Tangled Reins (Regencies 1)

Baulked, she motioned him to a seat and reluctantly gave her attention to the next item on her agenda. She waited until he was seated, admiring the way his immaculate morning coat sat across his shoulders. His long muscular thighs were encased in skin-tight buff knee-breeches, and his Hessians shone like the proverbial mirror. She might be old, but she still noticed such things. ‘I understand I must thank you for rescuing my granddaughter, Dorothea, from an unfortunate incident at that inn the other evening.’

One well-manicured hand waved dismissively. ‘Having recognised your granddaughter, even someone with a conscience as faulty as mine could hardly have left her there.’ The gently mocking tone and the laughter in his face robbed this speech of any impropriety.

Accustomed to the subtleties of social conversation, Lady Merion thawed visibly. ‘Very well! But why this meeting?’

‘Unfortunately the crowd from which I extricated Miss Darent contained at least one member of the ton who cannot be trusted to forget the incident.’

‘Dorothea mentioned Tremlow.’

‘Oh, yes. Tremlow was there, and Botherwood and Lords Michaels and Downie. But they are relatively harmless, and, unless I’m much mistaken, would probably not recall the incident unless their memories were jogged, and perhaps not even then. I’m more concerned with Sir Barnaby Ruscombe.’

‘Ugh! That repulsive man! He always dabbles in the most malicious scandalmongering.’ She paused, then eyed the Marquis speculatively. ‘I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do about him?’

‘Alas, no. Anyone else, quite probably. But not Ruscombe. Scandal is his trade. Still, given that we can invent a plausible tale to account for my having previously met Miss Darent, I can’t see there’s any risk of serious damage to her reputation.’

‘You’re right, of course,’ agreed Lady Merion. ‘But it would be wise to have her here, I think. Ring that bell, if you will.’

‘No need,’ replied Hazelmere, ‘I met her in the park on my way here. She went upstairs to tidy her hair before joining us.’

As if in answer to the comment, Dorothea entered. Languidly rising, Hazelmere acknowledged her curtsy by taking her hand and, after bowing over it, raised it to his lips, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her.

Lady Merion stiffened. Kissing a lady’s hand was not the current practice. What on earth was going on?

Dorothea accepted the salute without a flicker of surprise. Seating herself in a chair on the other side of her grandmother, opposite Hazelmere, she turned an enquiring face to her ladyship.

‘We were just discussing, my dear, what story to adopt to account for Lord Hazelmere recognising you at the inn.’

‘Maybe Miss Darent has a suggestion?’ put in his lordship, hazel eyes gently quizzing Dorothea.

‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ she replied smoothly. ‘It would be safest, I imagine, to stick to occurrences no one else could dispute?’ Her delicately arched brows rose as she gazed with unmarred calm into Hazelmere’s eyes.

His expressive lips twitched. ‘That might be wise,’ he murmured.

Dorothea regally inclined her head. ‘For instance, what if, on one of your visits to Lady Moreton, she’d been well enough to be taken for a ride in your curricle—not far, just around the surrounding lanes? I’m sure she would have liked to have done that if she’d been able.’

‘You’re quite right. My great-aunt did bemoan not being well enough for just such an outing as you propose.’

‘Good! Only the outing did occur, and of course you didn’t take your groom with you, did you?’

Hazelmere, entering into the spirit of the conversation, promptly replied, ‘I feel sure I’d given Jim permission to relax in the kitchens that day.’

Dorothea nodded approvingly. ‘Driving down the lane, you met my mother, Cynthia Darent, and myself, returning from paying a visit to…oh, Waverley Park, of course.’

‘Your coachman?’

‘I was driving the gig. And what could be more natural than that Lady Moreton and my mother should stop to chat? They were old friends, after all. And Lady Moreton presented you to Mama and me. After talking for a few minutes, we went our separate ways.’

‘When, exactly, did this meeting occur?’ he asked.

‘Well, it would have had to be the summer before last, when both Lady Moreton and Mama were alive.’

‘My congratulations, Miss Darent. We now have a most acceptable tale which accounts for our meeting and the only two witnesses who could say us nay are dead. Very neat.’

‘Yes, but wait one moment!’ interpolated Lady Merion. ‘Why didn’t your mother tell her other friends about this meeting? Surely such a novel encounter would have made an impression in the neighbourhood?’

‘But, Grandmama, you know how scatterbrained Mama was. It would be quite possible for her to have forgotten all about it by the time we’d reached home, particularly if something else occurred to distract her on the way.’

Reminded of her daughter-in-law’s vagueness, Lady Merion grudgingly agreed this was so. ‘Well, then, why did you yourself not tell any of your friends about it?’