A Compromised Lady by Elizabeth Rolls

How naughty of you to hide away here with Mr Blakehurst. And how delightful to see you after all these years! Do you know, I quite thought you must have retired to a convent.’ A slender woman stood in the doorway, several feathers nodding in her dark, elaborately coiffed hair. ‘I couldn’t believe it when they said you were here,’
    she continued, ‘and then I saw you vanishing out of the door! Am I interrupting?’ She stepped into the room, leaving the door open. ‘Are you about to box his ears?’
    Richard recognised the fashionably dressed young matron. Lady Fox-Heaton’s famous smile beamed as she came across the room, holding out her hands to Thea in unaffected pleasure.
    Hesitantly Thea placed her own in them and stood up. ‘Diana—how well you look.’ She smiled. ‘You are married, of course?’

    Diana Fox-Heaton flushed slightly. ‘Yes. Had you not heard?’
    At Thea’s denial, Lady Fox-Heaton looked troubled. ‘Oh, well, I…I married Francis—Francis Fox-Heaton.’ She sighed. ‘You will remember him, of course—he was friendly with poor Mr Lallerton.’
    To Richard it seemed that Thea’s expression froze.
    ‘You married Sir Francis Fox-Heaton?’ she said carefully.
    Lady Fox-Heaton’s smile glimmered. ‘Oh, yes. And I know what you are thinking! How did I come to marry a mere baronet? We were all going to marry earls at the very least, were we not? But Sir Francis is an MP now! Such consequence!’
    Richard repressed a snort. It was rumoured that Diana had outraged her family by dismissing a marquis to marry Fox-Heaton. A love match if ever there was one.
    ‘How lovely for you,’ said Thea. But Richard could not rid himself of the impression that she thought it anything but lovely.
    ‘Yes,’ said Diana cheerfully. ‘It is. But for now, we had better get you back to the party. If I saw you leave, you may be sure others did, and I must say—there are some very odd stories circulating anyway.’ She gave Richard a severe look. ‘I should have thought, Mr Blakehurst, that you had more sense than this.’
    Richard choked.
    ‘Odd stories?’ Thea’s query sounded casual. Too casual, thought Richard. Were she not wearing gloves, he’d swear her knuckles would be showing white.
    ‘Very odd,’ said Diana. ‘I’ll explain later.’

    Returning to the party, Richard was hailed by a small group headed by the Marquis of Callington, wanting his opinion on the value of the late King’s library, recently presented to the nation by his Majesty. More than happy to promote his belief that the value of the library was immense, he joined them, but discovered to his disgust that part of his mind remained focused on Thea. His gaze kept straying to where she stood with Diana Fox-Heaton and a number of other young matrons, and several men whom usually he considered good enough fellows, but whom right now he would have cheerfully flung through a window. Men who were far too wary to hang around most matrimonially inclined young girls and their mamas—but who might nevertheless be interested in a woman with an independent fortune…
    ‘Well, the last thing we want is a repeat of the tragedy that you say befell the Cotton manuscripts, Ricky,’ said Callington.
    Richard dragged his mind back to agree with Callington’s conclusion that it was of the first importance to ensure that the late King’s library was well protected from fire or any other calamity.
    He breathed a sigh of relief to see that David Winslow had joined the little group about Thea. If Winslow was ready to carve slices out of his hide, then he was well able to re-educate the thinking of any other overly libidinous suitors.

Chapter Four
    B y the end of the evening, Thea felt as though she had been boiled up in a copper with the sheets. She was exhausted, limp, by the time Almeria summoned the carriage to return to Grosvenor Square. But she had survived. She had renewed her acquaintance with a number of women who had been brought out