Free Thea's Marquis by Carola Dunn Page B

clasped to her heart. “Oh, I can feel a spasm coming on. Call Wilkins at once! My vinaigrette!”
    Rod rang for her abigail, but he was unimpressed by her theatrical collapse. He had discovered many years ago that Lady Hazlewood’s vinaigrette contained sugar crystals, as sal volatile made her sneeze. Her nervous spasms only attacked when she was thwarted, and were soonest cured by calm and firmness.
    “I shall convey your invitation to the Kilmores,” he said as Wilkins rushed in.
    “On no account!” She would have sat up again, had not the abigail been waving the small cut-glass bottle under her nose. “I hope I know my duty,” she went on faintly. “I shall send an invitation.”
    He thanked her as courteously as if it had been her own notion to entertain his friends. As he took his leave, he cast a silent blessing upon the ancestor who had built a mansion in Bucks and converted the old Yorkshire manor house near the medieval castle ruins into a comfortable—and distant—dower house.
    Nonetheless, as always, a confrontation with his mother left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He decided to drive out to the neat little villa in Hampstead where Sue’s undemanding company would soon restore his peace of mind. For years now her quiet common sense had been as important to him as the services she rendered as his mistress. She, if anyone, would understand that he could not leave an unworldly innocent like Thea Kilmore to struggle unaided for her family’s welfare.
    On his way out to his curricle, Rod met Will in the vestibule. As his heir presumptive, his cousin had apartments in the Hazlewood town house, though he was well able to afford lodgings, or even a modest house, of his own. He came and went as he pleased, his carefree light-heartedness relieving the formal atmosphere of the place. Yet his manners were punctilious enough to satisfy his exacting aunt.
    “I hear you have a new tiger,” Will said in greeting. “You’ve been rushing to the rescue again, eh? Miss Kilmore cannot say enough of your good deeds.”
    “You have been back to Russell Square? Take care or you will lose your reputation as a high stickler.”
    “On the contrary, coz, I daresay, if I chose, I could make even Bloomsbury fashionable. Care to wager?”
    “Lord, no. You might succeed, but it would take a lifetime. It will be quicker to bring the Kilmores to the ton than the ton to Bloomsbury. They are to come here on Friday.”
    “To her ladyship’s at home? Playing St. George again, are you?”
    “Who is to take the dragon’s rôle, Society or my mother?”
    “Oh, Aunt Hazlewood, beyond a doubt, in her own inimitable way. I know you can deal with her, but I’ll be damned if I dare cross her. They’ll need all the support they can get. I’ll be there, and you can return the favour by coming with us to Kew. It’s all arranged for tomorrow, weather permitting. I’ve invited Uncle Reggie along to do the pretty to the dowager.”
    “Good gad, that old court-card?”
    “You are speaking of my relative, I’d remind you.” Will drew himself up, attempting to look offended, then relaxed and grinned. “Yes, that old court-card. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would not object to Russell Square. For all he’s Prinny’s bosom beau, he’s been in Queer Street often enough to find anything short of the Fleet a respectable address.”
    “Consorting with the Prince Regent has left many a man with pockets to let. So he goes with us to entertain the dowager, and what of Lady Kilmore?”
    “I couldn’t very well cut her out of the invitation, but with luck she will be indisposed.”
    Rod frowned. “Apart from that unfortunate elopement, her conduct seems unexceptionable. Certainly the other ladies regard her as one of them, and whatever her antecedents, she is now a baroness. I believe it will not do to exclude her.”
    “All the same, one can hope that her delicate condition will prevail,” Will pointed out. “Your horses