Kasey Michaels - The Dangerous Debutante

She looked wonderful. She looked ridiculous. And when she winked at Morgan, just as her son had done, she seemed very aware of how bizarre she must appear.

“Welcome to Tanner’s Roost, my dear,” the dowager countess trilled. “How wonderful to have a fresh victim!”

Morgan looked to Ethan, who merely shook his head and scolded his mother. “Maman, don’t scare the girl off now that I’ve just found her.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense, Ethan. Look at that chin, that proud carriage. This one doesn’t frighten easily—do you, dear? Now go away and clean up your dirt, if you really plan to desert your poor mother and ride to London, and Miss Becket and I will have a little natter. Won’t we, Morgan—I will call you Morgan, because it’s such a lovely name. Except perhaps for Morgan Le Fay, or whatever that harridan’s name was. Ethan? You’re still standing there. Shoo!”

“He looks like any guilty son, doesn’t he?” Morgan commented as Ethan quit the room, enjoying herself again. She should have agreed to leave Becket Hall sooner, and would have, if she’d known being out and about in the world could be so very amusing. Then, waiting until the dowager countess had seated herself before sitting down beside her, she added, “Now, what is this about a new victim, my lady?”

“Druscilla, my dear. Just call me Druscilla. Everybody does. I do hope you’ll have time to meet some of my friends, although I doubt that, as Ethan warned me that you are pressed for time if you are to beat dusk to London. We’re practicing for tomorrow night’s performance—my guests and myself, that is. Not that you’ll be missing a marvelous treat by not lingering here to watch us. Poor Algernon makes for a very timid Henry, I’m afraid. Shall I tell you a secret? If Algernon had really been the king, he would have sent Anne Boleyn off to her chambers with no more than a mild scold and cold porridge for her dinner.”

The earl’s mother lifted the painted stick, pushed on a small button near the base, and the lush feathers opened into a fan, which she then began waving under her chin.

“Warm in here, isn’t it? I don’t know how the ladies of old Henry’s court stood it, I really don’t. All this heavy velvet? And you’d positively weep if you saw the ridiculous underpinnings those poor creatures were forced to endure, although I was thoroughly shocked when I realized what they didn’t wear. Perhaps a welcome breeze up under their skirts cooled them somewhat. In any case, it must have come as at least a little something of a relief when Henry chopped off their heads—took a bit of the weight off their shoulders, as it were.”

Morgan wasn’t used to being at a loss for words, but found she had nothing to say to her ladyship’s statements. So she merely smiled, fairly convinced that this strange woman was the sort who could hold conversations all by herself, if the other person just smiled or nodded in the right places.

And she was right, for Druscilla was off once more, barely taking a breath before saying, “You’re probably wondering if I’m a wee bit batty. Or prodigiously batty, and I suppose some would say I am. But I’m happy, and Ethan indulges me just as his dear father did before him. Neither of them cared a scrap about the scandal, which is just as well, because what is done is done, and can’t be undone. Oh, the marriage, yes, that could have been undone. God knows George’s family tried, insisting their poor boy had lost the reins on his brains. But not Ethan. Difficult to undo Ethan, don’t you think? And he makes a splendid earl, even if society still pretends to be all aghast about his dreadfully inappropriate mother.”

This time Morgan nodded, schooling her expression to one of mingled sympathy and disgust. Or at least she hoped so. Mostly, she wanted the woman to keep talking.

“It was a love match, you understand. George and me. We took one look at each other and that was that, and me only fifteen to his eight and thirty. We cared not a snap what the world would think. Well, George didn’t. I had no idea the fuss it would make, as George had somehow neglected to tell me he was, at the time, a viscount. And his title wasn’t really important, then or now, because we loved each other dreadfully. So we built our castle, and put up our walls, and never bothered about anyone. It’s been five years that he’s gone, and I still miss him so.”

The bright light in Drusilla’s eyes faded as she shrugged, sighed. “Well, enough of that. My only regret is that Ethan seems always to pay the price for his parents’ happiness. It can’t be comfortable being the son of a soft-headed fool and a common strumpet. But, still, the ton accepts him, if only on sufferance. Ethan says that’s because of the title and all the money, but I think it’s because he’s so pretty. What do you think?”

“I…uh…” Morgan hadn’t counted on being asked a question, so she quickly, and none too tactfully, responded by asking one of her own. “You weren’t really a strumpet, were you?”

Druscilla patted Morgan’s hand. “No, dear, but I certainly wasn’t acceptable, either.” She leaned closer. “You see, I was a performer.”

“An actress?” Morgan asked, rather excited to hear such a romantic story, certainly a happier story than that of her own parentage. Although, if London society looked at Ethan askance, what on earth would they do if anyone ever learned about her beginnings?

“Not then, no,” Druscilla said. “I had aspirations, yes, but I was still young, and was forced into company with a band of jugglers and magicians and miracle-sellers and their ilk. Would you like me to read your palm? I can, you know. Not correctly, but definitely convincingly. I would have done much better if I’d looked like you. I’m much too pale, too watery. You’ve the look, the fire, of a real gypsy. I had to wear a huge black wig, and it itched horribly, almost as badly as this horrid gown. Next year, and so I told my friends, we’ll perform a more modern play.”

“Maman? Have you quite talked Miss Becket’s ear off in my absence?”

Morgan watched as the earl reentered the room, looking every inch the London gentleman, and refused to acknowledge the small skip her heart gave at the sight of him. She could still see the raw power in him, but that power had been somehow leashed with the addition of finely cut clothing. It was the sure knowledge that the leash could be easily snapped that intrigued her. Almost challenged her, as if he had somehow flung a glove at her feet, daring her to try.

And all he’d done was walk into the room, smile at her.

Imagine what would happen if he ever touched her….

“Of course I did, Ethan, just as you knew I would. All our ancient scandal revealed. Why else would you have all but dragged me away from our rehearsal?”

“Yes, of course, Maman. Forgive me.” It was true he had counted on his gregarious mother to run her tongue on wheels, say everything that needed to be said. But did she also have to say, within Morgan’s hearing, that he had wanted her to do precisely that? No head for intrigue, his mother, much as he loved her.

The dowager countess turned her back on Ethan and took Morgan’s hands in her own, squeezed them. “He’d much rather, you see, have me tell the story, and not have you hear any nastiness about his mother from some muckraking dragon in London. At least, this way you know you’ve heard the right of it and can make up your own mind.”

She leaned close, whispered, “He’s a very sensitive soul, my dear, sweet Ethan is.”

“Oh, ma’am, I think you may worry yourself too much on that head. I may have only just met him, but I already believe your son more than capable of taking care of himself,” Morgan whispered back to her, smiling.