Free Her Ladyship's Man by Joan Overfield Page B

fine, thank you, and should I require anything, I am more than capable of having one ofthe footmen fetch it for me," the marchioness informed her querulously. "Now, hurry back to your young buck before that hussy Amanda Cummings succeeds in taking him away from you. She's been casting cow eyes at him all evening!"
    Melanie glanced over one slim shoulder, her eyes colliding with a pair of dark brown eyes sparkling with obvious malevolence. The younger girl's rather large nose came up haughtily, and she turned away with a toss of her brown curls. "If she wants Sir Christopher that badly, she is more than welcome to him as far as I am concerned," Melanie replied, turning back to her grandmother with an amused smile. "He is much too young for me."
    "He's a good three years older than you,
and
the heir to a comfortable estate in Kent," Lady Charlotte informed her snappishly. "You could do better, I admit, but you could also do worse. Now, get back to him before that vixen snatches him away from you."
    "Yes, my lady." Melanie knew her grandmother too well to waste her time in useless debate. She returned to the alcove where Sir Christopher had left her before setting out on his quest. A small settee had been placed there next to several drooping palms, and she sat down with a grateful sigh. She had been dancing for several hours, and her slippers were beginning to pinch her feet. Deciding she would be more comfortable if she loosened them a bit, she bent down and began unlacing the ribbons.
    ". . . true, then?" A woman's voice came drifting from the other side of the potted palms. "How simply shocking! Is Jarvis quite certain? Cedric is a member of the Privy Council, and he's not heard a word of this, I am sure. He tells me
everything
."She stressed the last word heavily, indicating it would not go well for the unknown Cedric were he to do otherwise.
    "Oh, yes." A second woman began speaking, her voice fairly dripping with malicious delight. "I heard him telling Lord Thorne that 'tis the talk of Whitehall!"
    Melanie's ears pricked up at the mention of the Foreign Office. Papa hadn't mentioned anything about a scandal, she thought, surreptitiously scooting to the other side of the settee so that she could eavesdrop with greater comfort. This was so exciting, she mused with a sudden flash of irreverence, just like those silly Gothics her grandmother and Miss Evingale were forever reading. All it lacked was a swooning heroine and a dark-eyed, mysterious hero!
    "Well, 'tis his daughter I am sorry for," the first woman said with a heavy sigh. "Poor child, I suppose she will be ruined once the scandal is known?"
    "Quite ruined," the other woman answered with relish. "She will most certainly have to retire from society, and naturally marriage is out of the question. What gentleman would want to join his name to the daughter of such a man? Such a pity, really, for she is very beautiful."
    Ah, there was the heroine, Melanie thought, her eyes sparkling with silent laughter. Perhaps if she waited long enough, the hero of the unfolding drama would also make himself known. She leaned closer, hoping to learn more.
    "Will he be arrested, do you think?" The first woman was speaking, making no effort to hide her eager interest. "He deserves it, and to be hung, too, if even half the talk is true! Imagine, one of ourvery own selling us out to the French! It quite makes one wonder what is becoming of our world."
    Melanie's amusement with the conversation vanished at this whispered comment. It was one thing to laugh over a potential scandal involving cards or a ladybird, but it was quite another when the safety of the nation was at risk. The other woman had mentioned Whitehall; surely she could not be implying that a diplomat had betrayed his own country, she brooded, appalled at the very thought. She would have to tell Papa at once.
    "Oh, he will swing, I am sure of it, once they have the evidence they need." Melanie heard the women's skirts rustling