A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance by Hilary Gilman

me.’
    ‘What—what’s that?’ Parry opened his
eyes and tried to appear as if he had been awake the whole time.
    A little smile played about Zanthe’s
mouth, and her eyes sparkled. ‘I’ve just had the most brilliant idea! Tell me,
is he well-born? I mean, is he received?’
    ‘Who—oh, you mean Duke Carlyle. Well,
not by the high-sticklers, but generally, yes. The ladies like him. Very
charming fellow.’
    ‘Jarvis says he’s an ugly customer.’
    ‘Come to that, a lot of people say the
same thing about him.’
    She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s just what I was
thinking. Parry, why don’t you ask Sir Marmaduke to call? I should like to further
our acquaintance.’
    ‘Ask him to call? Why should I? I mean,
what reason could I give?’
    ‘You will tell him you wish to apologise
for keeping him waiting for his thousand pounds. It is only polite, after all.’
    He gave her a straight look. ‘What’s
going on in that yellow noodle of yours, Zan?’
    She laughed. ‘You don’t need to know
that, brother dear. Just do as I ask.’
    He shrugged and then winced as the
movement jolted his wound. ‘Very well. I suppose you know what you’re about.’
    ‘I do.’
    As Parry was now well enough to be moved
to his own bedchamber and left occasionally to the tender mercies of his valet,
Zanthe resumed her post as Susanna’s chaperone, which she had delegated to her
sister-in-law in the interim. Susanna confided that she was glad to have her
young mentor returned to her.
    ‘For, although Miss Brookenby is very
amiable and did her best, we spent rather a lot of time with the Cholmondeleys.
And they are so very earnest about everything. Everything gloomy, that is.’
    Zanthe laughed. ‘Poor Susanna; I agree
with you about Miss Cholmondeley, but I have sometimes suspected that Mr
Cholmondeley has a sense of humour, if only someone would encourage him to
display it.’
    They were walking arm-in-arm along
Milsom Street, intent, in light of the much warmer weather, on the purchase of a
new bonnet for Susanna. At that moment, they stopped, as one, in front of a
milliner’s establishment, which displayed a ravishing chip-straw confection
with a low crown and upturned poke, trimmed with large pink silk roses and frivolous
bows of ribbon.
    ‘Should you like to try it on?’ asked
Zanthe, smiling.
    Susanna shook her head. ‘It is lovely,
but really, I am not the pink rose type. Now you would look enchanting
in it.’
    ‘Yes, but we came out to look for a hat
for you.’
    ‘Well, there is no law against buying
two hats, is there? While you are trying on that one, I shall see how that
gypsy bonnet in the corner of the window becomes me.’ She pointed at a
flat-crowned, wide-brimmed plain leghorn hat with broad, white satin ribbons that
passed from the crown over the brim and which were tied in a bow, rather
daringly, at the back of the neck. Zanthe could not but admit that she was
perfectly right. The plain, elegant straw was much more suited to the classic
style of Susanna’s beauty. They entered the shop, much to the delight of the little
proprietress, who had been watching their discussions anxiously through the
plate-glass window. When they departed, each carried a pink-striped bandbox and
was in the highest spirits. As they made their way through the genteel crowds,
they became aware of a slight stirring of interest among the pedestrians and
looked up to see the Signora’s eye-catching equipage advancing down the street
towards them. Lounging carelessly against the cushions of the barouche by her
side, with his cravat all askew, his coat unbuttoned, and his long legs
stretched out so that his feet, crossed at the ankles, rested upon the seat
opposite was Lord Launceston.
    As the carriage drove by, the prima
donna superbly ignored her lovely daughter while bestowing the slightest of
bows upon Zanthe. The Viscount merely scowled at his own boots and thrust his
thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. Zanthe, a smile quivering