Wandering into the back room again, she realized her sister was cleaning up for the day.
“Do not worry,” Beatrice said. “I’ll see what comes. Tell me more about Lady Madeleine, while I scrub these pots.”
“If I must. She had on a gown of the palest shade of blue—”
“Thus, cold and unappealing?” Beatrice asked mischievously.
“More like angelic and breathtaking. Her hair was styled as a golden crown of braids. She had extraordinarily blue eyes, the palest skin, and a lovely shade of pink to her lips—”
“Artifice and make up,” Beatrice interrupted.
Ignoring her, Amity added, “She had a soft voice. I didn’t hear her speak too much, to tell you the truth, so I couldn’t tell you if she was intelligent, but the Duke of Pelham hung upon her every word. As he should,” she added quickly.
Beatrice arched a brow at her. “Why do you say that?”
Amity shrugged. “No reason.”
But her middle sister was like a hound at the hunt. “Tell me. Something has happened. I can read it on your face. Come on, you’re dying to.”
It was true. She was desperate to tell someone, preferably her thoughtful sister, and get her opinion.
“All right, I’ll tell you. The Duke of Pelham kissed me.”
Chapter Eleven
As soon as Henry toldWaverly, he regretted it. His friend promised discretion, but still, a woman’s reputation was at stake as well as his own future happiness. Waverly raised a knowing eyebrow but looked sympathetic.
“You are not the first to be tempted by the charms of a warm and willing ordinary female. They are right there in our midst, after all, and so readily available, infinitely more so than our titled ladies who must keep their lips and legs firmly closed until after the wedding.”
Henry frowned at his friend, sipped his brandy, and tried to discern any truth from his rambling palaver. He couldn’t credit any advice that termed Amity asordinary. Moreover, as with a titled lady, she had as much cause to keep her lips and legs closed. Why should any of them assume middle-class women mustn’t guard their reputations as fiercely as Lady Madeleine or Henry’s own sister?
“Balderdash,” Henry said finally. “Miss Rare-Foure deserves the exact same courtesy as any titled lady, and she cannot be any freer with her person if she wishes to gain a husband. Besides, she already has a man in mind for that position.”
“Then why did she let you kiss her?” Waverly began. “I’ll tell you why. Because as with every single female around any man whom they think is eligible, your Miss Rare-Foure thought one kiss and you would be hooked like a trout upon her line. That is the sole reason ladies let us kiss them at the balls and parties, no matter how secretly and hastily we must do it in a darkened corner of a damp, miserable garden.”
Waverly sounded a little bitter. Henry wondered who’d soured his cream, but his friend wasn’t finished espousing his theory.
