Page 10 of One Night with a Prince
His perception startled her. “True. I suppose I’ll lease a cottage somewhere until Papa returns from France.”
“Ah, yes, General Lyon,” he remarked. “Still hunting the stray supporters of Napoleon, I suppose.”
She nodded, a lump filling her throat. She wasn’t really surewhere Papa was at the moment. That was the trouble. The army was cleaning up after the war, and Papa was difficult to reach. “But as soon as he returns, I’m sure he’ll retire to the country somewhere, and I’ll go with him.”
“You prefer country to town?” Lady Draker asked.
She preferred not playing a marchioness, and no one would let her dispense with that in town. “I’m more comfortable in the country, yes,” she hedged.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlLady Iversley smiled. “I certainly understand that. If not for our friends here, my husband and I would probably never leave Edenmore.”
My husband and I.As pain sliced through Christabel, she forced a smile. She and Philip had once been of a single mind, too. But he’d changed after leaving the army. He’d started inventing reasons for racing off to town. She’d been too relieved at not having to go with him to realize he was going off to gamble and drink. And apparently visit a mistress.
She’d thought he was happy with her. How could she have been so naïve?
“If you haven’t been to town in a while, you probably haven’t seen Week’s Mechanical Museum,” Lady Draker put in. “Marcus and I are leaving town for a few days later in the week, but we could take you there tomorrow—”
“Out of the question,” Mr. Byrne interrupted. “Lady Haversham and I are going for a drive tomorrow, aren’t we, lass?” When she blinked at him, he added, “And you said you’d be ordering new gowns in the morning, too.”
Yes, fashionable gowns. The sort his mistress might wear. “Of course.” She pasted a smile on her face for Lady Draker. “I’ll be busy tomorrow. I’m so sorry.”
Lady Draker glanced from Christabel to Mr. Byrne, her eyes narrowing. “No need to apologize. But if you change your mind—”
“She won’t,” Mr. Byrne put in.
The steel in his tone made Lady Draker stiffen. She glanced pointedly at the clock, then cast Mr. Byrne a smooth smile. “I believe it’s time for the gentlemen to have their port and cigars.” She rose with a polished grace that Christabel envied. “Come, ladies, let’s retire to the drawing room and leave the men to their fun.”
When Christabel hesitated, unsure how she’d fit in with these two ladies she barely knew, Mr. Byrne leaned over to whisper, “Don’t worry—you’ll be fine. Didn’t you say your pistol is in the drawing room?”
Casting him a glare, she left with the other ladies. But as she followed them up the stairs, her stomach began to roil. How would she ever complete her mission successfully when the mere idea of making polite conversation with the elegant Lady Draker and the well-spoken Lady Iversley made her sick with apprehension?
It would be far worse at Lord Stokely’s estate. She could easily guess the sort of female who would be there: sophisticated ladies of rank who could effortlessly entertain twenty people at dinner, then dress themselves in the height of fashion to meet their lovers in the boudoir the next morning. Christabel didn’t evenhave a boudoir, unless you could count her modest dressing room littered with her failed attempts at needlework and souvenirs from her travels. And although she could load a rifle as well as any guardsman, fashion a field dressing out of an old petticoat and some twine, and tell a naughty joke about a harem in Turkey, she knew nothing about entertaining guests of the lofty sort. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t so important for a mistress. And the naughty joke might even beGenerated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlacceptable. She sighed. The trouble was, she didn’t knowwhat was acceptable. As they entered the refined drawing room that well suited the fashionable Lady Draker and Lady Iversley, Christabel searched for something appropriately refined to say. She didn’t get the chance. As soon as they sat down, Lady Draker turned to her, eyes alight. “Lady Haversham, you simply must tell us what’s going on. My husband is being surprisingly close-mouthed.”
“So is mine,” Lady Iversley put in. “What in the dickens were you and Byrne discussing so privately earlier this evening?”
“I can’t tell you,” Christabel said bluntly, taken off guard by the sudden feminine assault. “It’s a matter of strictest secrecy.”
“Involving you and Byrne,” Lady Draker prodded.
“Yes.” She smoothed her features, straightened her spine, and folded her hands in her lap as she’d seen haughty ladies do. “That’s all I have to say.”
“He’s helping you with an estate matter?” Lady Iversley probed. “Or is this about the debt your husband owed to him?”
Dear Lord, they weren’t the least put off by her attempt at a marchioness’s manner. And they seemed very inquisitive ladies. Perhaps if she told themsomething, they’d let her be. “My husband paid his debt to Mr. Byrne before he died. All I can tell you is that Mr. Byrne and I are engaged in a rather delicate…business transaction. But I really can’t say one word more about it.”
“Business transaction?” Lady Draker looked skeptical. “When he’s undressing you with his eyes, taking you for drives, and discussing aphrodisiacs?”
“Aphrodisiacs?”
“Foods to increase one’s appetite for lovemaking,” Lady Iversley explained.
“Oh,” Christabel muttered, hot color suffusing her cheeks.
“All of which is rather more intimate than one usually gets with business associates,” Lady Draker continued.
Christabel scowled. “I still can’t discuss my connection with Mr. Byrne.”
Lady Iversley leaned over to take her hand. “I’m sorry, I know we must seem rather…er…”
