‘I hear you run some sort of inn.’
‘My brother is half-owner of the Challenge Coaching Company, your Grace. It operates from the Mermaid Inn in High Holborn.’
‘Hmm. What’s this I hear about horse dealing?’ Definitely a throwback to an age where good manners were considered a weakness.
‘My Uncle George breeds the horses for the company, your Grace. He also manages the two farms the family owns. They are very extensive and situated near Aylesbury.’
‘Your family owns land?’
Time to bite back. Bree raised one eyebrow in elegant surprise. ‘But of course, your Grace. Our father was one of the Buckinghamshire Mallorys—Sir Augustus is a cousin.’ The baronet was a fourth cousin once removed and she’d never met him, but he was suitable for these purposes.
‘Indeed.’ Her Grace’s nose was slightly out of joint, Bree could see. The prejudice she had formed could not be sustained, which was always uncomfortable. Time to move on—it would not be politic to rub it in. The Dowager turned her attention to the next person in the receiving line. ‘Lady Bracknell, it must be an age since we met …’
Bree swept another curtsy, thankful, for once, for her mama’s insistence on deportment lessons. Piers was close at her side. ‘Phew, what an old dragon!’
‘And we slew her nicely,’ Bree murmured. ‘Now, time to do the pretty to everyone else.’
Lady Sophia was pale, beautiful in a way that had Piers gazing with dropped jaw until Bree dug him in the ribs and painfully correct. ‘Miss Mallory, Mr Mallory. I am so pleased to meet you.’
‘And we are delighted to meet you,’ Bree rejoined warmly, meaning it. Surely this lovely creature would make James more human? ‘I wish you every happiness.’
Freed from the principals, they were still faced with a formidable line. The Duke, the Duchess, Viscount Lansdowne, all waited to be greeted. Bree liked Sophia’s brother on sight. He was languid, elegantly handsome and had a twinkle in his green eyes that had her dimpling back. It occurred to her, with startling suddenness, that he was exactly the sort of man she had believed was her model of excellence. Until she had met one large domineering gentleman with brown eyes, a stubborn jaw and strong, gentle hands.
‘Run the gauntlet, Miss Mallory?’ the viscount enquired softly.
‘I am afraid the family skeletons were not up to scratch, my lord,’ she rejoined demurely, wondering what possessed her to be so bold. ‘We scarcely rattled at all.’
‘Good. Grandmama deserves the occasional set-down. Will you save me a dance, Miss Mallory?’
‘I would be delighted, my lord.’
‘You are going it!’ Piers observed as they emerged, with some relief, from the end of the receiving line. ‘Dancing with a viscount, indeed.’
‘Why not?’ Bree demanded. ‘I have been having driving demonstrations from an earl, after all.’ She glanced around the big reception room. ‘You should go and find yourself a pretty heiress to flirt with.’
Piers, predictably, went pink to his hairline, but strolled off, heading for a group of young men around the fireplace at one end of the long room.
For an unchaperoned single woman, things were more awkward. She assumed a confident smile and drifted towards a group of gossiping young matrons.
Her silken skirts swished reassuringly as she moved, reminding her that, in this department at least, she had nothing to fear. Sea-foam green silk trimmed with tiny gilt acorns and fine gilt ribbon clung in elegant simplicity. Her hair, braided and curled by a master, was dressed into a style where the intricacies of plait and twist were all the ornament it needed, and, to complete her air of confidence, Mama’s thin gold chains and aquamarine ear bobs provided a refined hint of luxury.
Bree rarely had the opportunity, or wish, to dress up, but when she did, she found a totally feminine delight in it. In fact, after the events of a few days ago, shedding every trace of the booted, overcoat-clad stagecoach driver was a pleasure to be revelled in.
As she came up to the group, a young woman stepped back, squarely on Bree’s foot. ‘I am so sorry! How wretchedly careless of me. Are you all right?’
She was black haired, lovely and vivacious and her wide, apologetic smile had Bree smiling back, despite her sore toes. Then she realised who this lady must be: the likeness was unmistakeable. ‘Excuse me, but are you related to Lady Sophia?’
‘But, yes, she is my baby sister, and Avery is my big brother.’ Her new friend linked a hand confidingly through Bree’s elbow. ‘I am Georgy—Lady Georgiana Lucas, if you want to be stuffy. So now you’ll have met all of us except Augustus and Maria, and they are still in the schoolroom.’
Slightly dazed by the flow of information, Bree allowed herself to be steered to a sofa. ‘I couldn’t bear another minute of Henrietta Ford’s account of her last confinement,’ Lady Lucas continued. ‘It’s bad enough having babies oneself, without someone going through all the details endlessly, don’t you think?’
Georgy stopped, her head on one side, waiting for a response. ‘I’m not married,’ Bree explained. ‘So people don’t talk about that sort of thing in front of me.’
‘Aren’t you? Good heavens! You look married.’ Bree must have appeared puzzled, for Lady Georgiana went off in a peel of laughter. ‘You know—confident, poised. Not at all like someone just out.’
‘Well, I’m an old maid, so that accounts for it.’
That provoked more mirth. ‘I don’t believe you—and I’ll wager next month’s allowance that Avery has already asked you for a dance. He always asks the prettiest girls. I just wish he’d marry one. Would you like to marry him? He’s very nice and badly in need of a wife to make him settle down.’
‘He seems charming, but I am quite ineligible for such a match.’ Despite the shocking frankness of Lady Georgiana’s conversation, Bree couldn’t help liking her. Whatever did she make of dear James?
‘Why?’ Georgy demanded.
‘My father was a farmer. My brother and uncle own a stagecoach company,’ Bree confessed.
‘Oh!’ Georgy laughed delightedly. ‘I know who you are—you are the black sheep!’
‘I believe so. I am Bree Mallory, and that’s my brother over there, the tall blond youth on the right of the fireplace. I think, to be accurate, we are the skeletons in James’s cupboard. Our mother married the second time for love, you see.’
‘Then you will be my sister-in-law. We will be the greatest friends. What fun I will have matchmaking,’ Georgy announced. ‘Admittedly, a country squire and a stagecoach company is just a teensiest bit of a handicap if you want an eldest son at the very top end of the aristocracy, but I’m sure I can find you a nice baron, or the second son of a viscount. In fact, I’ve got just the man in mind. Are you poor? I hope you don’t mind my asking, only that does make a difference.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Bree said frankly, half-fascinated, half-appalled by this frankness. ‘I’m very comfortably off, I’m happy to say.’ And she was. She had money in her own right from her parents, Piers and Uncle George insisted she take a fair share of the company profits and she managed her money with care. A top-flight coiffeur and a fashionable evening ensemble had not caused her a moment’s financial worry. ‘But I am not—truly—in search of a husband. I’m not at all sure I could give up my independence now.’
‘It will have to be a love match then. I do not despair.’ Georgy got to her feet in a flurry of