Free Born of Persuasion by Jessica Dotta Page A

long—”
    “Oh, hush!” Lady Foxmore lifted a hand to her ear. “You grow as cackling as your mother. Leave. Go take a seat by her. Try not to speak. If you manage it, perhaps I shall send my footman over in the morning with a seedcake as reward.”
    Every muscle in Elizabeth’s face tightened, but she gave a low curtsy and withdrew.
    “Just what we lacked,” Lady Foxmore muttered, watching her, “another magpie.” She rapped her walking stick, demonstrating her foul humor, and then focused on me. “Sit down, child. I desire to study you. No, not there. Here, at my feet, where I can best view you.”
    She indicated a footstool that had been fashioned for a child. I considered walking straight from the room, back to the carriage, and waiting out the evening there. Yet four days of hoping to gain her ladyship’s favor held me fast. I sat, my dress billowing up around my knees.
    “Now—” Lady Foxmore lifted her lorgnette, the crow’s-feet deepening about her eyes—“tell me for whom you mourn, and I shall determine whether it’s worth walking about looking as you do.”
    Though my head was bent, I looked up enough to give her a long cool gaze.
    “Nonsense. Is that how you wish to form our acquaintance? You dislike me, no doubt, for being richer and prettier, but is that any way to treat your betters?”
    My face must have looked as tight as Elizabeth’s as I smoothed my skirts. “No, ma’am,” I finally decided on. “I am simply hoping to earn one of your seedcakes.”
    Amusement twinkled in her eye, but her mouth turned downwards. “Humph. If I thought you’d eat them, I’d send you a box.” She poked my shoulder with the end of her lorgnette. “You lack substance. Let us hope it doesn’t carry over to yourmental faculties. But come now, my patience wears thin. Tell me for whom you mourn.”
    “My mother,” I said, recognizing she’d not relent. I had no desire for her to apply to Mrs. Windham. The less said by her, the better.
    “Your maman ?” Lady Foxmore gave an approving nod. “Good. William doesn’t deserve anyone’s tears. His temper was too uncontrolled.”
    Hearing my father’s first name, I gave her a surprised look.
    She leaned back and surveyed me with a slight smile. “You didn’t think I knew whose daughter was lurking in my parish?”
    The door banged, giving me an excuse to turn. A gentleman dipped his head as he entered, yet still his shoulders barely missed scraping the lintel. From the way Mrs. Windham caught my attention and pointed urgently to him, I understood him to be Mr. Greenham.
    Never had I seen such a person. Were I to take the population of London, I doubted more than a handful of men would have been his equal in height. He was not only the tallest gentleman I’d ever seen, but also the most dapper. Compared to his, my garments were rags. Though it rained, his shoes were dry without a speck of dirt. His every hair was in place. His coat was made of choice wool; his waistcoat, rich, full brocade. At his collar, a large diamond pin sparkled as it held no less than two cravats.
    “John,” Lady Foxmore cried, lifting her voice, “do come here. I wish to introduce you. This is the darling creature I desired to meet tonight.”
    He glared but obeyed.
    She chuckled. “Well, John, give us your opinion of her.”
    There was no time for embarrassment. While he gave me a long, fixed look, I gawked as though he were a jinni who suddenly appeared out of thin air. When his eyes finally met mine, I read pity. He cast Lady Foxmore a silencing look, then slumped in the nearest armchair.
    “He’s charmed,” Lady Foxmore said to me.
    “Mr. Greenham,” Mrs. Windham cried as a second set of footsteps rang in the hall, “do I hear Mr. Macy approaching? Stand, Elizabeth. Smile!”
    Mr. Greenham pinched the bridge of his nose.
    “If you don’t answer,” Lady Foxmore said, “she’ll continue talking.”
    “It is not.” Mr. Greenham’s voice was weary. He shut