Wicked and Wonderful by Valerie King

Banwell and Miss Upton; both lately of Bath.”
    The young women were pretty enough in their way but on no account the beauty he had been promised. They offered their curtsies at which time Laurence was introduced.
    Kelthorne glanced at the doorway. He could hear voices beyond. A young man appeared, tall, lean with curly black hair, brown eyes and a quite good-natured expression.
    Radsbury continued, “Mr. Emborough, allow me to present Lord Kelthorne.”
    He bowed properly. “How do you do, m’lord?”
    “Quite well, thank you.”
    Radsbury continued the introductions. “And this is Mr. Doulting.”
    “And how do you do, sir?”
    “Exceedingly well,” Laurence responded, then lowered his voice. “Only tell me, is Miss Currivard a beauty, indeed?”
    He pressed a hand to his chest and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Venus incarnate.”
    “Well, then.” Laurence clapped his hands together. Kelthorne laughed at his friend for he was being ridiculous.
    A lovely feminine voice could be heard just beyond the doorway. “Are you certain you are all right, Mr. Newnott? Indeed, I am sure you are not.”
    And so Miss Currivard appeared on the threshold, supporting Amy's husband by the arm. He was limping badly.
    “Good God, Sylvester,” Amy said. “What happened this time?”
    “I am sorry, dearest, but I twisted my foot on the bottom step. I can hardly put my weight on it.”
    She shook her head in some disgust. “Well, do come sit down and elevate it. Aubrey, would you fetch a footstool?”
    “Of course.”
    Miss Currivard guided Mr. Newnott to the chair at which Amy now stood like a sentinel. Kelthorne sought a footstool but had to cross to the library in order to find one. By the time he returned, Mr. Newnott was sitting but still in apparent pain. “Shall I fetch the doctor, Newnott?”
    “No, no,” he said bitterly. “I am sure it is only a sprain. But why do these things, as absurd as they are, always happen to me? I should like to know. Do I bring them down on my own head? All I did was offer Miss Currivard my arm then I missed my step and now I am persuaded the deuced thing is swelling. The devil take it!”
    From the corner of his eye, Kelthorne saw that Miss Currivard, a beauty indeed, had crossed to the decanter of sherry and was pouring a glass. How singular.
    “Mind your words, Mr. Newnott,” Mary murmured. “The ladies will not like to hear you speak in such a manner.”
    Miss Currivard retraced her steps and intervened quickly, offering a glass of sherry. “Will this do, Mr. Newnott?”
    “Dear God, yes,” he said. “What a darling you are. Heaven sent. Heaven sent.” He took the proffered drink and swallowed it at once.
    “Shall I fetch another?” she asked, an amused smile on her lips.
    “Yes, my dear. Thank you. Thank you.”
    Miss Currivard went readily about the business. For the first time, Kelthorne was at liberty to look at her. He liked the amused expression in her eyes. She certainly did not take Mr. Newnott seriously but he rather thought her conduct both admirable and kind. He also liked that without the smallest ceremony or begging of permission she poured out his sherry. He found he liked her.
    The rest of what had been said about her proved very true. She was a great beauty, indeed, with thick golden curls and a pair of large, almost mesmerizing green eyes. There was a look of intelligence about her as well and he believed he saw in her the qualities that had made her forebears successful merchants.
    She is perfect, he thought—beautiful, discerning, kind, and wealthy. Did any gentleman require more?
    Judith Lovington came sharply to mind and a war began in his heart. Judith was beautiful, even more so than the exquisite Miss Currivard. She had the voice of an entire choir of angels mingled into one, resonant tone. Kissing her had been like holding the moon in his hand. She had inspired in him the hunt, as he had never been inspired before, even to the use of great