The Wicked Gypsy by Mary Lancaster

Author:Mary Lancaster
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 2018-08-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

THE DOWAGER COUNTESS of Braithwaite was, by all accounts, a formidable woman held in great respect in the environs of Blackhaven. As she suffered her only son to kiss her cheek, Dawn felt the nag of elusive memory, along with the sudden knowledge that her idyll was over. As if she and the younger Braithwaites and Tamars were naughty children about to be brought to heel by an adult.

“What on earth are you doing here, Mother?” Gervaise demanded, making way for Serena and the clamoring girls behind her. “How is Frances?”

“She is very well, considering, but crotchety,” the countess replied, accepting the devotion of her family somewhat stiffly. “Since she has an army of servants to take care of her every need, my presence was no longer required. I have come home, where quite clearly I am needed, and have brought Miss Farnborough to stay with us for a little.”

Only then did Dawn or anyone else notice the young lady who had entered behind the countess. Small and delicate to the point of wispy, she was excessively well dressed in pure white sprig muslin beneath a dark green velvet pelisse and a sable tippet. Over her dark, curling locks, she wore an exquisite hat composed largely of ribbons and feathers.

How on earth did she travel like that, and arrive with not so much as a speck of mud anywhere on her person?

“Eliza, allow me to present you to my son, Lord Braithwaite,” the countess said with curious satisfaction. “Miss Farnborough is the daughter of my old friend Lady Farnborough. She has been visiting Frances’s mother-in-law and will stay with us until her mama comes to fetch her.”

Miss Farnborough stepped forward with pretty hesitancy, smiling shyly as she offered her hand. “My lord. We have met before, though you won’t remember.”

“Of course, I remember,” Gervaise said—lying, Dawn was sure, through his teeth. “How do you do, Miss Farnborough?”

He bowed over her hand as was proper and released it. The girl’s eyes lingered on his face, as though she could not look away. Then they seemed to snap back to life as the countess introduced the others.

“My daughter, Lady Tamar, and her husband the Marquis of Tamar,” the dowager went on and Miss Farnborough curtsied perfectly to each. “And my younger daughters, Lady Maria, Lady Alice, and Lady Helen.”

“Oh, how delightful,” Miss Farnborough exclaimed. “You remind me of my own little brothers and sisters.”

“How?” Alice asked, clearly baffled, though she did curtsey.

Miss Farnborough merely laughed, a sweet, musical sound that somehow grated on Dawn’s nerves. But no one was terribly interested in how the Braithwaite children were similar to the Farnborough children, for the countess’s hard gaze had come to rest at last on Dawn.

“Serena,” the dowager commanded. “You may present your guest to me.”

Dawn forced her feet to step forward, trying to pretend this was just another introduction, like all those at the ball. Even though it wasn’t, even though this was Gervaise’s mother, who knew she had no right to be there.

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