Free Maggie MacKeever by Jessabelle Page A

Adolphus.
    Abruptly she reached a decision. “I will speak with your sister at her convenience. You need only tell me where she wishes the meeting to take place.”
    “Dashed good of you, Mme. Joliffe! ” Adolphus clasped her hands so exuberantly that he drew the attention of several gentlemen flocked around the E.O. stand. “It must be our secret, mind! I’ll bring you word as soon as I may, about where and when.”
    That these ingenuous remarks were open to gross misinterpretation, Jessabelle was aware, as she was aware that their utterance had distracted several onlookers from the gyrations of the E.O. ball. Unless she made an effort to demonstrate the patent absurdity of such a rumor, tomorrow’s on-dit would be that Lord Pennymount’s first countess had made the brother of his second countess-to-be her latest conquest. Envisioning Vidal’s fury, were he presented such a tidbit along with his morning newspapers, Jessabelle smiled.
    That smile, too, was open to misinterpretation, she realized. So be it! She patted the Honorable Dolph’s cheek. “I shall be greatly looking forward to our next meeting, sir,” she murmured.
    With receipt of this obvious enthusiasm, Dolph’s own high spirits received a slight check. Why Mme. Joliffe should grow so cheerful at the notion of prospective conversation with his sister was beyond Dolph’s comprehension. However, a great many things were beyond Dolph’s comprehension, and he saw no reason to fret himself to fiddle-strings over one more. “Dash it, but you’re a good sort of female!” he decided aloud.
    So public, albeit foolish, a declaration could only further elevate the Honorable Dolph in Mme. Joliffe’s regard, and no matter if Capitaine Chançard did look as if he would momentarily succumb to whoops. Michon would have already guessed her thoroughly reprehensible ambition to inspire her peevish ex-spouse into an apoplexy, which was exactly what Vidal deserved for having informed her that he wished her embarrassing presence removed from his pathway.
    Removed! Instead Jessabelle would contrive that his lordship trip over her and break his haughty neck. To that end—lest Vidal think that in embarking upon a flirtation with Adolphus she had indirectly obeyed his edict and given up Michon—she bestowed a sizzling smile upon Capitaine Chançard. At that moment, an altercation broke out at the macao table. Jessabelle abandoned her rôle as femme fatale for her more usual guise as ministering angel, and hastened away.
    A similar impulse toward abrupt departure gripped Adolphus, upon discovering himself abandoned to the tender mercies of the gentleman to whom was owed the largest portion of his staggering total debt. “About those vowels of mine!” said Dolph, after swallowing very hard. “Mean to redeem them any day now! On the square! Thing is, they keep slipping my mind!”
    Michon knew very well that no dilatory memory was responsible for his young companion’s lax attitude toward monies owed. Inexorably he drew the Honorable Dolph with him on a stroll around the saloon. Not a word did he speak as they circumvented the gaming tables and the green satin and white-upholstered chairs. The effect of that silence was well calculated. By the time they arrived at the bow window, Adolphus was quivering like a blancmange.
    Capitaine Chançard, lacking scruples, was not at all adverse to filching a leaf from someone else’s book, in this instance profiting from the excellent example set him by a young lady who’d secured her brother’s cooperation via the application of gentle blackmail. A young lady in whom Michon’s interest daily grew.
    “About your delinquent vowels,” he murmured. “I grieve, mon ami, that I must require some proof of your good faith.”
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Mme. Joliffe’s ignoble ambition to inspire her irascible ex-husband into an apoplexy was very nearly realized sooner than she would have liked. Jessabelle would have been left