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.He was paler than usual, but otherwise did not appear to be damaged in any way by his escapade at the Portman ball.He was even rather better groomed than usual, with clean boots, unwrinkled trousers, and a crisply tied cravat.If only he did not look quite so morose.“Morley!” he cried happily, his strained, white face transformed from melancholy to avid interest in an instant.“By Jove, but it’s good to see you again.Didn’t know you were expected.” He stepped forward to shake hands with Lord Morley, and added, in a quieter tone, “I’m afraid I made a bit of a cake of myself last night.”A bit of a cake? Rosalind almost choked.Her brother had made a veritable pastry kitchen out of himself.She held her tongue, though.It would not serve her cause if she embarrassed Allen in front of his hero Lord Morley.It would not serve her cause at all.She would just have to bide her time—until this afternoon.Chapter Thirteen“Always be gracious when introduced to new acquaintances.”-A Lady’s Rules for Proper Behavior, Chapter ElevenDo you really mean it, Michael? We are going to see Mrs.Chase today?” Violet practically bounced on her toes in her enthusiasm, her hands clasped under her chin.A delighted giggle bubbled from her lips.Michael couldn’t help but smile at her happiness.She had smiled a few times since they came to Town, and even laughed at the play they had attended.But he had not seen her eyes sparkle so in—well, in a very long time.And it was due to Mrs.Chase.Somber, straightlaced Mrs.Chase, who was not quite as prim and proper as she would like everyone, including herself, to believe.Violet almost spun about in a joyous circle, but then, with a visible effort, brought her exuberance under control.She folded her hands in front of her, and recited, “ ‘A lady never displays her joy in an unseemly, physical manner.’ ” Then she gave a tiny jump and another smile.“Do you mean it, Michael? Mrs.Chase is in London and we are to see her?”“Of course I mean it, Vi,” Michael said, with a laugh to cover his irritation at her rule-spouting.“She is going to Gunter’s with us.I met her at a ball last night, and she asked after you.” He decided to omit the quite unnecessary details of everything that had happened after his initial encounter with her at the Portman ball.“A ball,” Violet sighed.“It must have been lovely.” Her smile turned wistful.Michael put his arm about her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze.She did not draw away, as she had so often of late when minding the rules.“Next Season, you will attend more balls than you could count,” he said.“So many you will be longing for a quiet evening at home!”Violet laughed, a strangely bitter sound, unlike her earlier happy giggles.“I cannot imagine ever longing for that.”Michael frowned.“Has Father been bullying you?”“No, of course not.” She pulled away from him and went to look into a mirror hanging on the morning room wall.She fluffed up her pale curls, not meeting his reflected gaze.“I have been trying to educate him on some of the rules.Just because he never leaves the house is no excuse for him not to be civilized.He took exception to one of them this morning and threw his stick at me.”“He did what?” Michael shouted.“Did that old barbarian hurt you?”“Oh, no, no.I am quite adept at dodging.And I am certain there must be a rule against stick-throwing.I shall have to look it up.” Violet reached for her bonnet and tied it over her hair, tucking stray curls up into its confinement.She was trying so hard to be calm and casual, but her movements were stiff.Michael longed to storm into his father’s room, grab that blasted stick out of the old man’s gnarled hands, and break it over his head.Violet obviously sensed his inner turmoil, for she reached out and laid her hand gently on his arm.“Oh, la, Michael, but you have turned all red! Please do not mind it.I hardly see him, really, for you and Aunt Minnie keep me so very busy.Soon enough I will be back at school.And this afternoon I will see Mrs.Chase! Speaking of which, shall we be going? She will be expecting us.”She picked up her shawl and handed it to him for him to drape over her shoulders.Then she took his hand and guided him to the front door, obviously trying to hurry him out of the house.Michael went along with her maneuverings.It would be too bad of him to start yet another quarrel in this house, when she so badly wanted this outing.But one day—one day soon—matters in this family would erupt.Right now, though, they had this afternoon.And he was going to make very sure it was enjoyable for his sister, and for Mrs.Chase.Surely the woman just had to see that he was not the lout she thought him.An hour or two in Gunter’s, with the warm, sugary smells of pastries around them and a luscious strawberry ice to savor, would be just the thing.She was making a great mistake.She should stay home and work on her writing, or her embroidery, or anything rather than go out with Lord Morley.But that would be cowardly, Rosalind told herself, and it certainly would not help her in her cause at all.She had to make Morley see the error of his rude ways, and she could never do that by hiding away in the house.She truly wanted to see Lady Violet, too, and be certain the girl was faring well.She paced back to the window for the tenth time to peer down at the street.Lord Morley was not there yet, but many pedestrians and carriages crowded on the pavement outside Wayland House.She studied the passersby, fiddling idly with the braid trim at the wrist of her spencer.For just one instant, she wished she had borrowed one of Georgina’s walking dresses, of vivid blue or wine red or tawny gold.Her sensible dark blue wool, with its pale yellow braid trim, was just so very—sensible.That was the only word for it.Of course it is, she told herself sternly.You are a sensible lady.She half-turned to pluck up the hat Georgina had convinced her to borrow, then peered down again at the street as she pinned it to her curls.It was the same swirl of humanity, but, as Rosalind’s gaze moved over the crowd, it was somehow caught by the figure of a man across the street.He leaned idly against the fence that hemmed in a small park in the square, apparently just a careless man-about-town with nothing better to do than lounge about, observing passing females.There was nothing remarkable about him at all; he was of middling height, slim, well-dressed but not ostentatious.The brim of his hat concealed his features.Rosalind would not even have noticed him, except that he had been there for rather a long time—ever since she herself had come down and begun her vigil at the window.And he was oddly intent.He gave the appearance of watching the other people, yet he never really turned his attention from Wayland House.Rosalind frowned.She was strangely reminded of that evening at her school, when she had been looking out the window of her sitting room and thought, or imagined, she saw a movement in the garden.“Don’t be silly,” she whispered aloud.“You are becoming delusional.”Perhaps what she needed was a seaside holiday, away from all the distractions of Town.Away from Lord Morley.She gazed down again at the man.If he was there again tomorrow, she would tell Georgina or the duke.Today, though, she would just enjoy her time with Lady Violet.As she watched, a carriage drew to a halt below her window.It was a proper open landau, driven by a coachman in livery, not Morley’s usual dashing phaeton
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