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This young woman nearly ran over me with her motorcar last week, and then had the gall to swear at me like a drunken miner.”
    Caught off guard, Mattie tried to cover her embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, my lord—”
    Allington gasped and gave a sharp laugh. “Damn. She has caught civility and a proper accent. When I last saw you, Miss Bright, you spoke as if you belonged in a Wild West show.” He grinned at the suitors. “I assure you she made me blush with her rough speech.”
    “Geoffrey,” the duchess ground out. “That will be enough. You’ve embarrassed Miss Bright and her friends.”
    “She deserves to be embarrassed,” Allington retorted. “She nearly killed me and my horse, and then she blamed me for her actions in language that would get me chucked out of a music hall.”
    Crimson with fury and shame, Mattie glanced around to find that more and more heads were turning their way. With a stiff expression, the duchess turned her back on her son and announced that it was time to unveil her portrait. Everyone moved toward the end of the gallery where the painting stood. Allington gave Mattie a derisive glance and followed his mother.
    “I say,” Blinksdale said in a shocked tone. He eyed Mattie.
    The Marquis of Eckleshire harrumphed and offered his arm to Mattie. “Not a gentleman, whatever his birth. I’m sure your accent is charming, Miss Bright.”
    “I—I have no idea what he could mean,” Mattie said as she walked toward the portrait on the arm of the marquis. “I’ve never encountered such ghastly behavior.”
    “The bloke needs thrashing,” Lord Herne said.
    The marquis shook his head. “He’d grind you into pepper, old man.”
    “Please, gentlemen,” Mattie said. “I’ve no wish to discuss this subject further.”
    Blinksdale bent over her hand. “Of course not, Miss Bright. Anyone who knows you understands that you’re a young lady of delicacy and refinement.”
    Beside the portrait the duke was giving a speech. It was short, not surprising given his almost complete lack of interest in the topic, and he soon swept the velvet cover from the painting. There was a burst of applause, not just out of politeness but for the waySargent had captured the duchess’s nobility of carriage and her air of snowy detachment. the artist himself was in France, but the duchess was more than happy to receive everyone’s compliments in his place.
    It was all Mattie could do to keep her composure. She had to preserve her dignity. Papa would be ashamed if he had witnessed that scene with Allington. Mama would hear of it and have a conniption fit. Mattie put a gloved hand to her cheek. It was still hot.
    That horrible man had exposed her most grievous faults to the very people she had to impress with her refinement if she was to succeed. She disliked herself intensely for her shortcomings. Having them repeated in public was almost more than she could stand. Thank God no one believed him.
    Narcissa appeared at her side. “Mattie, what happened?”
    “That fella I told you about,” Mattie whispered as she joined in the applause that came after the duchess finished speaking. “That Cheyne Tennant. Turns out he’s really the younger son of the Bracewells, damn his hide. He doesn’t go by his full name or his title. Just now he called me a harpy in front of everyone, including the duchess.”
    The crowd was breaking up now. Narcissa pulled her away and headed for the lady’s retiring room. As they went, Mattie felt the stares of the guests. She tried not to look at them for fear of seeing Allington again. When they reached the retiring room, she flounced down on an ottoman and groaned.
    “Papa would be so ashamed.”
    “Who cares for Allington anyway?” Narcissa said. “He’s only a younger son.”
    “With a nasty way of making me look like a flea on an angel’s wing.”
    Narcissa sank to her knees in front of Mattie. “Then you make him look like a bigger flea. Remember what you did to