His Christmas Pleasure by Cathy Maxwell

morals.”
    “Yes, high,” Jonesy echoed. “Although every woman in this room has heard bits about him, and from what we’ve heard, we’d like to know what he said that caused you, the most sensible of all creatures, Abigail, to put him in his place.”
    And then she would duly report it to the rest of the family. Abby adored her aunt but was wise to her ways. Jonesy’s loyalties often switched.
    Her mother came to her rescue. “Please,” she said, raising a hand and letting it waver in the air, as if she’d suddenly been overcome. “The evening was a trial for us all. We do not wish to remember it, do we, Abigail?”
    “Um, no,” Abby said, still uncertain what she did want to do.
    “It was traumatic,” her mother continued. “The whole evening. We are so glad it is over.”
    The women listened to her mother intently. They now turned to Abby, who felt a bit silly once again echoing her mother’s words. “Over,” she said. “It’s over.”
    “But what was he like?” The question came from Lady Gilbertson.
    “The barón? I don’t know him,” Abby said. “Honest, I don’t.”
    “Well, I’ve heard the most incredible things about him,” Lady Edgars chimed in.
    “Really, dear?” Jonesy said, drawing out the words. “Do tell.”
    Lady Edgars cast a look in the direction of Lady Gilbertson’s daughters.
    “Posh, don’t mind them,” Lady Gilbertson said. “Tell us what you’ve heard.”
    Her daughters nodded agreement, their eyes alive with anticipation.
    Abby thought of the man she’d met in the library. Had sensed his privateness. “Really, this isn’t the place,” she protested, uncertain if she wanted to hear this gossip or not.
    “Of course it’s the place,” Jonesy overrode her. From a distance, the doorbell rang again. More guests.
    More gossip.

    Abby decided the best tactic was to leave. She rose, holding the now empty teapot. “Excuse me, I’ll ask the maid to fetch more.”
    She started toward the door, but she came to a stop when Lady Edgars said,
    “I’ve heard why Lady Dobbins was so angry with him last night.”
    Abby turned and faced the others. They weren’t paying attention to her.
    “I thought he was trying to untangle himself from her,” Jonesy said.
    “Yes, he is, but she doesn’t want to be untangled.”
    “I understand that,” Jonesy replied. “What I want to know is why is she so upset? The woman has"—she made a loud ahem in place of a word—"with half the male population of London. What is so special about this one?”
    Abby had to leave. She wasn’t certain she wanted to hear this—except she did. A bit. Just a little.
    “Lady Dobbins may have lovers, but she’s only"—Lady Edgars made a loud ahem just as Jonesy had—“once with him,” she ended triumphantly, knowing this was gossip few had heard. “She lets on as if it has been more often, but I was in a dressing room at Madame Giselle’s being fitted for the dress I need to wear next month to my cousin’s presentation and I overheard Lady Dobbins talking about him to someone in the next room.”
    “Who was she talking to?” Lady Gilbertson asked.
    “I don’t know,” Lady Edgars said.
    “Tell them the part that is so unbelievable,” Lady Mortimer urged, excitement bubbling to the surface.
    “Yes, tell us,” both Jonesy and Lady Gilbertson encouraged, speaking the same thought aloud.
    “Well,” Lady Edgars started, obviously enjoying being the center of attention, “she said that he made—ahem—to her no less than six times that night. Six. One night.” She held up her fingers to demonstrate the numbers so there could be no mistaking her.

    Lady Gilbertson made a shrill, strangled noise—not because her daughters were listening but because she was impressed.
    “Six times?” Jonesy said. “No man can—ahem—six times in one night.”
    “That’s what her friend in the dressing room said,” Lady Edgars reported,
    “and Lady Dobbins said he ‘drove her to madness’