Free Anne Barbour by A Pressing Engagement

a marked transformation. His smile broadened, and he doffed his curly-crowned beaver hat, revealing a fair head of pomaded curls. If he considered it odd in a guest of the Court to be jauntering about the countryside with no other companion than a governess, dressed in a gown a scullery maid would scorn, no sign of this showed in his expression.
    He sprang from the phaeton, thus exposing the full magnificence of his raiment. His coat of dove-gray superfine was cut in a mode that might be considered somewhat showy for the country, but no fault could be found in the elegance with which it fitted his slender form. His cravat was carefully arranged in a cascade of precise folds, and his collar was starched into stiletto points. Several fobs dangled from a waistcoat of embroidered Turkish silk, and yellow pantaloons clung to his well-formed limbs.
    “But what an auspicious encounter!” he cried with engaging ebullience. “Churte, be a good fellow and walk the grays while I make the acquaintance of this fair visitor to our neighborhood. Churte! What ails you, man?”
    Indeed, Lord Stedford’s man looked unwell. He still sat askew on his perch, and his eyes were fixed on Diana in an unfocused stare. As the viscount called his name again, he passed a shaking hand over his forehead, then seemed to come to himself. With a murmur of apology, he straightened and tipped his hat to the ladies.
    Casting a brief, puzzled glance after his manservant, Lord Stedford bent his attention to Diana.
    “Please, ma’am, allow me to introduce my humble self—but perhaps Miss Bledsoe has already made my name known to you?”
    Diana smiled and acknowledged that this was so.
    “Splendid! Then we are already old friends. Tell me, Miss Diana—if I may make bold of your name?’’ Taking her acquiescence for granted, he smiled roguishly. “How long do you intend to make your stay here?”
    Diana, feeling herself on shaky ground, attempted a noncommittal answer.
    “I really don’t know, sir—just a week or so. I shall be leaving shortly to continue my journey. That is—I must travel to Canterbury—on family business.”
    “But that is absurd. Surely you cannot expect your new friends to let you go so soon. You must inform Lady Teague that you plan to stay much longer—till Christmas, at least.”
    Diana was unimpressed by this display of boyish enthusiasm, but she smiled as she shook her head. “I’m afraid I have already imposed on her hospitality quite long enough.”
    “But how is this?” asked his lordship. “Surely my lady can only be pleased to have the family manse graced with such loveliness.”
    Sighing inwardly, Diana embarked once more on the tale of the overturned coach. When she had concluded her story, the viscount’s face took on an expression of sympathy.
    “Well, well, such an adventure. So Burnleigh is at home, is he? Interesting. But tell me, if I may be so bold, when may I come to call on you at the Court?”
    Diana hesitated. The prospect of a visit from the dashing Lord Stedford to herself, the supposed bit of muslin, under the outraged nose of the insufferable earl, was appealing. She sighed again and suppressed the ignoble impulse.
    “I don’t think that will be possible, sir. Perhaps you have not heard, the marquess is very ill. I don’t believe the family is receiving.”
    “No! That is too bad,” replied the viscount, a pout on his full lips. “I did hear that he had taken a chill, but I had no idea he was in such a bad case.’’ He brightened. “We shall just have to contrive something else. Would you care to accompany me tomorrow morning on a drive through the neighborhood? There’s no end to the sights around here. The village has a fine Norman church, and within a very few miles are some Roman ruins. Most enjoyable for you, I’m sure.”
    Diana was torn between disapproval of the gentleman’s cavalier dismissal of Lord Chamford’s condition and amusement at his childish efforts to win her