The Dowager's Daughter by Mona Prevel

might be the first human ever to achieve immortality.”
    Her fears allayed by their wicked humor, Althea relaxed, and as soon as their presence was announced, she raised her chin and glided into the room with all the regal dignity she could muster, her mother by her side, resolutely keeping pace.
    The marquis and his grandson escorted them as far as the ladies promenading in their direction, then, with a few pleasantries and brief bows, scurried to join the other gendtlemen.
    A few minutes later, the arrival of a Mrs. Howard and her daughter Mavis was announced. Mrs. Howard was a fine-looking woman of an uncertain age, well endowed in the bosom with hair a suspiciously bright shade of red. By her appearance, it would seem that her daughter was well entrenched into a life of spinsterhood.
    “Who are they?” Althea asked.
    “Mrs. Howard is a colonel’s widow,” Celeste replied.
    “How sad. Lost his life in this dreadful war, did he?”
    Celeste nodded. “At Trafalgar.”
    Althea knitted her brow. “But I have never encountered the lady before.”
    “I should not wonder. But now that His Highness has singled the Howards out with special attention, I suspect you will see them everywhere.”
    Althea put Mavis Howard under close scrutiny. “I say. She is hardly the sort of female for whom I thought His Highness would harbor a tendre.”
    Her mother raised a brow. “And never would,” she whispered. “It is the mother who has captured his interest”
    Althea’s eyes grew wide. “But she must be several years older than the prince.”
    “Really, child, how can you have reached your fourth Season in Society and not know that our prince has a weakness for matrons?”
    Althea gasped. “Surely not”
    “Do not look so shocked. I suspect that of late, his attachments are more platonic in nature. A little motherly sympathy along with his brandy must be very soothing.”
    Before Althea could answer, she was surprised to hear George Delville’s name being announced. She wondered how someone of George’s lack of consequence had managed to be numbered among the very cream of the ton.
    It did not take her long to find out. After a searching glance down the corridor, George made a beeline towards Althea and her mother, whereupon he made a deep bow to the older Lady Camberly with an accompanying effusive greeting before turning his attention to Althea.
    His jaw immediately dropped.
    “I say! Do forgive me. I did not recognize you for the moment.”
    Althea gave him a cold stare. “Really, Mr. Delville? How odd.”
    “I meant nothing untoward, your ladyship,” he responded, echoing her formal manner of address. “It’s just that you look so dashed beautiful and I was not paying close attention. It is quite understandable, I am sure.”
    Althea dismissed him with a brief nod and turned her attention to her mother. George hovered about, looking absolutely miserable. Realizing that he was too intimidated to join the lofty ranks of the other gendtlemen, Althea took pity on him and accorded him a brief smile.
    George snapped up the offered crumb like a starving puppy. “I say. I did so enjoy your ball last spring. It was the crush of the Season, don’t you know?”
    Without taking a breath, he plunged headlong into a topic so beloved by any right-minded person in possession of even the slightest drop of English blood. “By the way, this has been a glorious day for so early in June. Would you not agree?”
    Althea leaned forward and whispered, “For goodness’ sake, calm down, George. These people do not bite—at least, not in the literal sense, and I doubt they will subject you to any unpleasantness.’’
    George looked crestfallen. “No, I suppose not. I lack the consequence to even be noticed. I wish the Prince of Wales had not invited me. These intimate little affairs are far more difficult to handle than a crush.”
    “Cheer up,” Althea soothed. “Having the good will of Prinny should give you enormous cachet.