The Dowager's Daughter by Mona Prevel Page B

ladies to be so honored, he addressed Althea first’ ‘My dear, you have blossomed into one of Society’s beauties, I see.” This remark was followed by a twinkling smile. “Splendid. Splendid. A lovely lady is one of the Deity’s more lavish gifts to the world.”
    Feeling her face flush with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment at being singled out for such effusive praise, Althea mumbled her thanks. Immediately, she castigated herself for sounding like an idiotic pea-goose and frantically searched her mind for something intelligent to say. It was too late. The prince directed his next remark to her mother.
    “Lady Camberly. It is always a pleasure to meet you—nay, an honor.”
    This remark was made in a voice barely above a whisper. Raising his voice to a normal pitch, he went on to expound on the plans he had for extending the Pavilion; then, with a bow, he moved on to the next guests, who happened to be Mrs. Howard and her spinster daughter.
    Promptly at half past six, dinner was announced. Their host approached the highest-ranking lady in the room—on this occasion it was the Marchioness of Whitbrook—and with a bow, offered her his arm. He then escorted her in to dinner, his guests pairing up and following behind them.
    The dinner, as Althea expected, was comprised of a steady stream of courses and removes, accompanied by the appropriate wines. She took care to take only a small sampling of everything placed before her and partook of the merest sip of each wine, yet still managed to leave the table feeling horribly uncomfortable.
    Afterwards the prince, well fortified by brandy and wine, entertained his guests with anecdotes in the large, round-shaped drawing room known as the Saloon. The laughter he garnered from wickedly mimicking the voices and foibles of their mutual political enemies drowned out the strains of a string quartet emanating from an adjoining room.
    Amid the frivolity, Althea experienced subtle overtures from two of the younger gendtlemen, both of them married, one of them, to her distress, Henry Beaton, the husband of the voluble Elizabeth. This made her feel extremely uncomfortable and more than a little insulted. At first, she wondered if a too-cordial manner on her part had led the pair to believe that she was receptive to such suggestions, but a roguish wink from Mr. Beaton soon changed her mind.
    According him a freezing stare, she rose and departed the room with the intention of seeking sanctuary in the gardens. While walking along the corridor, passing several footmen in the process, she happened to catch a glimpse of her image in one of the mirrors lining the wall. For a brief moment, she did not recognize herself, having forgotten the transformation her new dress and coiffure had brought about.
    Suddenly her mother’s words made sense. It did indeed take courage to be beautiful. Along with the pleasant compliments and special deference one received, one also had to fight off the dishonorable overtures of out-and-out bounders. Althea wondered if the good outweighed the bad.
    She was still debating this point when the sound of rapid steps coming in her direction gave her cause to fear that one of her would-be seducers was hot in pursuit A backward glance proved it was George Delville. With a sigh of relief, she waited for him to catch up.
    Having done so, he looked about him and, jerking his head in the direction of a nearby footman who stood with his eyes fixed to the ceiling, said, “I think it would be prudent to move further down.”
    Althea complied, wondering at George’s need for privacy.
    George ran a finger along the edge of his cravat and cleared his throat It had always been Althea’s experience that such an act was usually a prelude to a situation she would rather avoid.
    “Well, George?” she prodded.
    To her dismay, he grabbed her hand. “Dear, dear, Althea, I must confess a love and passion for you that will not be quenched. Please tell me that my suit is not