The Earl's Runaway Bride. Sarah Mallory

said Felicity bravely.

      Lydia gave her a long look. ‘And Lord Rosthorne?’

      Felicity hesitated. ‘I must do my best to avoid him. If I dress very plainly I shall not attract attention. It is possible that he would not even recognise me now. Perhaps, when we go out during the day, I might be veiled.’

      Lydia clapped her hands. ‘How exciting! But people will be so curious! We could say you are a grieving widow…’

      ‘No, no, Lydia, that will not do at all.’

      But Lady Souden was not listening.

      ‘Smallpox,’ she declared. ‘You have been hideously scarred—or mayhap your head was misshapen at birth.’

      In spite of her anxieties, Felicity laughed.

      ‘Shall I pad my shoulder and give myself a hunchback as well? That is quite enough, Lydia. We will say nothing.’

      ‘But people will think it very odd!’

      ‘I would rather they think me eccentric than deformed!’

      Glancing at her reflection in the mirror the following day, Felicity could see nothing in her appearance to cause the least comment. Lydia had informed her that they were going to drive out in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. Felicity’s russet-brown walking dress was not quite as fashionable as Lady Souden’s dashing blue velvet with its military-style jacket but it looked well enough, and the double veil that covered her face was perfectly acceptable for any lady wishing to protect her complexion from the dust kicked up by the carriage horses.

      The drive started well, but there was such a number of carriages in the park and so many people claiming acquaintance with the fashionable Lady Souden that it was impossible to make much progress. Lydia was enjoying herself hugely. She introduced ‘my companion, Miss Brown’ with just the right amount of indifference that very few bothered to spare more than a glance for the plainly dressed female with her modest bonnet and heavy veil. Felicity was beginning to relax and enjoy the sunshine when she spotted yet another carriage approaching, but this one was flanked by two riders, one of them the unmistakably upright figure of Lord Rosthorne.

      She gripped Lydia’s arm and directed her attention to the coach.

      ‘Heaven and earth, Lady Charlotte Appleby! I had no idea she was in town.’

      ‘But Rosthorne is with her,’ exclaimed Felicity. ‘Can we not drive past?’

      ‘Too late,’ muttered Lydia, pinning on her smile. ‘They have seen us.’

      She was obliged to order her driver to stop. Felicity held her breath and sat very still, praying she would not be noticed.

      With the two carriages side by side, Nathan brought his horse to a stand and raised his hat to Lady Souden.

      ‘Good day to you, ma’am. You know my aunt, of course.’

      ‘Yes indeed.’ Lydia Souden turned her wide, friendly smile towards Lady Charlotte and was rewarded with no more than a regal nod. Nathan’s lips tightened. His aunt made sure no one ever forgot she was the daughter of an earl. Lady Charlotte raised her hand to indicate the second rider.

      ‘Let me present my son to you, ma’am. Mr Gerald Appleby.’

      Nathan grinned inwardly as his cousin took off his hat and greeted Lady Souden with all the charm and courtesy that his mother lacked. Young scapegrace!

      ‘Delighted, ma’am! But we are remiss here, I think—will you not introduce your friend?’

      Nathan blinked and berated himself. It was unusual for Gerald to show him the way, but he had not even noticed the rather dowdy little figure sitting beside Lady Souden, still as a statue.

      ‘Oh, this is my companion, Miss Brown. Lady Charlotte, you are in town for the Peace Celebrations?’

      ‘Yes. We were obliged to hire, since Rosthorne House is no longer available.’

      ‘You know that if you had given me sufficient notice I would have had rooms prepared for you, Aunt,’ replied Nathan.

      ‘In my brother’s day there were always rooms prepared and ready for me.’

      ‘Heavens, Mama, the house has been shut up for the past year or more,’ replied Gerald Appleby. ‘Nathan wasn’t expecting to come to town this summer, were you, Cos?’

      ‘No. Consequently I have only opened up such rooms as I require.’

      ‘Fortunately my man was able to secure a house in Cavendish Square,’ Lady Charlotte addressed Lydia. ‘With so many visitors in town this summer there was very little to suit. So different in Bath, of course, where I have my own house…’

      ‘My dear ma’am, there was any number of apartments that would have been ideal if you had not insisted upon having so many servants with you.’ Gerald glanced at his audience, a merry twinkle in his eye. ‘Only imagine the task: not only had her poor clerk to find somewhere with sufficient rooms for Mama’s household, but then he was obliged to find stables and accommodation for her coachman and groom, too!’

      ‘Really, Gerard, do you expect me to do without my carriage?’

      ‘No, but you might well do without your groom. You no longer ride, ma’am.’

      ‘Harris has been with me since I was a child. He comes with me everywhere.’

      ‘I wonder if perhaps he might have enjoyed a holiday,’ observed Gerald, but his mother was no longer listening.

      ‘My man had instructions to find me the very best,’ she announced. ‘And I do not think he has managed so ill.’

      Nathan’s attention began to wander as the ladies discussed the forthcoming arrival of the foreign dignitaries. Gerald, he noticed, was passing the time by trying to flirt with the veiled companion. While his mother’s attention was given to speculation about the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg’s latest conquest, Gerald was leaning over the side of the carriage and murmuring outrageous remarks. The poor little dab looked quite uncomfortable. Nathan tried to catch Gerald’s eye. Damnation, why couldn’t the lad behave himself? Nathan’s hand clenched on the reins. He must get out of the ridiculous habit of regarding Gerald as a boy. He was eight-and-twenty, the same age as himself, but his cousin had not served a decade in the army, an experience that Gerald declared had left Nathan hardened and cynical. It might well be the case, but it was quite clear that the little figure in the carriage was not enjoying Gerald’s attentions. He was leaning closer now, his hand reaching out towards the edge of the veil.

      ‘Cousin, you go too far!’ Nathan’s voice cracked across the space between them. It was the tone he had used on new recruits and it had its effect. Gerald’s hand dropped.

      ‘I beg your pardon,’ Nathan addressed the rigid little figure. ‘My cousin sometimes allows his humour to go beyond what is pleasing.’

      She did not reply and merely waved one small hand. He threw an admonishing glance at his cousin, who immediately looked contrite.

      ‘Indeed, Miss Brown, Rosthorne is right; I went too far and I beg your pardon.’ Gerald directed his most winning smile towards her. ‘Well, will you not speak? Pray, madam, take pity on me: I vow I shall not rest until you say that you forgive me. Miss Brown, I beg you.’

      Nathan could not but admire Gerald’s tenacity. He was—

      ‘I do forgive you, sir. Let us forget this now.’

      His head jerked up. That voice, the melodic inflection—it struck a chord, a fleeting memory: surely he had heard it before. He stared at the lady, trying to pierce the thick curtain of lace that concealed her face.

      ‘Forgive me,’ he said, frowning. ‘Have we—?’

      ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ interposed Lady Souden with her sunny smile. ‘We are causing far too much congestion on this path. That will never