Free A Change of Fortune by Sandra Heath Page A

breath. “What has all this to do with the countess?”
    “Conyngham has a daughter.”
    “Leonie.”
    Harry looked quickly at him. “You know her?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m told she’s very beautiful.”
    Guy smiled a little. “Yes, I suppose she is.”
    “Someone has to break the dreadful news to her not only that she’s penniless but also that her father’s name is soon to be at the center of an unwelcome scandal. In the absence of any other relatives, it was deemed prudent to approach the countess, because of her…er, interest in the seminary Miss Conyngham attends.”
    Guy was incredulous. “Do you honestly believe that that Russian lodestar is the right person for such a delicate and sensitive task?”
    “No, I don’t, but it’s been decided in high places and is out of my hands. I’m merely the messenger boy.” Harry glanced at him. “Will you effect the introduction, Guy?”
    “Under the circumstances, I don’t seem to have much choice.”
    “If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re being a little strange about this.”
    Guy nodded a little. “Yes, I suppose I am. It’s just….”
    “Yes?”
    “It’s just that I was remembering the last time I spoke to Miss Conyngham, and I was wishing unsaid some of the things I said. Well, come on, let’s find La Lieven and have done with it.”
    * * *
    Dorothea was in the orangery with Nadia and Imogen. The glass-domed chamber was warmed by numerous stoves in order to protect the almost tropical foliage which grew so profusely all around, and the air was stiflingly hot. There was a heavy smell of damp earth and citrus leaves, and high above, the glass roof was running with condensation. The only sound, apart from the conversation of the three women seated upon the sofa by a trellis, came from a beautiful macaw in a high gilt cage.
    Dorothea was in the middle of describing the delights of a Russian winter to an entranced Imogen, “What a pity you British do not often have much snow, Lady Imogen,” she said, “for it means that you are denied the diversion of les montagnes russes .”
    “Russian mountains? I don’t understand.”
    “Oh, they are excellent amusement. The snow is piled up into a hill about seventy feet high, and steps are carved up one side while the other is made very smooth. Then each gentleman takes a lady down at great speed on a cushioned toboggan. It’s most entertaining. Some mountains are made even higher, so that larger toboggans can be used and more people go down together.”
    Imogen, who disliked anything which took place at a pace, looked a little faint at the thought of these particular diversions. “How…delightful,” she murmured.
    Nadia gave a sigh. “Oh, how I wish there was snow like that here. Especially now.”
    “Why now in particular?” inquired Dorothea, “Because that wretched agent in St. Petersburg has seen fit to dispatch my sleigh to London along with everything else. I distinctly remember instructing him to sell—” She broke off hastily, a flush leaping to her cheeks. It wouldn’t do at all to reveal to Imogen how truly parlous were her financial affairs.
    Imogen affected not to notice the slip. “A sleigh? Oh, Nadia, how very exciting. Do tell me what it’s like. I’m told that the imperial sleighs are particularly magnificent.”
    Nadia gave a quick laugh. “Oh, but mine isn’t an imperial sleigh. They have gold and scarlet trappings and are lined with sable, and they have at least twelve horses to draw them. Mine is only a little troika lined with blue velvet, but it’s very pretty, don’t you think, Dorothea?”
    Dorothea raised an eyebrow. “Pretty? It’s merely a sleigh, like any other sleigh. So, we are to have the embarrassment of having it delivered here in Harley Street, are we?” Her foot tapped irritably.
    “It isn’t my fault, Dorothea, it’s the fault of that incompetent agent.”
    “Hm.” Dorothea looked up then and saw the two men approaching. “Ah, Sir Guy, there