A Lady of Quality. Louise Gouge M.
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Lady Blakemore, tall and regal, tapped her fan against her open palm. “Release the poor gentleman. I have an errand for him, so you must not imprison him any longer.”
“At your service, madam.” Lord Winston stood so abruptly that one of the Miss Waddingtons nearly fell into the spot he vacated.
Catherine had to bite her cheeks to keep from laughing. Apparently the baron was oblivious to his own charms. All the better for her plans.
* * *
Winston grasped Lady Blakemore’s call to service like a lifeline. “How may I assist you, madam?”
The countess’s jaw dropped slightly, and she batted her eyelids. “Ah. Well. It is not a matter that will interest these ladies. Would you be so good as to follow me out?” She stepped over and gripped his arm, propelling instead of leading him toward the door.
The footman inside the room opened the way for them, and the countess shoved him through the portal, leaving behind muted cries of disappointment.
Winston did not know whether to be flattered or irritated. Where were these ladies last night at the marquess’s gala, when he could not find a supper partner until the last minute due to all the uniforms in the ballroom? Ah, the mysteries of women.
Once outside in the foyer, Lady Blakemore waved him to an occasional chair beside a small table. “Sit here.” She disappeared back into the drawing room.
He sat on the brown tapestry-covered chair, not relaxing in the slightest. Had the countess merely meant to rescue him, she would have sent him on his way. But now he had no choice but to wait for whatever she had planned.
Within thirty seconds, she reappeared, Miss Hart trailing behind her. Winston’s chest tightened. He did not care for being manipulated, if that was what Lady Blakemore was doing. But then, was he not contradicting himself? Had he not brought Mrs. Parton’s landau so he could take the young lady for a drive if all went well?
“Winston, Miss Hart must run an errand for me. I saw that you brought Julia’s landau. Would you be so good as to drive her?” The countess’s face revealed no guile, but her eyes did have a certain brightness about them.
“Madam, I should be honored to do your bidding.” Most errands were the work of footmen, but after she had rescued him from the bedlam of her drawing room, he would not complain. “Miss Hart.” He bowed to her and offered his arm.
“Lord Winston.” She curtsied and placed a hand on his arm, but gave him no smile. Turning to the countess, she said, “Before we go, my lady, perhaps you should tell me what you would have me do.”
“Oh.” Lady Blakemore blinked. “Why, I... Hmm.” She tapped her chin with a long, tapered finger and stared off for a moment. “Why, flowers, of course. You must go to Mr. Lambert’s flower shop on Duke Street and order several large bouquets of flowers.”
Now Miss Hart blinked. “Flowers?”
“Why, yes, my dear. We must have flowers for the supper table this evening.” More blinking, along with a tilt of her head. “We always require fresh flowers when having guests.”
“Forgive me, my lady.” Miss Hart’s lovely face crinkled with confusion. “I thought we were dining alone this evening. Who is your guest, if I may ask?”
“Why, Lord Winston, of course.” The countess turned a beaming smile on him. “You seemed unenthusiastic about attending Almack’s tonight, so I thought I should provide you with an excuse to decline. What better way to avoid the assembly than to have supper with us?”
He chuckled, then laughed aloud. “So you would have me fetch flowers for the sole purpose of entertaining me?”
“What a clever boy you are.” She patted his cheek. “Now run along. And if you decide to take a turn around Hyde Park after going to Duke Street, I believe the rain will hold off for another few hours.”
In spite of the warmth creeping up his neck due to her overly maternal gesture, he marveled at her ability to create such a scheme so quickly. With both Lord and Lady Blakemore pushing him toward Miss Hart, he had no choice but to go along with it. The drive in the park was his plan all along, and their approval seemed the confirmation he needed. If all went well, supper tonight would be an added benefit. If not, he could always beg off.
“Madam, I thank you.” He placed a hand over Miss Hart’s, which still rested on his arm. To his surprise, she did not seem to share their merriment, if her frown and lifted chin were any indication of her temperament. Perhaps this would not be the pleasant outing he had anticipated after all. This business of courting was thoroughly confusing to him. Was it his responsibility to cheer her? Or hers to amuse him?
Or would they merely tolerate each other while dancing to Lord and Lady Blakemore’s tune?
Chapter Five
Catherine wanted desperately to give vent to the laughter bubbling up inside her. Could Lady Blakemore see her struggle? Lord Winston’s sudden frown indicated he did not. Pretending to be aloof was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated. With every deep breath taken to stifle her mirth over her employer’s clever machinations, she reminded herself of her family’s pain. And then there was the matter of going for a drive with this man who had destroyed their lives. Would he protect her on the rough streets of London, should the need arise? Of course, she could take care of herself with the proper weapons in hand, though she doubted any swords or pistols were available in Mrs. Parton’s landau. But to what sort of man had her employer just entrusted her safety?
A footman was sent for Catherine’s bonnet and parasol, another for Lord Winston’s hat and cane. Once Catherine had donned her bonnet, Lady Blakemore eyed her critically.
“That will do very nicely. Now run along, my dears. I must return to my guests.” The countess walked back toward the drawing room, the footman opened the door and her ladyship disappeared within.
“Shall we go, Miss Hart?” A hint of doubt colored Lord Winston’s tone, but she refused to look at him as she took his arm again. His well-formed face and superior height were all too alluring, and she must not fall for his charms. Curiously, one of those charms was his apparent oblivion to his own handsomeness. She would have to find a way to use that.
“Yes, my lord.” She forced a subservient tone into her voice.
To her surprise, he sighed as he led her to the stairway down to the ground floor. There he waved to his driver, who steered Mrs. Parton’s horses out of the line of carriages circling the fountain in front of the mansion. Without a word, Lord Winston handed Catherine into the pristine white carriage with tooled leather upholstery. She chose the seat with her back to the driver.
“Miss Hart, I insist upon your taking the opposite place.” The firmness in his voice sent an odd sensation skittering across her shoulder.
“Yes, my lord.” She moved to the seat facing front, considered the right of those of a superior rank. By giving it to her, the baron showed extraordinary courtesy.
Once in place opposite her, he said, “To Mr. Lambert’s on Duke Street, Toby.”
“Yes, my lord.” The driver echoed Catherine’s very tone, and she hid a smile.
Lord Winston sighed again, this time with a hint of annoyance.
As they rode from the grounds, Catherine viewed the estate’s many beautiful flower beds, noting that Lady Blakemore might easily have provided her own bouquets for tonight’s supper. Catherine could only conclude that God was smiling down on her plot against Lord Winston. Otherwise, why would such a reputable couple work so hard to provide her with opportunities to be in the baron’s company?
The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, then hid again, and a fine mist sprinkled over the carriage and its inhabitants. Although Catherine raised her parasol, the humidity quickly began to wilt her muslin gown. She reached up to touch her hair, but not a curl had