Free Miss Pymbroke's Rules by Rosemary Stevens Page A

like the lowest parson’s daughter? If you’ve taken it into your head to go about in Society—and it’s past time you did—you must be properly gowned first.”
    Verity bristled. “I would like to go out more. But, must appearances count for so much? I do not believe in improving overmuch on what the Good Lord has given me.”
    “ He didn’t give you that gown,” Lady Iris howled. “You had it off some unfashionable dressmaker.”
    “Good evening, Lady Iris. Mrs. Barrington promised me a tea tray,” said Lord Carrisworth, trying to divert the elderly woman’s attention while everyone sat down.
    “Bring the damn tea tray, Beecham,” Lady Iris commanded, her gaze moving from one person to the other as if trying to fix blame for the social solecism committed by her young friend.
    As the hour was late, Louisa forgot for a moment that Verity’s appearance suited her purposes. She was goaded into saying, “You should have seen the way people laughed and stared at Mouse at the theater. I declare they all thought it was a rare joke.”
    Verity’s mouth dropped open in astonishment at the revelation it was she, and not the marquess, who had garnered the unsavory attention.
    Seeing Miss Pymbroke’s crestfallen expression, Lord Carrisworth experienced a strong desire to slap Mrs. Barrington’s face. Instead, he decided to raise Miss Pymbroke’s ire. That would at least remove that wounded look in her brown eyes, a look he was finding he could not bear.
    He raised his quizzing glass, studying the dress in question. Then he quickly dropped it, as if in disgust. “It is a perfectly horrid gown, Miss Pymbroke. Surely your year of mourning is over. You are one to follow rules.  What do the rules state regarding when a lady may put off her blacks?”
    The marquess was content with the swift shadow of anger that swept across her face. She had no chance to respond to him, though, because Lady Iris had found a person she could hold responsible for her young friend’s attire.
    “Louisa, I’d have thought you, as Verity’s loving sister, would have instructed her as to how to dress, mayhaps lent her a gown.”
    Seeing the look of offended hauteur crossing Louisa’s features, Lady Iris pressed her point. “Yes, Louisa, now that I think on it, you will want to share your gowns with Verity. Beecham tells me you had four trunks’ worth of ’em for her to unpack, so you won’t care a rush about giving half of them to Verity. She can’t afford new ones and won’t allow me to help her. Of course, Beecham will have to make them over to fit her, Verity being better endowed than you, but then at your age everything begins to droop.”
    From her position on the floor, Empress miaowed in evident agreement.
    Louisa rose, her color heightened. Unable to trust herself not to tell Lady Iris exactly what she could do with her ideas she said stiffly, “I shall select some gowns for my sister in the morning.”
    Verity stood and embraced Louisa. “Thank you. You are the best of sisters.”
    Hearing this statement, Lord Carrisworth and Lady Iris exchanged apprehensive looks.
    Louisa broke away from Verity and curtsied to his lordship. “Good night, my lord.” In her haste to quit the room she nearly collided with a footman carrying the tea tray.
    Lady Iris turned her attention to the marquess. “Carrisworth, in future I expect you to request my permission to escort Verity about. I know she’s not my ward, but she’s living under my roof and needs guidance.”
    “Very well, my lady,” the marquess replied with easy grace. He accepted a cup from Verity and asked, “Do you go to the Foxworths’ tomorrow? Mrs. Barrington is being escorted by Sir Ramsey, and I should be happy to drive you as well as Lady Hyacinth and Miss Pymbroke.”
    In the act of preparing a cup for Lady Iris, Verity ground her teeth in exasperation. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but are my wishes not to be taken into account?”
    “No,” Lady Iris said