Free In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) by Maggie Robinson Page A

return to France directly after Christmas. I have a small château in the Loire Valley and we both may be homesick by then.”
    The gray eyes narrowed. “Ah, France. But you are English?”
    “Yes.” Charles was saved from dragging out the dead expatriate parents and his odd upbringing by Griffith’s announcement of dinner.
    A strict order of precedence into the dining room was orchestrated by Grace Westlake, and Charles was separated from Louisa. He found himself escorting Isobel Crane into a banquet hall big enough for all the crowned heads of Europe and their entourages. There was a blinding array of silver and crystal on crisp white linen, and epergnes filled with lush hothouse flowers and fruit. Quite an impressive show for the boy who once worked in a pottery factory. Charles’s stomach clenched at the heavy scent of lilies. Somehow they always reminded him of death—not that he needed much reminding.
    This extravagance was ridiculous. For a mad moment, Charles wanted to sweep the china and glassware to the floor. While these pointless people had been cosseted by such luxury, he had been burying and burning the emaciated corpses of women and children.
    But Maximillian Norwich knew nothing of such things. He lived safely in his château in the Loire Valley, surrounded by beautiful paintings. He would think nothing of fishing out the fish fork from the rigidly arranged place setting and sipping fine wine. His pretty young wife was an heiress and his days were filled by one pleasure after another.
    But night would come.

Chapter

    9
    A unt Grace was a fiend. She had placed Sir Richard at the head of the table, with Louisa seated to his right. Charles—Maximillian—Max!—was all the way down at the other end, sandwiched between Grace and dotty Isobel. She hoped he’d hold up to her aunt’s scrutiny and her cousin’s likely under-the-table squeezing. Louisa couldn’t even catch his eye—Grace had them on the same side of the table. At least she lucked out with her other dinner partner—it was Great-Uncle Phillip, who was mostly deaf and too indifferent to be bothered to do anything about it. He gave her a nod and then dug in to his first course.
    “I thought you were on the outs with my aunt,” Louisa murmured to Sir Richard.
    “So did I. What has it been—ten years since I was invited to Rosemont?”
    “Nine. I’m surprised you came. After all, we’re just jumped-up bourgeoisie. We made our money in
trade
.” Louisa tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. If it wasn’t for her grandfather’s bank, she would not be spearing her oysters with a silver fork.
    “You haven’t forgiven me, I see. You must realize I had an obligation to the ancient Delacourt name. I hear one can buy a title now—the king is most accommodating. Maybe you should look into that for your new husband. Where did you find him, anyway? Does he know about us?”
    “There is no ‘us,’ Richard.”
    “Not for lack of you trying. You were like a little spaniel, all brown eyes and golden curls. You rolled over, but you certainly did not play dead.”
    Louisa examined her knife and wondered if it were sharp enough to cut through Richard’s evening clothes to his heart. Not that he had one.
    “Do you intend to blackmail me, Richard? I thought Lady Blanche solved your financial difficulties.”
    “Poor Blanche. She was quite overset she couldn’t join us tonight.”
    Lady Blanche Calthorpe, now Richard’s wife, had once been Louisa’s school friend. During the one glorious year she had been sent to Miss Edwin’s Seminary for Young Ladies in Bath to be “finished,” they had formed an unbreakable bond.
    Or so Louisa had thought.
    “Is she ill?”
    “Let’s not talk about her. We have a great deal of catching up to do.”
    “I have no interest in your life at all, Richard.”
    “I see you haven’t changed a bit. Rude as ever. How did you manage to capture this Maximillian fellow? Ah, but perhaps he values a lady