The Scoundrel's Daughter by Anne Gracie

Author:Anne Gracie [Gracie, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-08-24T00:00:00+00:00

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The day of the visit by Lord Tarrant and his children dawned clear and sunny. Lucy was up early and disappeared into the garden, as she did most mornings. Delicious scents floated from the kitchen, as did the sound of singing, loud and slightly off-key. Mrs. Tweed was in a good mood. Children in the house, at last.

Alice pushed that thought from her mind. It wasn’t a reproach. Mrs. Tweed was just happy. She liked children, and she enjoyed baking. And it was a lovely day, and not too hot.

Tweed, too, had been fussing around all morning, making sure everything was in perfect order. Fresh flowers in the hallway and drawing room. Floors polished and smelling faintly of beeswax, cushions plumped, windows washed, the silverware shining—all days before the usual household routine.

One would imagine the King was coming to call.

As the time grew closer, Alice dithered about what to wear. She didn’t want to appear to be dressing up for him. She wasn’t dressing up for him. It was just an ordinary afternoon visit. With small children, who would no doubt end up with sticky hands from the delicacies that Mrs. Tweed was making.

But she didn’t want to look drab, either. Neat and quietly à la mode would do, she finally decided, then emptied her wardrobe looking for something neat but not too stylish. She finally settled on one of her old mourning dresses, a dove gray dimity frock. It was a little on the drab side, but if there were any doubt about her intentions, it would send a subtle message. She was not trying to attract.

Her maid, Mary, eyed the chosen dress disapprovingly. “You’re not wearing that, are you, m’lady? Not for afternoon tea with his lordship and the little girls.” Clearly Alice’s entire household was taking a very different view of the purpose behind the visit.

“Yes, Mary, I am. I don’t know why everyone is making a fuss. We have visitors for afternoon tea all the time.”

Mary sniffed, and fastened the dress with an expressionless face that fooled Alice not at all. “At least wear this, m’lady,” she said, draping a lacy cream shawl around Alice’s shoulders.

Alice pushed it off. “No, I don’t like wearing shawls when taking tea. They always slide off me.” Or the ends fell into her teacup.

“Then what about this?” Mary brought out a three-quarter-sleeved, dark-cherry-pink spencer. It was an old favorite, and Alice had almost forgotten she owned it, but she had to admit it suited the dress perfectly, without making her feel as though she’d gone to any special effort. She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass and nodded. It would do.

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