with the curious but dispassionate expression that was as much liveliness as heâd yet seen in her.
âMiss Brotherton,â he said, taking her hand and not kissing it, merely bowing. He knew how to treat a lady with respect. âI spoke to Mrs. Townsend about offering my escort to Almackâs on Wednesday.â
âOh,â she replied. âAre we going to Almackâs? I had no idea.â
The poor young lady had no notion of good ton and needed to be guided. Also, it wasnât the kind of place he could imagine Denford attending, duke or not. And, of course, not Oliver Bream. Penniless artistsâhe felt certain Bream was not one of the rich Sir Joshua Reynolds breed of painterâdid not attend exclusive assemblies of the haut ton. âI shall come with my carriage at nine, if that suits.â
Miss Brotherton looked at her cousin, who nodded. âNine oâclock Wednesday,â he repeated before taking most punctilious leave of all, whether they deserved it or not. He, at least, knew how to behave.
Chapter 3
A couple of hours later, four painters were enjoying the rapidly dwindling contents of Robertâs wine cellar and arguing about art and the common man, one of their favorite subjects. Since Caroâs round dining table had been chosen to encourage group conversation, Cynthia and Anne were able to follow the debate, to the pleasure of the artists, who always enjoyed an audience.
Caro turned to the Duke of Denford. She was a little concerned about his attentions to the countess. Not that she wasnât fond of the duke, who had been until very recently Julian Fortescue, one of Robert Townsendâs oldest friends. Caro had nothing against Cynthiaâs having a little flirtation, since her husband was abroad on an extended diplomatic mission. Windermere had behaved badly, very badly. In Caroâs estimation, he deserved little consideration. But Julian was a strong draft for a young lady who had, until lately, lived all her life in the country. Caro didnât trust him one inch.
It was a shame Oliver had recovered from his passion for Cynthia so quickly. He was a gentle soul and would never place her in a situation she was too unworldly to manage. He was, in fact, the perfect candidate for a fledgling career as a flirt. Caro intended that Windermere, when he returned, would find a very different wife from the naïve girl heâd callously wed and abandoned.
âDid you come here today to see Cynthia?â she asked.
Denford knew just what she was up to. âPlaying the mother hen, Caro?â he asked.
âCynthiaâs naught but a chick, and you are a big bad fox.â
He leaned in, his mouth inches from her ear. âI could be persuaded to turn my wicked attentions elsewhere. Remind me again why Iâve never seduced you.â
A great many women found Julian irresistible, but sheâd never been one of them. âPerhaps because neither of us was interested.â
âI donât think that can be the reason. Iâm always interested.â
âUntil a year ago, I was married to your close friend.â
âNo, I donât think thatâs it.â
Caro rolled her eyes.
âYou deserved better than you had from Robert,â he said, no longer teasing.
âI wonât hear a word against him,â she protested.
âYou never will,â he replied.
âI was happy with him. I loved him.â Doubtless Julian, who regarded her with the keen observation he accorded everything, especially a picture he wanted to buy, had noticed that she didnât say Robert loved her. It wouldnât have been a lie. Robert had loved her, almost until the end. By the end, heâd loved nothing except the shake of the dice, the turn of the next card.
âTime to move on,â Julian said. âYou should look for another husband, or at least a lover.â
He was right. If nothing else, a husband might save her from