Page 25 of A Stroke of Luck (Intrepid Heroines #4)

Eleven

W as he making a big mistake?

Prestwick could not help but wonder whether for once his great aunt had the right of it. Slanting a sideways glance at Zara’s face, he saw that her chin was only a hair’s breath away from the defiant angle that boded trouble.

Not that he blamed her for feeling on edge.

In entering into Polite Society, the Admiral of the Amazons was finding herself in strange waters, with no charts or compass for guidance.

The dangers, both above and below the surface, would be tricky to navigate, even for a seasoned sailor.

So perhaps he had been wrong to force her in such a direction.

She had, after all, made it clear that she would prefer to steer well clear of the ton.

And him.

Yet for the sake of her brothers, if not for herself, that was not a wise course, he assured himself. So despite her incipient scowl, he felt he had done the right thing. Now, if only he could manage to head off any violent collisions …

“Ah, Prestwick.” The Marquess of Ellesmore extended a hand in greeting. “I must say, I was surprised to hear you were rusticating in the country. Not at all your usual style.”

“Family matters made a visit imperative,” he murmured, trying to keep an eye on Zara as he went through the expected niceties.

“Yes, yes, one must be a stickler about keeping such things in order.” The other man gave an approving nod. “But of course, I need not remind the Distinguished Duke of that. It is clear from your own unimpeachable behavior and lofty standards that you value order and propriety above all else.”

Good Lord, was he that much of a stick in the mud? wondered the duke, trying to keep his brow from crinkling in consternation.

“Yes, never a hair out of place with you, eh, Your Grace?”

Prestwick found his fingers itching to scrabble his neatly combed locks into disarray. “I have been known to cut up a bit wild on occasion,” he said somewhat defensively.

“Nonsense.” Ellesmore gave a hearty chuckle. “Don’t know a more steady, sensible fellow than you. Buttoned up on all accounts, I should say.”

His impeccably tailored waistcoat, fitted by no less than the great Weston himself, suddenly seemed a bit too constricting.

“Come, I believe my dear Catherine is looking daggers at me for keeping you so long from the rest of the company.”

The marquess’s daughter was not the only one whose gaze had a sharp edge to it, noted Prestwick. He needed no further urging from his host to hasten over to where Lady Catherine was introducing Zara to several of the other guests.

“ … traveling, you say?” The duke just caught the tail end of Lord Haverton’s words as he smiled politely. “I admire your fortitude, Miss Greeley, in standing up to the rigors and mud of foreign roads. I have to admit that I find the journey here from London exhausting enough.”

Prestwick steeled himself for an explosion of sarcasm, but the young lady did not fire off her guns.

“Miss Greeley has visited Italy and Greece,” chimed in Lady Catherine. “I have made her promise to tell us all about her adventures.”

A slight shudder passed down Prestwick’s spine.

Nodding a quick greeting to the others, he jumped in to keep the conversation from veering off in a dangerous direction.

“Miss Greeley is quite a student of Italian art.” Painting and drawing certainly seemed a safe enough subject for drawing room conversation.

He could only hope that the young lady would follow his lead.

“Then you must have found Rome and Florence absolutely fascinating,” remarked the Viscount Abbingford, who had recently returned from a tour abroad.

“Fascinating,” repeated Zara. The muted response was the first word she had uttered since passing through the front door.

Abbingford smiled. “There is a portrait by Da Vinci …”

Prestwick slowly let out his breath as a discussion began on the Renaissance masters, congratulating himself on having weathered the first rocky shoals without mishap.

The angle of Zara’s chin was not quite so acute as earlier, and when Abbingford finished with his opinion, she replied with considerably more enthusiasm than before.

Her comments contained nothing more provocative than an interesting insight into the artist’s technique, and the duke relaxed enough to take a sip of his champagne.

“And then, of course there is the sculpture of Michelangelo,“ added Abbingford, clearly enthused by the subject. “Such power and?—”

A warning cough cut him off. “I doubt the ladies are familiar with his works,” said Lord Haverton dryly. “They are, after all, perhaps a tad too powerful for female sensibilities.”

The young man looked rather embarrassed. “Er, right?—”

“Not at all,” said Zara. “Indeed, I find them some of the more intriguing creations of the Quattrocento. Take, for instance, the statue of David. It embodies a masterful aura of masculine strength and determination.”

