Free By Love Undone by Suzanne Enoch Page B

victory through flattery. From the occasional looks he sent in her direction he hadn’t welcomed her last comment, but it served him right.
    “Lord Warefield, please tell us about London,” Sally begged, giggling. “Have you been to Almack’s?”
    “Of course he’s been to Almack’s,” Lydia countered in an exasperated tone. “He’s dined with the King.”
    “Is His Majesty as fat as they say?”
    “Sally!” Mrs. Fowler fanned her napkin in front of her face. “For heaven’s sake, mind your manners!”
    “But Mama, King George is fat. Everyone says so.”
    “Sally! Silence!” Jane Fowler leaned across the table to capture the marquis’s hand, nearly causing him to drop his forkful of sliced ham. “Pray forgive my daughter, my lord. She’s a little high strung, perhaps, but quite proficient in all the gentler arts. We had tutors for both girls, all the way from Surrey.”
    Lord Warefield glanced at Maddie, then set his fork back on his plate. “I have no doubts on that count, Mrs. Fowler. Miss Sally, I do occasionally go hunting with His Majesty, and he is a rather…well-rounded individual. If you ever meet him, though, I suggest you not mention it. He’s rather sensitive about the subject.”
    “You see?” Sally said gleefully, and took another biscuit from the bowl in the center of the table.
    “Please, my lord, eat.”
    The marquis retrieved his utensil and obligingly took a bite. The entire family watched as he chewed and swallowed. Maddie decided she didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him.
    “It’s quite good,” he said after a moment, taking a sip of wine.
    “And not a grain of salt used,” Mr. Fowler said proudly. “No spices at all.”
    The butler stepped into the dining room and came to attention. “Mr. and Mrs. Fowler, Lord Warefield, I am instructed to inform you that Mrs. Beauchamp has arrived.”
    “What? What is she doing—”
    Mrs. Beauchamp, wearing a low-cut gown two sizes too small for her ample bosom and two decades out of style, swept into the room. Warefield automatically came to his feet, though he looked somewhat startled. Mr.Fowler reluctantly rose a moment later, and Mrs. Beauchamp sank into a deep curtsey.
    “My lord,” she breathed, rising.
    For several seconds Maddie sat where she was, dumbfounded at her tremendous luck, before she roused herself enough to stand. “Lord Warefield, another of Langley’s esteemed neighbors, Mrs. Beauchamp.”
    The marquis nodded. “Mrs. Beauchamp. Charmed.”
    The lady came forward to clutch Lord Warefield’s proffered hand and curtsied again. “I am delighted to meet you, my lord.”
    Mrs. Fowler leaned over to examine her neighbor’s face. “Evelyn, whatever is that black spot on your cheek?”
    “Oh, you silly thing,” Mrs. Beauchamp tittered, fingering the small spot. “It’s a patch. They’re all the rage in London.” She lifted her heavy jowled face toward the marquis’s ear, still refusing to relinquish her grip on his hand. “My cousin is Baron Montesse,” she whispered conspiratorially. “You may know him.”
    The marquis’s lip twitched, and he cleared his throat. “Baron Montesse,” he mused. “Of Berkshire?”
    “Oh, no. Of Herefordshire, my lord.”
    “Ah. No, I don’t believe we are acquainted, then. But I don’t spend all that much time in London.”
    She frowned as Warefield finally managed to free his hand without pulling her over. “That’s odd,” she continued loudly, no doubt hoping the servants were listening. “I wrote that you were coming to Somerset, and he seemed familiar with you. Though he said something about your having a scar. But you don’t, do you? Hmm. Perhaps he was mis—”
    “A scar?” the marquis interrupted, and then smiled. “That explains it. He must be acquainted with my younger brother, Rafael. He was wounded at Waterloo. We do look something alike.”
    Mrs. Beauchamp’s expression brightened. “Yes, that must be it, then.” She gestured imperiously