Free Love Is Blind by Lynsay Sands Page B

drew Clarissa's hand through his arm to follow.
    "Thank you," she murmured as they followed Greville . 'You have a lovely voice, and it was the perfect choice of book. I quite enjoyed your reading."
    Adrian shrugged the compliment away. "Aye, well, I had meant to read for only a bit, then to end in conversation. I thought we would have more time."
    He fell silent as he herded her around some obstacle—a fallen, ancient tree trunk, Clarissa thought—then he continued, "Which party shall you be attending tonight?"
    "The Devereaux ."
    "I shall be sure to see you there then."
    "Oh, yes ... well. .." Irritation filled her. 'You might as well give up that idea. Lydia has already stated that, should you appear at another party we attend, she shan't leave me alone for a moment. I think she suspects I was with you in the gardens at Prudhomme's . I fear I am a very poor liar. I am sorry."
    "Do not be sorry, and do not apologize. I shall arrange something."
    Before Clarissa could ask what he meant, he squeezed her hand gently, then lifted her to sit in the phaeton.
    "Until tonight," he whispered.
    "Lady Crambray . How delighted we are that you could come!"
    Clarissa blinked away the boredom that had glazed her eyes and glanced to the pale blue and peach-colored blurs that had appeared beside Lydia. It would be unkind to say she was stunned that someone besides Lady Havard and Lady Achard would claim pleasure in seeing her stepmother, but as those two were usually the only people who spoke to Lydia, Clarissa was rather stunned to hear their hostess and another woman greet her stepmother so.
    Lydia seemed rather stunned herself, Clarissa noted, for her stepmother stumbled over her tongue in her effort to reply. "L-Lady D- Devereaux and L-Lady Mowbray . Good evening. How nice to see you. We were most happy to attend, most happy indeed. Were we not, Clarissa?"
    Clarissa murmured an agreement, but her attention was on the blue blur that was surely Lady Mowbray . She knew their hostess was wearing pale peach tonight, so that meant the lady in blue was Adrian's mother.
    "And this must be the lovely Clarissa." Lady Mowbray moved closer, and Clarissa suspected she was smiling widely. "I've heard a great deal about you, my dear—from both my son and my nephew Reginald."
    "Reginald Greville is your nephew?" Lydia asked with interest, nicely sidestepping any comment on Adrian. Her stepmother might not want Clarissa near
    Mowbray , but she wasn't stupid enough to openly snub him or his family. The Montforts had a great deal of influence in society—at least Isabel Montfort, Lady Mowbray , did. Hence Lydia had been reduced to trying to avoid Adrian rather than flat-out telling him to stay away.
    "Yes, he is." Lady Mowbray didn't miss the lack of comment on her son. At least, Clarissa suspected that was the reason behind the steel in her voice.
    "Well, he seems a charming young man," Lydia went on happily, apparently ignorant of her misstep. "He took Clarissa out for a ride in the park the other day."
    "So I heard," Lady Mowbray said, and now there was amusement in her voice. Clarissa got the distinct impression that Lady Mowbray knew that Reginald had only taken her to her son. Still, the lady's next words startled her. "In fact, Reginald rhapsodized on so about her, my niece—his sister—was hoping to meet her."
    "Oh, well, that would be lovely," Lydia gushed. "Clarissa needs to make friends here in London. It would be good for her."
    Clarissa bit her lip, quite sure her stepmother was picturing the boost to their social circle should they be befriended by Reginald's sister. Mary Greville was considered a diamond of the first water. Knowing her could elevate anyone.
    "Good, good," Lady Mowbray said. "Then you will not mind if I steal her away for a bit while you help Lady Devereaux ."
    "Steal her away?" Lydia asked with alarm. Clarissa grimaced, knowing her stepmother was imagining her stumbling, tripping, or bumping into something and blowing