by that pleasant thought, he was able to tear his eyes from the fetching silhouette of her slender form before Lady Ardith, presently toying with a portly knight who was Sir Everett’s nearest neighbor, noticed his lapse in attention. Fortunately, that lady had so monopolized the other male guests that it seemed none but himself had noticed Mrs. Martin enter.
Just as well. Let them gape at the high flyer—and leave the refined elegance of Mrs. Martin to him.
The dinner gong sounded. Despite her change of attire, Beau noted with an inner smile, Mrs. Martin still managed to remain reclusive, slipping away from his sister as the guests rose from their seats, retreating toward the Squire and Tom before Beau reached her.
As they caught sight of Mrs. Martin, both men uttered exclamations of surprise and delight. Beau gritted his teeth once more as the squire’s tone abruptly changed from bluff to coyly gallant. Squire Everett and Tom would not be the only gentlemen captivated tonight by the widow’s swanlike transformation, he realized with irritated resignation. However, he promised himself again, regardless of how many gentlemen fell under the spell of her charm throughout dinner, the widow would end her evening in his company alone.
He was less pleased once they arrived in the dining chamber to discover that Mrs. Martin, whom he’d instructed the butler to seat near him at the head of the table, was instead positioned at its foot. He turned to his hostess.
“Lady Winters, this will not do! We’re gathered here to honor Dr. MacDonovan and Mrs. Martin, the two individuals responsible for saving my brother’s life. We cannot have one of them banished to the end of the table.”
His hostess gave him a startled look, but before she could stutter an answer, Mrs. Martin said, “Marsden told me you’d requested that, my lord, but not considering it fitting that I be seated above the more distinguished guests, I had him change the cards, as I knew Lady Winters would wish.” She fixed her gaze carefully on the fluttering figure beside him. “Though I am, of course, much flattered by his lordship’s kindness.”
Her reply attracted to her for the first time the general notice of the entire party. Beau watched with ironic amusement as the faces around the table reflected, first interest in the newcomer in their midst, then puzzlement, then varying decrees of shock, astonishment—and admiration as they finally identified the speaker.
By the time she finished her explanation, all other conversation had ceased and the attention of everyone present was riveted on Mrs. Martin. Finding herself suddenly the focus of every eye, the lady swiftly dropped her gaze to her lap, her cheeks pinking.
A gasp sounded in the silence, followed by a “By Jove!” The vicar, across the table from Mrs. Martin, sat with mouth agape, while the knight seated next to her exclaimed, “Mrs. Martin, what a capital rig. Capital!”
Lady Ardith stared at the widow with a look of shocked indignation, as if one of the stone spaniels that flanked Squire Everett’s drive had just turned and bitten her. Nonetheless, she was first of the ladies to recover.
“What an … interesting gown, Mrs. Martin. A hand-me-down from the family of a grateful patient, no doubt. When one is forced to earn one’s crust, I suppose one must accept all manner of payments.”
Ellie gasped, indignation flashing in her eyes, and though a matching anger flared in Beau, he reached out swiftly to put a warning hand on her elbow.
The high color in Mrs. Martin’s face paled. Before Beau could intervene, she raised her gaze to Lady Ardith. Her coolly amused gaze. “Indeed, my lady.”
Bravo, Beau thought.
“I hope,” Ardith continued, sublimely oblivious, “you’ve expressed your humble thanks to the squire and his lordship for permitting you to be included in this gathering. I daresay you’ve never dined in quite this sort of company before.”
Did he observe an instant’s quiver in her lip? Before he could decide, Mrs. Martin, her expression blandly meek, replied, “You’re quite right, my lady.” Her eyes dipped briefly to Lady Ardith’s jutting bosom before she continued, “I’ve never dined in such company before.”
Beau choked back a laugh, then shot a glance at Ellie. His sister gave him a tiny nod, her eyes full of mirth.
“I do thank his lordship, Squire Everett and Lady Winters for including me tonight,” Mrs. Martin concluded.
The vicar gave Lady Ardith a sharp look. “’Tis not so unusual for us to dine with Mrs. Martin. We have on several occasions been blessed with her excellent company.”
“Country parties, of course,” Lady Ardith replied. “Given the unfortunate lack of numbers often obtaining in country society, ‘tis quite amazing the odd parties one is occasionally forced to make up.” Noting the vicar still frowning, Lady Ardith leaned toward him, gifting the reverend with a full view of her generous endowments. “Though you, of course, Mr. Blackthorne, would be welcome at any party. And how is your mama, the viscountess?”
Being human, the vicar did gaze for a moment at the display beneath his eyes, but to Beau’s grudgingly accorded credit, almost immediately raised his glance back to the lady’s face. His closed expression hinted he’d already assessed Lady Ardith’s character and found it, unlike her chest, to be somewhat lacking. “Quite well, Lady Ardith,” he said shortly, refraining from adding a comment that might prolong the conversation.
Lady Ardith eyed the vicar for a moment, then shrugged at the subtle rebuff. Apparently considering the man not worth the effort—or perhaps writing him off as unattachable—Lady Ardith turned once more to the squire, and conversation became general again.
Beau was too far away to be able to overhear Mrs. Martin’s comments to her dinner partners, but as she was seated on the opposite side of the table, at least he could turn occasionally and gaze at her. She sat quietly, speaking little, her head inclined in smiling deference.
Unlike Lady Ardith, who seemed unable to let her neighbors dine in peace. Scarcely had he taken a mouthful before, in a minor breach of etiquette, she waved across the table at him.
“Do you find the fish agreeable, Lord Beaulieu?”
To reply, he was forced to dispense with the bite in one swallow. “Very.”
“Alphonse, our London chef, prepares a similar dish—much more elaborate, of course, as one would expect of a French artiste. You must stop by and try pot luck with us some evening when you are in town, mustn’t he, Asquith?”
Her husband, mouth full and focus fixed on the wine glass the footman was refilling, uttered a grunt that might be taken as assent. Scarcely waiting for her spouse’s reply, the lady turned to the squire with a flirtatious sweep of lashes. “How clever of you to procure so excellent a cook here in the country.” She leaned forward and stroked one finger slowly down his hand. “I so enjoy a clever gentleman.”
Having reduced the squire to goggling incoherence, Lady Ardith took another small bite and turned to Dr. MacDonovan. “Ah, delicious!” She slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lips before saying in a husky voice, “Dr. MacDonovan, do they enjoy such delights in Edinburgh?”
After a sympathetic wink at Beau, Mac grinned at the lady. “To be sure, Lady Ardith. Such treats should be devoured wherever they are offered.”
She arched a brow at Mac and gave a soft, throaty laugh. “Naughty man! Though I
