Free A Wicked Gentleman by Jane Feather

him.”
    â€œIt’s not so much that as erase the one I made yesterday,” Cornelia replied, but a slight touch of pink tinged her cheekbones as she buttoned the wrists of the long sleeves of the gown. She wanted to think that thoroughly erasing that impression would drive home to him the realization of his rudeness. But honesty obliged her to admit, at least to herself, that injured pride played its part. The viscount had presented an impeccable appearance, which made his arrogant, insultingly pompous assumptions all the more unbearable. This time she was giving him no advantages.
    â€œDo they wear jewelry in the mornings these days?” Livia was trawling through Cornelia’s jewel box. “You need something for that neckline, I think. It looks very bare.”
    â€œIt is very bare,” Cornelia said, peering down at her bosom. “I could wear a fichu?” She sounded doubtful.
    â€œToo matronly,” Aurelia pronounced. “Just because you’re the dowager mother of two doesn’t make you matronly.” She reached into the jewel box, saying with authority, “The amber beads are perfect. It’s not done to wear precious gems before sunset in the town or the country, but amber, topaz, amethyst, they’re all quite acceptable.”
    She clasped the amber beads around her sister-in-law’s long neck and stood back to examine the effect in the dresser mirror. “Yes, much better. Now for your hair.”
    Her fingers went to work and within five minutes she had braided the luxuriant honey-colored mass into a neat coil around Cornelia’s head and teased ringlets to fall about her ears. “How’s that?”
    Cornelia tilted her head from side to side. “Pretty,” she said, playing with one of the ringlets. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come tumbling down at a crucial moment.”
    â€œDid he say what time he would call?” Livia asked.
    â€œNo, but the usual time for morning visits is around eleven. Or at least it used to be.” Cornelia glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s only ten now. I’m going up to the nursery.”
    She spent the next hour with the children, planning their day with Linton, and just before eleven descended the stairs in search of Morecombe. Livia had asked him to clean the tarnished silver that was littered around the house, and Cornelia found him in the butler’s pantry muttering to himself as he polished.
    â€œDon’t see no point t’ this,” he said, as she knocked on the open door. “’Twas good enough for Lady Sophia just as it were.”
    â€œPerhaps Lady Sophia’s eyesight was not very good,” Cornelia suggested. “Those cruets do look lovely now they’re polished.” She picked up one of them and held it to the light. “I’m sure it’s Elizabethan.” She was reminded of the thimble as she looked at the intricate designs on the salt cellar.
    â€œMebbe so,” Morecombe muttered, not sounding convinced as he attacked a sugar caster.
    â€œI’m expecting a visitor, Morecombe. When he arrives he’ll ask for Lady Livia. Could you show him into the parlor. I’ll wait for him there.”
    â€œOh, aye?” Morecombe regarded her with his rheumy gaze. “An’ where will Lady Livia be then, m’lady?”
    â€œOh, she asked me to see him for her,” Cornelia said vaguely. “Just show him in. There’s no need for you to explain.”
    â€œOh, aye?” The lack of conviction was more pronounced, but he returned to his sugar caster, and Cornelia beat a prudent retreat.
    Livia was waiting for her in the hall. “For a minute I forgot all about Mr. Masters. You remember he’s supposed to call this morning too. Where shall I see him if you’re in the parlor with the viscount?”
    â€œThe salon?” Cornelia suggested, opening the door onto that bleak chamber, where the