"Excuse me,my lady, there is another gentleman here to see Mrs. Waddley," said Loudon.
By his tone and abject expression, it was clear this third caller no more met with his approval than the previous two had. Cecilia laid her needlework in her lap and exchanged long-suffering sighs with her Aunt Jessamine.
"Who is it?" Lady Meriton asked, resigned.
He rocked back on his heels, every inch the superior butler. "He identifies himself as the Honorable Mr. Reginald Rippy," he said, his eyes cast toward the ceiling, his hands behind his back.
Cecilia suppressed a giggle. "Do you doubt him, Loudon?"
"No, Madame. Though, if I may be so bold, I will say it would serve the gentleman properly if I did. He has come without cards," he pronounced in dire accents.
"Manners are not what they once were, Loudon," said Lady Meriton, her lips twisted against laughter.
"No, my lady, indeed they are not."
'Well, we can't allow our manners to lack merely because another's have. Show him up. This time we shall dispense with the cakes. I could not touch another morsel."
Loudon bowed, as satisfied an expression on his face as his hang-dog countenance would allow.
"Poor Loudon, he is unused to climbing stairs this often," mused Lady Meriton.
"He could allow one of the footmen."
Lady Meriton laughed. "I don't think he would. I believe to him it would be another breach of etiquette. He fears all society to be on the brink of destruction. It is the Fall of Rome again. Nonetheless, he will see to it that he does his small part to forestall the inevitable."
Cecilia laughed and picked up her needlepoint canvas. She'd been attempting to finish the chair cover that day; however, the endless stream of visitors had rendered a quick completion doubtful.
She made a lovely picture, seated on the rose sofa bathed in bright light. Sunlight sparkled in her pale hair, and her almost translucent skin was luminous. There was an ethereal quality about her. Mr. Rippy, following behind Loudon, was stunned.
"That I could write verse like that fellow Byron, I would pen one to you," he said gravely, pausing just inside the door. He was resplendent in yellow pantaloons, shaded lavender waistcoat, and bottle-green coat.
"What a very pretty thing to say, Mr. Rippy," said Cecilia.
Mr. Rippy blushed, scuffed his feet on the carpet, and murmured his thanks. "Always wanted to say something like that," he confided ingeniously. "Never saw the opportunity until I saw you sitting there in the sunlight."
She laughed and Lady Meriton, striving to appear busy with her embroidery, pursed her lips against a smile.
"Whatever the reason, please come in. You are the first to get me to laugh today, and I do so enjoy laughter. It makes one forget—if only for a time—all of one's problems, big and small."
Mr. Rippy brightened at her words and came over in his curiously rolling gait to sit by her on the sofa. "Yes, well, to do that is important, right?"
"I think so."
"Good, good. Mrs. Waddley, may I escort you to the Waymond's ball tomorrow night?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Rippy, but Sir Harry has been before you and claimed that privilege."
Mr. Rippy laughed. "Trust Harry not to be behindhand, as it were! Devilish sort, he is—merry as a grig. I won't be outdone, however. Would you consider accompanying me in a turnabout Hyde Park?"
She looked apologetic though laughter threatened. "Lord Havelock has claimed that honor."
"Dash it! How's a fellow to stand in good stead if his friends keep cuttin' him out?" He frowned and fidgeted a moment. "Mrs. Waddley, may I speak privately with you?"
Cecilia's eyebrows rose in surprise, her lips curved upward in humor. "I believe Lady Meriton may be persuaded to give us a moment."
"What? Oh, you desire private conversation? Just as well. I must get on with my framing and matting," Lady Meriton said, hurriedly rolling her embroidery into a ball and shoving it into her workbasket. "I may trust you alone with Cecilia? Oh yes, silly me. It's not like she's new on the town, is it? I'll just retire to my studio," she said, pushing her glasses up on her nose and rising from the chair. "Now don't tarry overlong," she warned good-naturedly before she left.
Mr. Rippy grabbed Cecilia's hand in a vise grip. Startled, she attempted to pull it free, only to give it up after observing the earnest expression on his young face.
