"At least," Freyja said, "I have given everyone enough to talk about and write home about for a month or more. The letters will all be book-length, I daresay."
"Oh, don't!" Charlotte rocked back in her chair.
"The Pump Room is going to seem deadly dull forever after," Freyja said, "even to those who have never realized that it always is. They will all be looking to me for an encore. I will be famous."
Charlotte giggled.
"Actually," Freyja admitted, "I would have loved nothing better, Charlotte, than to have punched the Marquess of Hallmere in the nose again for leading me into that trap. But I really thought I had better not. Perhaps he will offer me some provocation to do it tomorrow."
She looked at her friend with a frown for a few moments before her lips twitched at the corners and she first chuckled and then laughed aloud.
He was a worthy foe. She must admit that much about him.
Lady Holt-Barron left her room sometime after noon, looking pale and martyred, though she smiled cheerfully and assured her daughter and Freyja that she was quite rested and had only the smallest of headaches remaining. She did not believe she would go out calling on anyone during the afternoon, though, and she did not advise the younger ladies to go out walking. She rather fancied it was going to rain, and they would both catch chills if they were caught out in it.
She looked sharply at Freyja for a moment.
"My dear Lady Freyja," she asked, "what on earth were you doing alone in Sydney Gardens yesterday? Why did you not wait for Charlotte to accompany you? Or why did you not at least take your maid with you?"
"I felt like air and exercise, ma'am," Freyja told her. "And I am far too old for chaperones."
Lady Holt-Barron looked somewhat shocked, but she did not pursue the matter. Freyja rather suspected that her hostess was a little afraid of her.
"Perhaps," Freyja continued, "you would be happier if I left Bath, ma'am. I can see that I embarrassed you this morning." And that was doubtless a massive understatement, she thought. She had embarrassed even herself, and she did not embarrass easily.
"Oh, no, Freyja," Charlotte cried.
"It is a generous offer," her hostess replied. "But I will not accept it, Lady Freyja. Within a few days the unfortunate incident will have been forgotten, I daresay. Tomorrow morning we will put a brave face on it and make our usual appearance in the Pump Room. Perhaps the Marquess of Hallmere will be tactful enough to remain at home."
"I am certainly not afraid to face him," Freyja said. "And of one thing I am quite convinced. He was about to steal a kiss from that serving girl. I would like to hear him deny that."
"Oh, my dear Lady Freyja," Lady Holt-Barron said, her voice faint with anxiety again, "I beg you not to confront him with any such accusation."
She jumped with alarm at the sound of the door knocker coming up from below, and she stood up to do a hasty hand-check of her dress and hair.
"I do hope this is not a caller," she said. "I really do not feel up to entertaining today. I expected all our acquaintance to leave us in peace until tomorrow."
As if her behavior this morning had plunged them all into quarantine, Freyja thought.
But a caller it must be. The housekeeper scratched on the door and handed her mistress a calling card.
"Gracious me!" Lady Holt-Barron exclaimed after reading the name on it. "The Marquess of Hallmere! And he is waiting below, Mrs. Tucker?"
"Waiting to see if you are at home, ma'am," the housekeeper explained.
Now what was he up to? Freyja wondered, her eyes narrowing.
Lady Holt-Barron glanced nervously at her. "Are we at home?"
"Oh, absolutely." Freyja raised her eyebrows. She was not going to hide from anyone, least of all him.
"Show his lordship up, Mrs. Tucker," Lady Holt-Barron said.
It was plain to see as soon as he set foot in the room that the Marquess of Hallmere patronized the famous Weston as a tailor. So did Wulfric and Freyja's other brothers. The marquess showed to distinct advantage in a green superfine coat that was so close-fitting that it looked as if he must have been poured into it and in gray pantaloons that clung to every impressive curve and muscle of his long legs. His linen was snowy white, his Hessian boots so shiny that he might have used them as twin mirrors if he looked down. His hat, gloves, and cane must have been left below.
Clearly the man had come here intending to impress them. And he did look impressive, Freyja was forced to admit. Even his teeth were perfect, just crooked enough to be interesting, but very white.
Lady Holt-Barron was obviously impressed too. She fluttered, a tendency she had when in the presence of someone of superior rank. She was also simpering, an unfortunate reaction to the sight of a handsome man. Charlotte was also impressed. She blushed.
Freyja crossed one leg over the other in a posture that a string of governesses during her growing years had told her was inelegant and unladylike, swung her free foot, raised her chin, and stared haughtily.
"I thank you, ma'am, for admitting me when I was not expected," he said, addressing himself to Lady Holt-Barron.
She fluttered and simpered more than ever and assured him that he was most welcome. She offered him a chair and he seated himself.
Just don't apologize for me, Freyja urged her hostess silently. And if he expected any apology from her he might wait until hell froze over.
"I will not take much of your time, ma'am," he said, still addressing Lady Holt-Barron. "I have come with an invitation from my grandmother for you and Miss Holt-Barron and Lady Freyja Bedwyn to join a small party for dinner tomorrow evening. We both consider it desirable to dispel any lingering fear anyone may be harboring that there is lasting animosity between Lady Freyja and myself over our, ah, slight misunderstanding this morning."
Freyja bared her teeth.
"I am sure there can be no such thought in anyone's mind, my lord," Lady Holt-Barron assured him. She was even batting her eyelids, though it was probably a nervous reaction rather than a flirtatious one, Freyja conceded.
"I feel no animosity," he said, finally turning his head and looking with wide, guileless eyes at Freyja. "I trust you do not, Lady Freyja?"
"No, why should I?" she said with studied nonchalance. "You gave a satisfactory explanation for what I observed in the park-for most of what I observed."
For a moment she saw laughter in the depths of his eyes and knew that he understood her meaning perfectly well. He had certainly been about to kiss that girl. But this afternoon he was playing the part of impeccably courteous gentleman and did not see fit either to grin at her or address her as sweetheart.
"I trust you will all come to Great Pulteney Street tomorrow evening, then?" he asked.
Lady Holt-Barron almost tripped all over herself in her eagerness to accept. The marquess took his leave five minutes later after they had all-with the exception of Freyja-engaged in a lively discussion of the weather.
"Lady Freyja!" Lady Holt-Barron said, clasping her hands to her bosom, her headache apparently dissipated. "I do believe all will be well after all and no shadow of scandal will be allowed to hang over your head. I even sense that the marquess is smitten by you."
Freyja snorted.
"He is gorgeously handsome," Charlotte said with a sigh.
"My love," her mother said reproachfully. "Remember Frederick."
The absent Frederick Wheatcroft, Charlotte's betrothed, was off shooting with her father and brothers.
Gorgeously handsome, indeed! Too handsome by half. And doubtless he thought now that he could charm her out of her indignation over his trickery-he had oozed charm from every pore of his body. They would see about that.
She should have let him be caught in that wardrobe like a mouse in a trap.
She should have been sure to take an inn room with all the ivy shaved off its outer walls.