned her gaze to the cover design. What would it feel like to wear such a breathtaking gown? Every eye would be drawn to her, every guest would take notice as she danced in the arms of a handsome stranger. Her eyes fell closed and a vivid image of Lord W clarified as if he’d waited patiently all the while for her to get on with her romantic imagining.

      In truth, she thought of Lord W and their enchanted dance frequently, though she knew the entertaining fantasy was all for naught. She’d never see the gentleman again and didn’t know his name. Nor could she pursue the subject. Her not-so-subtle enquiries into Randolph’s identity last year had yielded nothing but odd looks and questions she wouldn’t, often couldn’t, answer. Wilhelmina behaved as persistently as a bloodhound with the scent of fresh prey when she protected her younger sister, and everything Livie did seemed to fall under the category of sibling surveillance. And she understood why. Despite