Page 10 of Lady, Behave
“A portrait of his great-great-grandmother. The first Countess of Stonegage.”
Of this young woman, Heath had heard. She’d been a beauty, a blonde with large blue eyes and a fulsome figure, the daughter of a landed baron who attracted the attentions of none other than the randy King of England, Henry Tudor, the eighth ruler of that name. She had returned the affections of the king, married though she was. It was even passed down as gospel, father to son in the family, that she was the first to establish the Whitmore trait of licentiousness.
His mother gazed into the dark fireplace, trying as she always did to hide her distaste for her husband’s family follies. “The portrait used to hang in Stonegage Priory until thirty-five years ago.”
A year after his parents’ marriage then. Heath had a few ideas how the painting had trotted off to Ireland. All of them involved money, or rather, its lack. “At which time, it migrated to the Dublin house of the Earl of Barry. Why?”
“Your father was required to pay a debt.”
“A large one.”
She nodded. “Barry paid the fine and fee.”
“Is this portrait worth a lot of money now?”
“Indeed, it is.” She lifted her gaze to his.
“The painter? Who was it, Mama?”
“Holbein.”
Suddenly his father was a connoisseur of Renaissance art?
He stifled the urge to laugh.
There was more to this than family pride or covetousness. Whatever the cause, that was his father’s problem.
Heath could not give a fig.
*
No. 20 Charles Street
Brighton
Afloat with theattentions of the Marquess of Heath on her first evening into society, Addy sailed up the stairs to the dressing room she shared with her two sisters. Imogen and Laurel ran behind her. Cousin Cass had remained at the ball deeper into the night and urged the young women to return home earlier than she to recuperate for their first “at home” tomorrow.
“We were a triumph!” Addy rejoiced as she swept open the door for Laurel and Imogen.
“You were,” Laurel declared with a sigh of resignation. “And Imogen, too.”
“You could be, too,” Addy replied. Laurel had not been her cheery self since a gentleman she adored had turned his favor toward a young woman his parents demanded he wed. Soon after, their grandfather had died, and the three girls had sunken into grief for the kindly fellow. “A smile costs so little and brings such rewards.”
Imogen shook her head at Addy. She had failed lately to urge Laurel from her brown study, so Imogen had given up.
Addy was nothing if not persistent. “Remember, Laurel. We are here. We are lovely. Rich. And we are virgins. Or as close to it as possible.” She cast a teasing glance at Imogen.
“We are!” Imogen shot both palms in the air, alarmed. “We are! I am! I keep telling you!”
“I believe you, dearest,” Addy replied and patted her hand.
Imogen huffed. “I tell you, I am whole! Intact! But I must get out of this darned corset!”
Fifi rushed forward to undo Imogen’s gown.
She stood still as the maid worked her laces. “Argh! Listen to me, both of you. I am whole. Really! That fellow Wye who accosted me in that garden in Dublin didnotruin me! Not then. Not tonight either. He was there. Did you see him?”
Addy said, “I did, and I worried.”
