Free The Man in the Green Coat by Carola Dunn Page A

suppose he wanted her to pretend she did not know him. That was fair enough: it would be difficult to explain their prior acquaintance without referring to circumstances best left unmentioned. But how she wished she had met him under other circumstances!
    She pulled Gerard’s sleeve and drew him aside.
    “Mr Everett is here,” she whispered, “but I beg you will not approach him unless he should indicate a desire to recognise us. We cannot wish to appear encroaching, and it might be best that no one should know of our adventures.”
    “You are afraid it will get about that you arrived in England in breeches!” said Gerard with a grin. “Mum’s the word.”
    “It would ruin my reputation before I have time to establish one!” she said, laughing.
    She wished he knew about the message she had carried to the Man in the Green Coat. Once she had met Mr Everett, she had been sure that she was right not to tell, that the fewer people who knew his alias the better. She had always been close to her brother, though, and it was hard to keep a secret from him.
    As they made their way through the crowd, Gabrielle spotted Mr Everett talking to a tall, blond lady in a ravishing but matronly gown of lilac silk. They looked towards her, but made no sign of recognition. His wife? she wondered. With a sigh, she followed Lady Harrison to a row of crimson velvet-covered gilt chairs, and the ladies were seated.
    “Are you sure you will not dance, Miss Darcy?” enquired Alain de Vignard, bending solicitously over her. His English was accentless, only an occasional turn of phrase betraying his origin.
    “What, and betray myself for a country bumpkin, monsieur? I do not know any of the dances and should undoubtedly tie myself in knots, along with my partner and all those about me!”
    “We must engage a maître de danse, ” declared Lady Harrison.
    “Not for me,” shuddered Gerard. “Gaby, you don’t mind if I walk about, do you? There is so much to see.”
    “If you will stop calling me Gaby, you may walk about as much as you please for all I care, but it is Madame’s leave you must ask.”
    He looked abashed. “I beg your pardon, Madame Aurore.”
    “Silly boy! Of course you are accustomed to attending to your sister. Me, I do not take offense. Run along and enjoy yourself.”
    “Monsieur de Vignard, you must not think yourself tied to my apronstrings. Pray go with my brother. I expect you have a great many acquaintances present.”
    “A few,” he admitted, “and I shall make Gerard known to some of them later on. But first let me procure you a glass of lemonade. It is deuced hot in here.”
    “Thank you, I should like that.” Gabrielle smiled up at him. It was a relief, in a ballroom full of strangers, to have a handsome young man considering her comfort.
    In the three days she had been in London she had seen little of Alain, but that little had favourably impressed her. He was kind and charming, properly grateful to Madame Aurore, and Gerard liked him. He seemed thoroughly gentlemanly, and she could only deplore the ill luck that had forced him to make his way in the world without family or fortune to help him. At that, she gathered from Madame Aurore that he was in better case than many of his countrymen, some of whom had been driven to such menial occupations as cobbling shoes for a living.
    Pondering his fate, she listened with half an ear to Lady Harrison, who was issuing, in an undertone, condensed biographies of the people around them. She had a certain gift for capturing the essential points of character or career in a few phrases, and Gabrielle was soon absorbed in her words. Some of the names she recognised from the reams of gossip Madame Aurore had penned to them over the years. It was fascinating to see in the flesh the fops and exquisites, Corinthians and court-cards whose exploits she had exclaimed over and giggled about with Gerard.
    The dress of the ladies was equally interesting. Lady Harrison had an