Regency Masquerade by Vera Loy Page A

see.  She married Sir Thomas Pointon, rather late in life I believe, but she
died in that boating accident in the Channel about three or four years ago
now.  She had a younger sister I remember, there was some sort of scandal
connected with her a long time ago – I fancy she died abroad somewhere.  There
is only the mother left now to my knowledge, Lady Anna.  What is your interest
in the family, my lord?”
    “Not
me, ‘tis Peter,” he explained.  “It appears he has some connection with the
family but we are not sure exactly what.”
    Maddy
raised her eyebrows and looked at her doubtfully.  “Thank you for your help Mrs
Madden, perhaps I will call on Lady Murray when I return to London,” said
Frances, not wanting to tell her the whole story.
    “Yes,
and I can make some enquiries for you as well,” agreed Carleton.
    At
that point, the footman arrived to announce that dinner was ready.  Both of
them did full justice to the dishes prepared for them.  The food was plentiful
but fairly plain, his lordship not having gone to the trouble of bringing his
French chef with him from London.  Frances entertained him with some stories
from her life in Florence and he returned with some of the livelier anecdotes
circulating the London drawing rooms.  They opened a second bottle of claret
between them and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.  If sometimes the glances
Carleton bestowed on his companion were a little warmer than those to be
expected for such a recent acquaintance, he was not aware of it, and the
footman put it down to him being a little merry, not foxed exactly but
certainly on the go.  Eventually, the remains were cleared away and the port
brought out.
    “Shall
we play cards tonight?” invited Carleton, sitting back in his chair.
    “By
all means, as long as we play no more than a penny a point,” answered Frances.
    They
took their glasses into the study where there was a warm fire burning merrily
in the grate, and Carleton passed a pack of unopened cards across to Frances. 
She shuffled them professionally. “Whist sir?”
    Carleton
nodded.  They both played cautiously at first, taking each other’s measure. 
The luck ran with Carleton at first, but even so Frances could see that he was
a skilful player.  “I would need to keep a clear head if ever we should have a
serious game my lord!”
    He
laughed and continued to win points, “Would you like another drink? Some brandy
perhaps?”
    “No
thank you, I have had quite enough!  Could I have some coffee instead?”
    “That’s
a good idea, I could do with some myself.”
    By
the time the footman had brought the coffee and it had been drunk, Carleton had
won five shillings and Frances conceded him the winner.
    “If
you do not mind my lord, I will retire for the night. It has been a long day,”
she added.
    “Yes
indeed, I feel as if I had been burning the candle at both ends myself.” 
Carleton followed her upstairs and paused at her door.
    “Good
night Frances,” he said unthinkingly as he opened the door for her.
    “Do
not call me that my lord whatever you do,” she whispered urgently. “Someone may
overhear you and we will both be in the suds!  Just think of me as Peter,
nothing else.” 
    Carleton
looked at her, seeing her as “male” again and felt suddenly uncomfortable.  Not
only was he beginning to grow accustomed to her short curls and breeches, but
if truth be told he found them very attractive.
    “You
are right!  I will see you tomorrow, then,” He nodded curtly and moved swiftly
to his own room.
    Three
more days passed, filled with riding, long walks and interspersed with meals
and conversation.  They played cards in the evening for small sums and laughed
a lot.  Frances continued to practice her shooting when Carleton was involved
in the business of the estate and also to delve into the local history books
which she found fascinating.  Occasionally she found Mrs Madden studying her
with a curious eye and she would