Scandal in the Regency Ballroom. Louise Allen

horrid.’ Bree smiled with a warmth that came hard, given that she was feeling so queasy. ‘We both want you to feel at home here.’

      ‘Your brother has not met me yet,’ Rosa said cautiously.

      ‘Piers will like you,’ Bree said confidently. ‘He is living in dread that I am going to bring home a starched-up widow who will make him take his feet off the furniture, mind his tongue at all times and button his waistcoat in the house.’

      Peters arrived at the door and dumped the first of Rosa’s bags on the floor. ‘I’ll fetch up the rest directly, Miss Mallory. What about the shopping?’

      ‘Bring that up here too, and send Lucy to help Miss Thorpe unpack.’ She turned to Rosa as the man clattered off down the stairs again. ‘If you sort out the bits and pieces I brought for myself, Lucy will bring them along. You must treat her as your maid as well as mine. She will fetch you hot water, light your fire and so forth.’

      She broke off at the sound of the knocker. ‘I wonder who that is.’ Leaning over the banisters, she could hear Peters below.

      ‘I am sorry, my lord, I do not know if Miss Mallory is at home. Would you care to step into the drawing room whilst I ascertain if she is receiving?’

      From her perch, hanging over the second-floor banisters, Bree had a bird’s eye view of the hall and the tops of Peters’s sandy head and the oval of a fashionable tall hat. The hat was doffed and handed to the footman along with gloves.

      ‘Who is it?’ Rosa came to her side.

      The bared head below was unmistakably that of Max Dysart. Her complaining stomach performed another uncomfortable twist and Bree clutched the polished wood. ‘Lord Penrith.’ So why has he come back?

      Peters was toiling up the stairs again, a silver salver in his hand. ‘Lord Penrith, Miss Mallory.’ He proffered the salver, the neat rectangle of pasteboard lying dead centre. ‘Are you at home?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Bree said blankly. ‘I really do not know.’

      Peters, unused to such a response, gaped at her. ‘Go down to the hall and wait a moment,’ Rosa said firmly, taking control. The footman obediently began to descend again. ‘What is wrong?’ She took Bree’s arm and guided her back into the bedroom. ‘Do you not wish to see this man? I can go down and tell him you are resting or some such excuse.’

      That was so tempting. Bree bit her lip, then decided that honesty was the only policy with her new companion. ‘He kissed me last night, and then, later, I was out alone on the terrace with him. Now I am afraid he will think me very fast and will either be here under the mistaken assumption that I will permit liberties, or he considers me wanton and has decided he no longer wishes to have anything to do with me.’

      ‘Why would he be here in that case?’

      ‘Because he promised to help me with the Whips, and now perhaps he feels he does not care to.’

      ‘Hmm.’ Rosa pursed her lips. ‘I think there is nothing to be gained by putting off the encounter. I will come down too. If he is a rake bent upon your seduction, my presence should serve to warn him off, and if he is hypocrite enough to despise you for a few innocent kisses, then he should be chastened by seeing you have taken his advice and have a companion.’

      She whipped off her bonnet and stooped to check her reflection in the mirror. ‘My goodness, I shall be pleased to get out of this hideous gown, but it certainly makes me look a dour chaperon.’

      Bree managed a shaky smile. ‘Come along, then. Let us put my reputation to the test.’

      Chapter Nine

      ‘Lord Penrith. Good afternoon.’ Bree was proud of her calm tone. ‘May I introduce Miss Thorpe, my lady companion? Miss Thorpe, Lord Penrith, who was so good as to assist when we found ourselves with a driverless coach.’

      She studied him as he shook hands with Rosa. He seemed the same and yet, somehow, different. What was it? Bree puzzled and then stopped as she realised he was waiting while the ladies took their seats. ‘Do sit down, my lord. Would you care to take tea?’

      ‘Thank you, yes, I would.’

      Rosa bobbed up and tugged the bell pull, then sat quietly while Bree spoke to Peters.

      ‘You see, my lord, I took your advice and engaged a companion,’ Bree said, attempting a rallying tone. It was impossible to read Max’s feelings this afternoon; all the expressive light had gone from his eyes and he was sitting, perfectly composed, his face unreadable. There was an air of seriousness about him, that was what was different.

      ‘I am flattered that you should take such heed of my advice.’

      ‘Indeed. But how could I not, after you had demonstrated the need for one so clearly.’

      ‘Demonstrated?’ His eyebrows went up.

      ‘By your lucid explanation—or should I say example?—of the dangers to a lady’s reputation when in society.’ She felt the need to provoke a reaction, any reaction. This was like talking to a polite feather pillow.

      ‘It is a sad fact that a lady, incautiously without chaperonage, may find herself kissed, or worse,’ Max remarked blandly.

      ‘Outrageous,’ Rosa contributed, her face studiously straight.

      ‘Of course, the lady might allow such liberties,’ Max added. ‘A gentleman would do well to reflect that this may simply be the expression of innocence, inexperience or a certain naive generosity of spirit.’

      ‘Or all three.’ Bree could feel her colour rising. He was telling her—in a patronising manner—that he understood, excused and dismissed her behaviour last night. ‘Doubtless the gentleman in question would also reflect that a further attempt would be doomed to failure.’

      ‘I feel sure that would be the safest path for him.’ His smile was rueful and Bree thought she had glimpsed the first sign of genuine emotion since he had arrived. She decided that she was not being dismissed as wanton, nor was he bent on seducing her, which left the rather embarrassing situation of having kissed him and now not knowing how to behave with him.

      ‘You may be interested to know that Miss Thorpe will also be taking over some of the office work at the Mermaid for me.’

      ‘Have you any experience of such a business, Miss Thorpe?’ Max turned his dark eyes on her.

      ‘None at all,’ Rosa smiled austerely. ‘But I have run a large girls’ school. I am sure my experience with accounting, keeping discipline and managing a complex timetable will come in useful.’

      ‘I must congratulate you, Miss Mallory, on finding such a well-qualified candidate so quickly.’ His eyes found hers and Bree racked her brain to decide exactly what colour they were. A very dark hazel, or brown? She pulled herself together and concentrated.

      ‘I was lucky my lord. I hope you also mean to congratulate me upon taking your advice.’

      ‘I do. And I wonder why.’

      ‘Because it was sensible advice, of course.’ Bree flushed at her own sharp tone and reached for the tea pot. ‘Cream or lemon, my lord?’

      ‘Cream. Thank you. Are you from London, Miss Thorpe?’

      ‘Nottinghamshire originally, my lord.’ He waited, his silence an invitation to prattle that Rosa ignored with a prim smile, much to Bree’s admiration. She knew she would have plunged on with every detail of her life story, confronted by that coolly interrogative voice and the amount of sheer personality behind his bland expression. What is he here for? I thought he was coming to ask me to drive with him.

      ‘Have you been able to solve my other problem and rein in your friends of the Nonesuch Whips?’ she asked.

      ‘No,’ he said baldly, putting down his cup and crossing