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jars, pots, and brushes.  Then, like an artist, he applied powders to Melvyrn’s face and soot about his eyes.  Next, he loosely retied the Earl’s pristine cravat into a limp knot.  Finally, using pomade, he flattened his lordship’s springy dark brown locks.  Finally, Bailey announced Melvyrn fit for the drawing room provided, he cautioned, “You walk slower, maybe even slouch a bit.  Might even drool out of the corner of your mouth, milord, for effect, you know.”
    Except for the last idea, Melvyrn was amenable to his valet’s suggestions.  Thus, his belated entrance to the drawing room lacked his usual confident stride.  Striking a languid pose just inside the door, he drawled, “Dear ladies, allow me to present myself.  I am Martin Carlyle, Earl of Melvyrn.”  His bow was adequate but delivered very slowly, and he ignored the older woman’s proffered hand.  Instead, he indicated the ladies retake their seats.
    “Lady Althea Chadlington, Lord Melvyrn,” replied the heavyset matron dressed in a voluminous red gown. A matching turban trimmed in gold cord hid a good bit of her gray-peppered hair.  “And this is my daughter, the Honorable Sylvia Chadlington.”
    A young woman with blond curls spilling out from under a chip straw bonnet, tied with a large pink bow under her chin, sat next to her mother on the settee.  With china blue eyes, she regarded him as her cherry red lips smiled invitingly.  Her faultless face was accented with delicately arched brows.  Yet despite the differences between mother and daughter, Melvyrn spotted resemblances in the sharply pointed noses and the shape of their faces.  Miss Chadlington’s oval perfection had puffed out on her mother, resembling a bloated moon.  The younger woman wore an azure blue spencer over a matching striped gown with a revealing low cut neckline.  To his discerning eye, Melvyrn found the young lady’s assets most pleasing if a trifle overdone.  But his drooping eyelids quickly veiled any interest sparked in his gray eyes as he haltingly made his way over to a chair next to the ladies.
    “You must forgive my tardiness, Lady Chadlington, but I have been unwell.”
    “Say no more, my lord.  Word travels quickly when one is in the country, and so we must be the ones to beg your forgiveness for such an intrusion.  We heard you were ill and, ordinarily, would never dream of imposing on you.  It was just that we feared one of the horses might go lame if we did not stop and tend to the shoe immediately.
    “Right you are, and I’m told my head groom is personally handling it.  An excellent man , Grimsley.  You should be on your way within minutes.”
    Unfortunately, t his information did not illicit the enthusiastic reply Melvyrn had hoped for from either lady.  In fact, daughter looked to mother, who touched a gloved hand to her turbaned head and said, “Yes, of course, my lord, and while we wait, might I trouble you for a spot of tea.  We’ve been shopping all day in Dover, and I am quite famished.  Do you know, Sylvia dear, I do believe this will cause us to miss our dinner.”
    “Indeed, Mama,” Sylvia Chadlington replied on cue, as she trained her china blue eyes on Melvyrn.  “Papa insists on keeping country hours and must eat the same time every day.”
    Bailey’s prediction was spot on, mused Melvyrn, who used his hand to hide his guffaw, which sounded like a strangled cough.  “Then you ladies must share my repast.  You understand, of course, that on such short notice my cook hasn’t prepared a proper meal.”
    “Nonsense, my lord,” piped up Lady Chadlington, obviously pleased at how things were turning out.  “Whatever you have will be fine with Sylvia and myself.  It is so kind of you to offer.  We were running late anyway, and this delay will make us that much later.  And there is nothing worst than an overcooked meal, as I’m sure you will agree?”
    “Absolutely,” Melvyrn concurred, just as Hixon.