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her with Adam’s stallion.’

      ‘And you have discussed it with him? Give me strength, Decima—ladies do not talk about horse breeding with gentlemen.’ He came and sat down at the other end of the sofa and regarded her with exasperated affection.

      ‘I discuss it with you.’

      ‘I am the nearest thing you’ve got to a brother and I have given up being shocked by you. At least, I believed I had,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Feel better now?’

      ‘Not really. Losing one’s temper is horrid, isn’t it?’

      Henry appeared to take this as rhetorical. ‘Tell me about this Miss Channing, then—you might as well get all the misery over in one go.’

      ‘She’s tiny,’ Decima said, trying not to sound jealous and resentful. ‘Really petite with little hands and feet. And she has blonde hair and blue eyes and a rosebud mouth and skin like cream and she is well behaved and gentle and shy with beautiful deportment—perfect, in fact.’

      ‘Strewth.’ Henry looked stunned. ‘She sounds amazing. What’s the family like?’

      ‘Oh, very well-bred—cousins of the Brothertons. The only thing against her is the fact that I believe they haven’t a penny to rub together. A lack of a reasonable dowry is probably Olivia’s only handicap.’

      ‘And looking like that, it probably doesn’t make much difference,’ Henry observed with an unusual lack of tact.

      Whereas the size of my dowry doesn’t make the slightest difference to my lack of attraction, Decima thought bitterly.

      ‘What do you want to do?’ Henry asked. ‘Go home?’

      Two months ago that was exactly what she would have done, Decima realised. Fled and taken her wounds home to lick in privacy. Well, she was a new Decima now and she was not running away from anyone, not even herself.

      ‘Run away? No, I shall stay here and do exactly what I said I would do—enjoy the London Season without any pressure to be a success or do anything I do not want to do. I hope to be useful to your mama, spend far too much on clothes, go with you to galleries and show off Spindrift in the parks. And with any luck, Pru and Bates can meet and resolve things between them without Adam Grantham needing to know anything more about it.’

      ‘Good for you.’ Henry held out a hand to help her to her feet. ‘Sounds an excellent programme.’ She must have looked less confident than she had tried to sound, for he grinned, lifted a hand and chucked her under the chin. ‘Chin up, Decima, let’s give polite society something to talk about.’

      The first thing she needed to do, Decima realised with a grimace as she went up to her room, was to call on Lady Brotherton. She had lived in the household for so many Seasons it was only polite to visit as soon as possible. No doubt she would hear all about Olivia’s wonderful good fortune from her, but then, it was likely to be much talked about in any case. She had better simply get used to it.

      ‘Oh, Adam,’ she sighed, sitting down on the window seat and propping her chin on her hand to gaze out at the street. She was a fool, she told herself. What on earth had she hoped for from him? Certainly not marriage, which was the only acceptable way in which she could become more than a casual acquaintance. She’d hoped for nothing, she realised.

      Before she had come up to London she had just been thinking about him in a romantic haze as an unobtainable figure of fantasy. He was the man who had awakened all her latent sensuality, had given her the astonishing gift of realising that she was not the freakishly plain girl she had been brought up to believe she was. And as a result she had fallen head over heels.

      Or had she? Decima bit her lip in thought. She had been almost instantly attracted to Adam physically, she had liked his sense of humour and his down-to-earth practicality and she had found him so very easy to talk to. Perhaps there was more to her feelings than some sort of pathetic gratitude that a handsome man had paid her attention. She was certainly in love with him. Nothing else, surely, could hurt quite so much? And hurt with a deep longing, not to avoid the source of the pain, but to expose herself to it, over and over again, for ever.

      But did it matter whether her feelings were reality or fantasy? Adam could never be hers whatever she thought about it. Presumably other people learned to live with broken hearts—how hard could it be? She caught herself up with a wry smile. She had last thought that about cooking and she hadn’t proved any use at that at all. In fact, Adam had proved to be a much more effective cook than she.

      After luncheon she would visit Lady Brotherton, combining duty with the desire to swallow the nasty medicine as soon as possible. Then she could just get on with the rest of her life. Her new, wonderful, independent life, she reminded herself firmly.

      Lady Brotherton’s amazement as she greeted Decima should have given her much quiet satisfaction, if only she had not been feeling in such low spirits.

      ‘My dear Dessy! My goodness, you look so…so…’ She blinked, obviously struggling to find a word that was not completely at odds with every preconception she had ever had about her guest. It proved impossible. ‘Elegant,’ she finally conceded, somewhat breathlessly.

      ‘Thank you, Lady Brotherton,’ Decima said demurely. That was worth every minute she had endured with Pru fussing over her smart new hairstyle and the severe tight lacing her afternoon gown required. She caught sight of herself in the long glass over the fireplace and forced her shoulders down, making herself relax. Lady Brotherton was in no position to lecture her on posture or anything else now.

      ‘I do hope you are well, ma’am. And Lord Brotherton, and all the girls, of course. It is Sophie’s year to come out, is it not? She must be so excited.’

      ‘Yes, we are all in perfect health, thank you, Dessy. Antonia is in an interesting condition, but apart from that they are all out and about—’ Lady Brotherton broke off as the tea tray was brought in. ‘And you are staying with Lady Freshford, I believe you wrote?’

      ‘Yes, her only daughter Caroline is making her come-out.’

      ‘Only one daughter. Oh, well, not everyone can have my good fortune. But, Dessy dear, there is the most exciting news—you recall Olivia Channing, my niece?’

      Decima suddenly realised she could not claim ignorance of this news. If Olivia said something, then Lady Brotherton would immediately start speculating about what Decima had been doing with Lord Weston. ‘Indeed, yes. I met her this morning in the street, quite by chance, with Lord Weston. What a fine match to be sure, you must be delighted, ma’am, for I recall how fond you have always been of her.’

      ‘Indeed I have. Her parents have worked so hard to bring this about.’

      ‘Olivia has known Lord Weston long?’

      ‘No, their acquaintance is fairly recent. They met at a house party.’ Why Lady Brotherton was looking uncomfortable about this Decima could not guess, but her speculation was cut short by the arrival of Miss Sophie Brotherton, positively agog with gossip. At the sight of Decima her face fell comically.

      ‘Oh, I wanted to surprise Mama with the news that you had arrived,’ she complained. ‘But it is lovely to see you. How fine you look, Dessy. Mama, I have seen Olivia and she told me Dessy had arrived—and guess what, Dessy knows Lord Weston! Isn’t that wonderful?’ She turned an eager face to Decima. ‘You see, none of us know him, not really, and we want to know all about him.’

      ‘You know Lord Weston?’ Lady Brotherton turned a look on her that Decima could only think of as calculating.

      ‘Yes. Not well.’ Only as well as having stood half-naked in his dressing room while he caressed her body. But then, they had never been formally introduced, so possibly it did not count. Half afraid she was going to giggle hysterically, Decima added, ‘I was visiting Charlton and Hermione for Christmas—you recall I wrote to you from there? I met him during that trip.’

      ‘Olivia thought you had business together.’ Damn. Now what to say?

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