Page 53 of The Rake's Daughter
Clarissa groaned. “Lord Salcott is going to kill us.”
Izzy gathered up the stack of invitations and packed them into a box. “Perhaps, but by then it’ll be too late. Matteo said he’ll get these delivered for us.”
“Isn’t he wonderful?” Clarissa shot her a troubled glance. “Don’t you think we ought to warn him that Lord Salcott doesn’t know a thing about it?”
“No,” Izzy said. “We might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, and besides, if Matteo doesn’t know the truth, Lord Salcott can hardly blame him for being tricked. He will have been tricked, too.”
“What are you girls up to?” A voice came from the doorway of the summerhouse. Izzy suppressed a sigh. MissMillicent Harrington, local busybody and general irritation, entered and surveyed the room in a proprietorial manner. She spied the box of letters. “What are those?”
“A secret,” Izzy said, closing the lid of the box. “You’ll find out in a day or two.” She and Clarissa had discussed it and reluctantly agreed that Milly and her mother would have to be asked.
Milly pouted and flounced into one of the comfortable chairs. “I heard you went to Astley’s Amphitheatre.”
“Yes, we did.” Clarissa said.
“Mama says it’s nothing but vulgar spectacle. Not a place for a lady.” But she sounded envious.
“Really?” Izzy said. “We enjoyed it very much, didn’t we, Clarissa?’
Milly continued, “I heard you were escorted by Lord Randall.”
“Indeed?” Izzy said in a bored voice. “You hear a lot, don’t you?”
“Yes! I don’t know how you dared—he’s a terrible rake, you know.” She sounded both scandalized and thrilled by the notion.
“Mama says so, does she?” Izzy said.
Milly completely missed the ironic tone. “Yes, Mama warned me to stay well away from him, to give him no encouragement whatsoever.” She glanced from Izzy to Clarissa and added, “Mama knows these things, being second cousin to a duke.”
Clarissa compressed her lips and said nothing. Izzy yawned in an ostentatious manner.
“I’ve seen Lord Randall at a distance and he’s terribly good-looking,” Milly said after a moment. “So what was he like? Did he tell you any warm stories? Make improper suggestions?”
Izzy was about to give the silly creature a sharp set-down when she had a better idea. “He did tell one very warm story, didn’t he, Clarissa?”
Clarissa gave her a puzzled look. Lord Randall hadn’t told any scandalous tales. Izzy winked at her.
Milly leaned forward avidly. “Oooh, do tell.”
“It was about his travels in Italy,” Izzy said.
Milly’s eyes brightened. “Mama says foreigners are frightfully immoral. So what happened?”
“Well,” Izzy said, “he told us a story about when he visited Naples. He climbed up this mountain that overlooks the city and the bay. It’s an amazing spectacle, apparently.”
“Yes, but whathappened?” Milly repeated.
“Well”—Izzy leaned forward and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner—“this mountain was a volcano, and it smoked constantly, and he went right to the edge of the crater and looked into the red-hot, violently bubbling core. Sparks and spurts of flame, smoke and frightful smells boiled up, and it was so hot and terrifying and glorious that several spectators fainted!” Izzy finished and sat back with a smile.
Milly stared at her. “Is that it? I thought you said he told you a warm story.”
“But it was,” Izzy said seriously. “That volcano is more than just warm—it was frightfully, fearfully hot.”
Milly regarded her doubtfully, not quite sure what to think.
“Milly, Lord Randall has been a perfect gentleman at all times,” Clarissa said firmly. “And you and your mother have no business spreading gossip about him. Now please leave. Izzy and I have much to talk about and we wish to be private.”
Milly blinked. “Well!” she said. “Well! If that’s how you feel!”
