Free Regency Masquerade by Joan Smith

sure he worked. The morning passed in this quiet fashion.
    At luncheon, Ponsonby flirted with Moira across the room, ostentatiously holding up his glass of water to toast her each time he caught her eye. The major stopped and gave her a box of sugarplums.
    “A poor gift for a lady, but in this little village, they have not heard of such a thing as marchpane, or sugared cherries.”
    “You are too kind, Major,” she said, accepting the token. Jonathon loved sugarplums.
    Mr. Hartly had another bottle of wine sent to their table.
    “We should have used this stunt before,” Jonathon said. “I had no idea ladies and sirs got so many gifts.”
    “They are not gifts, David; they are bait.”
    “I thought you and the jewels were the bait.”
    “That is for our trap. March believes he is setting a trap of his own.”
    “And Hartly as well?” he asked, looking at the wine.
    That brought a frown to her face. Mr. Hartly was an agreeable young gentleman. She was beginning to hope his interest was personal—though there was no getting around the fact that he had been inquiring for Major Stanby when he arrived at the inn.
    “Perhaps. Time will tell.”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    The corkscrew curls had softened to gentle waves by afternoon. Moira arranged them en corbeil and wore the same elaborately feathered bonnet and green sarcenet mantle in which she had arrived at Owl House Inn the day before.
    She regretted the overly ornate plumage of the bonnet. She had a keen fashion sense and had enjoyed accumulating her wardrobe. Schooled to practicality, she meant to wear the garments after her role of Lady Crieff was terminated, so the clothing was to her own taste, embellished to vulgarity by gewgaws that could be removed later. The sarcenet mantle was trimmed in gold satin and brass buttons. Excitement lent a sparkle to her eyes and a spring to her step.
    Jonathon carried a large wicker basket, bearing an embroidered tablecloth worked by Moira’s own hands for Lady Marchbank. She had been kind to the Trevithicks during their difficult period. Small presents of cash were only a part of it; she had provided moral support, and an offer that both Moira and Jonathon were welcome to make their home at Cove House if worst came to worst and they lost the Elms.
    Mr. Hartly met them in the lobby. He was no expert on ladies’ toilettes and felt he was out-of-date besides after his stint in Spain, but he knew instinctively that Moira would look prettier without that tower of feathers atop her head. He came forward to greet the youngsters.
    “You will have to give me directions to Cove House,” he said, after greeting them.
    “Cousin Vera sent us a map. Here it is,” Jonathon said, handing him a hand-drawn map. “P’raps you ought to give it to your groom.”
    They went outside, where a shining black carriage and bang-up team of bays awaited them.
    “I say! That’s something like!” Jonathon exclaimed. “Can I sit on the box with John Groom, Mr. Hartly?”
    “You will get covered in dust, David,” his sister cautioned.
    Hartly smiled at the lad’s enthusiasm. “I keep my traveling coat in the carriage. I like to take the reins myself from time to time. You are welcome to wear it, Sir David, if Lady Crieff—”
    “Oh, very well,” Moira agreed, although she would have preferred that Jonathon accompany her inside the carriage, to ease what might be a trying trip.
    The coat fit as to length. Jonathon placed the basket on the floor of the carriage and leapt up on the perch with John Groom. Hartly was curious about that basket. Did it, by any chance, contain the Crieff jewelry collection? If so, it was an excellent idea to leave it with the Marchbanks, now that word of its existence had got about the inn.
    As they drove along, Moira noticed that Hartly’s eyes strayed to the basket from time to time.
    “A little gift for my cousin Vera,” she mentioned. “I made it myself. You will see it when we arrive—if you are interested