The Heart's Companion - By Holly Newman Page 0,35

were only stopping here on your way through to Brighton. That you had some other commitments there."

"Well, yes—"

"Brighton?" boomed out Mr. Burry.

"Burry," interrupted Lady Serena.

He laughed jovially, ignoring Lady Serena. "Oh, no Miss Grantley. You must have misunderstood. Penwick Park’s not on the road to Brighton."

"Burry!" hissed Lady Serena, tugging at his arm.

"What? Oh, ah, I see the right of it now, you sly puss. You were too embarrassed to admit to family feeling." He patted her arm. "I know it's unfashionable these days to care for one’s relations, but I never held with these newfangled notions," he assured her, thrusting out his lower lip and shaking his head. "Modern manners aren’t what they used to be. Fashions neither. Damme if I don’t miss my old peruke."

Millicent threw him a look of abject dislike. She looked toward her mother and shook her head. Jane and Lady Elsbeth exchanged knowing glances.

Then Jeremy was at the door announcing the arrival of the Ponsbys and the Culpeppers.

Jane wondered if Mr. Culpepper would display any signs of embarrassment for the scene he enacted six days before. Wryly she acknowledged she should have known better. Mr. Culpepper strode into the room as if they were always on the best of terms. The first words out of his mouth implied that Jane and Lady Elsbeth often turned to him for advice and help. He was not allowed to hold the company’s attention for long. Maria Culpepper elbowed her father aside. She unfurled her fan and held it in her left hand at an angle that made sure anyone who looked at her could not fail to note the fine diamond and ruby engagement ring she wore.

Dutifully Jane and Lady Elsbeth complimented her on her ring, then Lady Elsbeth turned her attention to shy Sarah Ponsby and her aunt, Mrs. Sawbridge, while Jane gently contrived to turn young David Ponsby’s obvious and effusive attention away from her. Sir Latimer Ponsby, a widower with some fifty years in his dish, turned his attention toward Lady Serena Tipton, much to the evident dismay of Mr. Burry. Mr. and Mrs. Culpepper stood in a corner quietly arguing. Quite surprisingly, no one paid the least attention to Millicent. The dark-haired beauty pretended an interest in the room’s paintings while she fumed silently, her lips pursed in rigid anger. Thus was her attitude moments later when the parlor doors opened again to admit the Earl of Royce.

Jane, straining against the impulse to snap at young Mr. Ponsby for his refusal to be hinted away, felt a sudden relief at the sight of the tall, dark figure. Impulsively she held out her hand to him.

"Lord Royce!"

Instantly the earl was at her side bowing over her hand and placing a light kiss on her fingertips. "Your servant, Miss Grantley. "

In awestruck confusion, Mr. Ponsby stepped away. Jane rose to her feet, her hand resting lightly on the earl’s arm. "Allow me to introduce you around. This is my aunt, Lady Tipton; Mr. Burry; and my cousin, Mrs. Hedgeworth."

Royce acknowledged the introductions gravely but did not immediately desert Jane’s side, a circumstance to further sour Millicent’s expression. Instead, he drew her aside.

"My friend and Reverend Chitterdean will be in shortly. To my great surprise they have discovered mutual acquaintances and are involved with comparing names and notes." He shook his head. "I swear you’ll never meet a more unlikely pair to share friends."

Jane laughed at the consternation in his expression. It made the Devil’s Disciple appear almost human. Little did she realize what her own laughter did for her.

Lord Royce enjoyed the way her soft green eyes sparkled when she laughed, and how the roses in her cheeks bloomed. Seeing her warm and happy, he wondered how she ever came to be the Ice Witch, for it obviously wasn’t her natural manner. He liked to see her relax and shed that false mien.

"By the way, Miss Grantley, I’m afraid I’ve done something you may cut up stiff over," he said slowly, scratching the side of his chin with one long, well-manicured finger. His expression was part apologetic, part amused.

"I fear, my lord, you’ve been too much in my nephews’ company. You’re adopting their weaseling manners," she said with a laugh, for his was just the expression Bertram was likely to give her when he’d cut a lark. She sobered, giving him her best aunt expression. "Well, out with it. As I tell them, it is best to come clean before it catches up with them