Free The Dowager's Daughter by Mona Prevel

deny that my behavior is ghastly. We de Malignys are a dreadful lot, would you not agree?”
    Althea held her breath, wondering how much further her mother could provoke their kinsman before she found his hands around her throat She just wished both of them would exercise within the walls of Camberly Hall the same restraint they managed to muster when moving among polite society.
    To her relief, the marquis gave her mother a wry smile and sat down in his chair once more. “Touché, my dear. I will not admit to being dreadful, as you put it, but I suppose we French are inclined to get a trifle overheated. After all, we are not coldblooded Englishmen.”
    “Uncle Jean-Claude! You have done it again. Now apologize to Althea.”
    Althea waved him off. “Please do not concern yourself, sir. I know full well that you are a sham, and do not mean half the things you say at this table. Pray let us finish dinner, and Mama and I will leave you to your cognac and cigars.”
    “Yes, Uncle darling, please do, although it is a shame our dear Philippe is not here to keep you company. When do you expect him back from Bedfordshire?”
    The marquis smiled at the mention of his grandson. “You may be sure that he will return in good time to attend the prince’s soiree. I am sure he would have returned home a lot sooner, but his late mother’s father takes advantage of his sweet nature and makes it very difficult for him to leave.”
    “Philippe should develop more backbone,” Celeste inserted.
    “It is not that easy. That dreadful man holds Philippe’s inheritance over his head like a weapon. The baron claims that should he die, Philippe would be ill prepared to run Bainbridge Manor after him. He is constantly drumming into the poor boy’s head matters that are far better left in the hands of a good steward.”
    “I am sure Lord Bainbridge means no harm,” Althea rejoined. “He must be dreadfully lonely since his wife died. Philippe is the only one left for him to cling to in his old age.”
    “That is no excuse. The man should pull himself together and get on with it. I would not dream of interfering in Philippe’s life in such a manner.”
    “Of course you would not, Uncle dear.” Celeste said, casting an impish smile in Althea’s direction. “You are far too sophisticated to indulge in such petty tyrannies.”
    Althea held her breath, wondering how he would react to her mother’s tongue-in-cheek remark. Apparently it went right over his head, because he responded with a preening smile.
    Althea exhaled. She should have known that her uncle held too smug a belief in his own perfection not to take a compliment at face value. In any case, the family spat had blown over as swiftly as a summer squall. She deemed it a mercy that the French contingency of the family could end such dreadful scenes seemingly without bearing grudges, one to the other.
    Once alone with her mother, Althea was tempted to bring up the subject of her midnight tryst with the stranger, but could not bring herself to do so. This troubled Althea because she knew that it was something that had to be faced sooner or later. Because of her indecision, she ended up subjecting her mother to a very indifferent game of whist.

Chapter 6
    As far as Althea was concerned, June arrived alarmingly soon. Cousin Philippe arrived home a scant three days before the Prince of Wales’s soiree was to take place.
    She had mixed feelings about attending the affair. She held up her dress in front of the pier glass in her dressing room several times before the event, marveling how well it seemed to suit her. However, in the back of her mind lurked the horrible fear that those attending the affair would deem the green-and-white dress cause for ridicule, not admiration.
    She cast the dress upon the bed and shrugged. It is too late to do anything about it now, she thought I shall hold my head high and stare the dragons down.
    On the eve of the soiree, Althea and the other three