Free Cupid's Choice: She's a shy beauty in distress. He's a chivalric gentleman. by Gayle Buck Page B

sought out Mrs. Richardson on the spur of the moment and had no very clear picture of what he actually wanted of her. Slowly, he said, “I pitied Miss Holland from the bottom of my heart, Caroline. She is an entirely different person when she is not influenced by her mother. My fear, perhaps irrational, is that Lady Smythe may indeed bring her into fashion, and then where will she be?”
    “I am not certain I am following you, Freddy,” said Mrs. Richardson
    Sir Frederick shook his head as his conclusions came sharper into focus. “Caroline, what will be accomplished by a social success if nothing comes of it? I should think it would only point up a starker contrast for Miss Holland between what could have been and the reality of her life when the Season is over. What she really needs is to escape the tyranny of her mother and become mistress of her own establishment.”
    Mrs. Richardson broke into surprised laughter. “Freddy, are you asking me to scheme on this girl’s behalf?”
    “Yes, I am. Think of it, Caroline. Here is a challenge worthy of your scope.” He flashed a grin. “Besides, if you are working on Miss Holland’s behalf, you will be too caught up in it to bother with anyone else. I shall be able to reassure poor Henry that he will escape your toils yet one more Season!”
    Mrs. Richardson laughed again, her eyes dancing. “Horrid, Freddy! What if I should decide Miss Holland will be the perfect wife for Henry Duckworth? Or for you, even?”
    Sir Frederick laughed and shrugged his broad shoulders. “We shall have to take our chances, of course!”
    “All right, Freddy, I shall help Miss Holland make a respectable match,” said Mrs. Richardson, rising and holding out her kid-gloved hand to him. “It will be amusing, in any event.”
    Sir Frederick bowed over her hand. When he straightened, he smiled at her. “Thank you, Caroline. I thought I could count on you. You are the best of friends.”
    “Abominable creature! Now, do go away, for I must fly if I am to make my appointment,” said Mrs. Richardson, shooing him toward the door.
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Sir Frederick left the Richardsons’ town house fairly well pleased. He was just a few doors away from his original destination, and he sauntered down the walkway, nodding to acquaintances as he met them.
    At Lady Smythe’s residence he sent in his card and was immediately shown up to her ladyship’s private parlor. Lady Smythe reposed in style in a large stuffed chair with her feet propped up on a padded stool and her gaunt figure wrapped in several Norwich shawls.
    It could not be said that Sir Frederick’s pains over his wardrobe stood him in the least stead, for her ladyship’s expression did not lighten on perceiving his handsome figure. Instead, Lady Smythe welcomed him with a somewhat acid smile. “What, pray, brings you here at such an ungodly hour, sir? I’ll have you know that I have not yet had my Bohea tea and toast.”
    Without a blink, Sir Frederick said, “I would be delighted to join you in tea, my lady.”
    Lady Smythe gave a short bark of derisive laughter. “Oh, aye! And no doubt you take weak tea and toast every morning.”
    “Only when I have a head,” said Sir Frederick blandly and quite untruthfully.
    Lady Smythe stared at him very hard. “You do not appear to be foxed, nor suffering from the effects of a late night. And I know very well you have not come to enjoy my company, for I am a tartar before noon and I always look a fright, besides. Very well, Sir Frederick! You have made me curious. You may stay.”
    “Thank you, my lady,” said Sir Frederick meekly. He seated himself in a wing chair appearing completely at ease.
    Lady Smythe regarded him suspiciously for a moment, but then snorted. By the time she had finished with her tea and toast, and somewhat maliciously watched Sir Frederick politely choke down some of the same, her good humor was completely restored.
    Lady Smythe waved away her servants