Free Duel of Hearts by Elizabeth Mansfield Page B

Stultz, fit him well; that his shirt points, while not high enough to be the epitome of fashion, were properly stiff; that his neckcloth, while not tied in a fold of particular originality, was presentable; and that his evening shoes were completely beyond reproach. If only his coach turned out to be satisfactory, her evening would be made.
    So eager was her ladyship to get a glimpse of the carriage that she took hardly any notice of her daughter’s altered appearance. “Ah, Sarah,” she said, crossing to the foot of the stairway impatiently, “there you are at last. Hurry with your cloak, my dear, for it will not do to keep the Squire’s horses standing.”
    â€œGood Lord, ” Edward exclaimed, sotto voce, to Corianne, who was standing just behind him looking into the mirror near the door, “that can’t be Miss Stanborough, can it?”
    Corianne, whose blonde curls had been gathered up in charming profusion at the nape of her neck and bound with a chaplet of tea roses, was studying in the mirror the effect on the flowers of a toss of her curls. Preoccupied with the problem of the stability of the wreath, she merely cast a look over her shoulder at the stairway. “Of course it’s Sarah,” she responded uninterestedly. “Who else should it be?”
    Edward, however, couldn’t help but gape. The young woman descending the stairway looked remarkably lovely and self-possessed. It was hard to believe that the unobtrusive, retiring, awkward Miss Stanborough he’d met earlier could have so transformed herself.
    As the butler helped Sarah with her cloak, Lady Stanborough found time to look at her. “Well, I must say, Sarah, Madame Marie has done well by you. Your hair is charming.”
    This caught Corianne’s attention. “Why, so it is !” she exclaimed. “It’s very becoming, Sarah, really. I must ask Madame to fix mine so one of these days.”
    As Edward ushered the ladies down the stone steps to his waiting carriage (which turned out to be most acceptable to Lady Stanborough—she was almost ecstatic to see the spotless sheen of the side panels, the gleaming brass fittings of the lamps, and the plush grey velvet luxury of the upholstery inside), he found himself wondering about the conversation he’d overheard. The ladies had merely complimented Miss Stanborough on her hair. Could that be all? Was her transformation merely the result of a new way of dressing her hair? He couldn’t credit it. This afternoon, Miss Stanborough had seemed to him almost ungainly. Could a hairstyle transform a gawkish insipidity into that ? He must have been blind, earlier.
    He took his place in the carriage and glanced at her again. She was smiling faintly at Corianne’s incessant and excited chatter, her head erect, her body leaning back against the squabs in poised relaxation, her eyes dark and intriguingly secret. He shook his head in amazement. Women were always and ever a mystery to him.
    Lord North had many acquaintances, but few intimates. Of late, however, the gossips noted that he appeared everywhere in the company of young Anthony Ingalls, second son of the impecunious Lord Bentwood. Ingalls, a fellow of loose morals and a hedonistic disposition, had made himself notorious for his debts and his excesses by the remarkably young age of twenty-four. Those gossips who were not well acquainted with Lord North may have wondered why he’d taken up with an unsavory character who was almost ten years his junior, but those who understood North’s character were less puzzled. Lord North had always been susceptible to sycophancy, and Anthony Ingalls knew well how to play the courtier. He had the not-inconsiderable ability to show constant admiration to the older man without the slightest touch of self-abasement; and he could make himself agreeable without the least air of the lackey in his manner. In return for this pleasant companionship,