Free Deirdre and Desire by MC Beaton

due to heredity.
    Deirdre kept away from the crowds as much as possible. She was watching and waiting for Guy to arrive so that she could tell him of her plight and ask him to elope with her.
    Lord Harry appeared to be perfectly happy to entertain Josephine and Emily.
    All at once, Deirdre saw Guy with Lady Wentwater on his arm, entering by the south lawn.
    But there was a great bustle as Lady Edwin marshalled the guests to the long trestle tables which had been erected down the centre of the front lawn.
    Mrs Armitage swam into view. ‘You must help me, Deirdre,’ she said plaintively. ‘All that disgusting smell of roast meat makes me feel quite faint. Be a dear girl and find out
where we are to sit.’
    ‘I have found out, ma’m,’ said Lord Harry, appearing at their side, a vision in blue cloth morning coat, white waistcoat and biscuit-coloured pantaloons. ‘Allow me to
escort you.’
    He held out both arms. Deirdre bit her lip, looking towards Guy who was bowing before Lady Edwin.
    He did not look in her direction once.
    Deirdre longed to speak to him, to feel the reassuring touch of his hand, to see him smile.
    He certainly paled before the glory of Lord Harry, but that made Guy Wentwater more attractive in her eyes than ever. In truth, Miss Deirdre Armitage was beginning to find Lord Harry Desire
somewhat terrifying.
    Only see the possessive way he helped her to sickening mounds of that disgusting meat and great horrible mountains of sausages and vegetables.
    No, she did not want any game pie, she snapped, close to tears.
    Josephine was seated on Lord Harry’s other side and determined to make the most of it.
    Guy was seated a little way down the table next to Emily. He was laughing and teasing her. Deirdre could not see Emily’s face because of the long poke of the girl’s bonnet, but the
giggles and screams that were emerging from under the straw seemed to show she was well pleased with the attention she was getting.
    And so the interminable meal went on, and on, and on.
    Clouds covered the sun, the grass under Deirdre’s sandalled feet, still wet from melted frost, seeped moisture through the thin soles of her sandals.
    She kept squinting down her nose anxiously to see whether it was turning red with the cold, and Lord Harry smiled beautifully upon her and asked her if she were suffering from a fit of
indigestion.
    At long last, the steward rose to his feet and proposed a toast to the master, and the dutiful peasantry set up a ragged cheer. Many of them were secreting as much food about their person as
they could.
    Deirdre envied the squire who had his Indian servant standing behind him with armfuls of blankets, and, at a signal from his master, he would unwrap yet another one from the pile on his arm and
deftly place it about the squire’s thin shoulders.
    Daphne was coughing and sneezing. She had arrived at the garden party in a vision of India muslin of the palest pink. Her forced inactivity on duty at the family fund-raising booth had brought
her out in a rash of gooseflesh which seemed likely to become permanent, so blue and bumpy it looked. The low neckline of her gown revealed flesh above so blue and mottled, it looked as if she were
wearing a blue gauze fichu.
    At long last, the company was free to move about and inspect the gardens. Guy took Emily on his arm and headed off in the direction of the rose garden.
    ‘Who is the fellow you said had been at Waterloo?’ she realized Lord Harry was asking her.
    ‘He has just gone towards the rose garden,’ said Deirdre, coming to life at last. ‘Oh, do let us go there, my lord, and you may share reminiscences.’
    ‘Very well,’ he rejoined amiably, tucking her hand in his arm.
    The rose garden boasted nothing more than a few frost-blackened, withered blooms but at least it was out of the chilly wind.
    Guy was leaning nonchalantly against a sundial, whispering something to Emily, who was giggling and making patterns in the dust with the