“I, too, appreciate art. So I cannot help but wonder why Mama has forbidden me to look at the book of engravings on Michelangelo’s work,” began Miss Littleton in an uncertain voice.

“However,” continued Zara before the young lady could venture any further questions. “It does have one flaw—it is not anatomically correct.”

The marquess nearly choked on his sherry, while Haverton paled and Abbingford turned a vivid shade of crimson.

“The proportions are all wrong.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as Lady Catherine and the other two young ladies looked on uncomprehendingly.

“I—I don’t understand,” said Miss Littleton, her mouth scrunched in a moue of confusion.

“I should hope not,” sputtered the marquess.

“Artistic license, Miss Greeley,” murmured the duke quickly, trying to ensure that she did not elaborate on her observation.

“Uh, speaking of Florentine masters, Abbingford, did you have a chance to view the frescos of Masaccio at Brancaccio Chapel. He is recognized as the first artist to employ perspective in his paintings …”

To his relief, Zara let drop the subject of nude men.

After exchanging a few more general comments on foreign art, the talk turned to topics closer to home, and then the group slowly drifted apart to mingle with the other guests.

Seeing that Zara was left adrift in the middle of the room, Prestwick stepped forward and offered his arm.

“Come with me. I should like to introduce you to Lord Barton and his sister,” he said quietly.

His gaze strayed to the far end of the room, where a rather tall gentleman with receding ginger hair and a stout lady clearly past the first bloom of youth were conversing before the blazing hearth.

“Why?” Her voice came out as a pinched whisper. “So that I may sink myself into further disgrace?”

“No. Because you may find them both interesting and?—”

“Prestwick, I am sure Miss Greeley does not wish to hang on your sleeve the entire evening. Come greet your other friends while your cousin introduces his relative to the rest of the guests.” Lady Catherine had suddenly appeared to take his other arm, and though her tone was light, there was no mistaking the implied rebuke.

With a graceful little flourish of her wrist, she caught Harold’s eye and summoned him over. “Be an angel, and see that Miss Greeley is made known to everyone present.”

Harold gave an unctuous grin. “It would be my pleasure, though I am sure the young lady has already accomplished that feat on her own.”

The duke had little choice but to relinquish Zara to his cousin, despite the fact that the other man’s veiled sarcasm boded no good. As she turned and moved away in stiff-gaited silence, he could only keep his fingers crossed that their rubbing together did not set off any further sparks.

Such a hope quickly went up in smoke.

“How very … odd.” Lady Haverstock’s voice, even more shrill than usual, caused several heads to turn.

Prestwick could almost see reddish highlights in Zara’s hair grow more fiery, but she appeared to be keeping her temper in check.

“You traveled all that way alone?” persisted the dowager countess. “Without a proper chaperone?”

“Not alone. My two brothers were with me.”

The answer seemed to mollify Lady Haverstock.

That is, until Harold chose that moment to clear his throat and, with an air of innocence, add further explanation.

“Yes, and the care of two children must have made the journey even more harrowing.” Seeing he had the attention of the lady and her friends, he went on.

“How you managed to avoid any number of compromising situations along the way is, I imagine, a tribute to your strong spirit.”

One of the other matrons frowned and gave a shake of her turbaned head. “Highly irregular.”

“Spirit in a gel?” Lady Haverstock regarded Zara through the lens of her lorgnette. “Not at all the thing. But I suppose that since you mean to reside with Hermione?—”

“Oh, that has not been decided.” While outwardly innocuous, there was no doubt that Harold’s words could be interpreted as a questioning on the part of Zara’s own family as to her reputation.

The dowager’s squint became more pronounced.

“That arrangement is merely temporary,” agreed Zara coolly. “Indeed, my brothers and I are quite capable of looking out for ourselves.”

Such a bold statement caused another rustling of silk and round of murmurs.

Drat the chit! The duke’s lips thinned. Why couldn’t she simply ignore Harold’s sly goadings and leave well enough alone? He knew, however, that she was not one to retreat in the face of hostile fire.

“Prestwick.” Flashing a winsome smile to soften the reproach, Lady Catherine gave his arm a light tap. “I fear you have not been attending to a word I have said.”

“Forgive me.” It was really not his concern if Miss Greeley chose to sink herself in the eyes of the ton, he told himself. Yet try as he might to concentrate on Lady Catherine’s recital of the latest ondits from Town, his attention kept drifting back to the other conversation.