Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) by Lucinda Brant

rolling her eyes heavenward, causing Deb to laugh. “We missed you at cards this afternoon, my dear. I hope it wasn’t on account of Thistlewaite’s win on Wednesday last?”
    Deb shook her head and leaned toward the Marchioness so as not to be overheard, their bare shoulders touching and Deb’s fan up to hide her words. “If Gerry comes to hear of it, poor Mary will carry the burden of my lost guineas. He actually sent her to keep an eye on me. As if he doesn’t get a surfeit of gossip from Saunders already.”
    Lady Cleveland’s eyes bulged. “Your butler spies for your brother?”
    Deb nodded.
    “Good God! That’s monstrous. Get rid of him at once!”
    “For Gerry to set another in his place? No, I thank you. The thing is, Saunders doesn’t know that I know what he’s up to. And he is good at his job.”
    “How did you learn of his treachery?” asked the Marchioness, her fan waving in agitated movements across her bejeweled ample bosom; all interest in her surroundings momentarily forgotten. “You didn’t catch him spying through a keyhole or-or scribbling notes on his cuff? Horrid man.”
    “Nothing quite so exciting. Joseph always suspected Saunders was less than loyal. I hate to think what methods he employed but he found a sheet of paper, part of a letter addressed to my brother. Joseph says it was a discarded copy. Somehow I don’t believe him.”
    “Who cares where or how he got it. He did. But why must you be spied upon?”
    Deb lowered her fan and shrugged. “All that comes to mind is that Gerry’s life is so dull that reading Saunders’ accounts of my paltry existence in Bath is an improvement on his own. Poor Mary.”
    “P-poor M-Mary indeed!” blustered Lady Cleveland, her double chins bouncing with laughter. “Don’t the gal amuse him?”
    “Can one amuse the dead, my lady?”
    This sent the old lady into such whoops of laughter that several heads turned in her direction. That Deb Cavendish sat between Lady Cleveland and General Waverley surprised no one. That she was the cause of the old Marchioness’s coughing fit was taken for granted. Wherever Deb Cavendish was there was sure to be some scene or other. She never disappointed the disapprovers.
    “I said it would be Deb Cavendish,” breathed Mrs. Dawkins-Smythe. “I said, if there is a disturbance trust her to be at the center of it. Sitting up there with the likes of Harriet Cleveland, who should be at home in bed at her age. Flaunting those diamonds. Do you think they are real, Sarah?”
    “Harriet Cleveland wear paste?” exclaimed Lady Reigate, craning her squat neck to better view Deb Cavendish. “The woman is merchant born and bred. She knows the value of a good investment. And she made certain her third and last husband had a title into the bargain. Vulgar creature.” She turned away, annoyed at herself for staring too long at Deb Cavendish’s flawless complexion.
    Mrs. Dawkins-Smythe saw the envy and smiled smugly. “She is lovely, isn’t she?” And to twist the knife further, “Is it a wonder Mr. Thesiger seeks her out? She always dresses splendidly, to the envy of us all. That sapphire blue gown is divine and shows off her statuesque figure to perfection.”
    “Vulgar!”
    Mrs. Dawkins-Smythe smiled sweetly. “Not a match for your two beauties, to be sure, Sarah. But no one can deny Deb is a diamond of the first—”
    “Flawed! Remember her flight to France, to her brother’s sickbed so it was put about. But it is generally acknowledged that she attempted to elope with a musician. A musician . No wonder she remains unmarried. No parent wants a bolter for a daughter-in-law,” retorted Lady Reigate and presented her friend with a view of her profile, her daughter Sophia having completed the minuet with Mr. Thesiger. She expected him to ask Rachel for the final minuet and was all smiles as he deposited Sophia into her care once again. But he did not ask Rachel. Nor did he hover to make light conversation. He