The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(258)

"You need to learn to form your own judgements about such matters, but yes, I would have you be careful with Matthew and his best friend Randall Avenel, not least because my friend Michael, whom I've mentioned to you, is estranged from his whole family, and does not wish them to know he is still alive, nor anything about him."



"I shan't say a word, I swear."



"Good girl. As I was saying, Thomas holds that anything which cannot be said in front of a woman should not be said at all. So I hope you're interested in good fiery political discussions, for we all thrive on them whenever we're fortunate enough to get together."



"Peter always liked to argue, though he was never as ardent as you and your friends sound. I hope I can hold my own, and not embarrass you. I like to listen, anyway."



"Ho, no lingering on the sidelines for you, young lady."



"Blake, where have you been hiding this lovely girl?" a voice exclaimed from the doorway.



He turned and smiled. "Speak of the Devil. Thomas, meet my ward, Miss Arabella Neville."



"Peter's sister. How wonderful." He shook hands and gave her a single warm appraising glance. "Last time I saw you, you were still in pigtails, with your front teeth missing."



"Now that must have been a sight to see," Blake teased.



Arabella knew the tall, jet-haired Duke of Ellesmere had meant well, but she blushed all the same, and felt like a complete fraud, a child dressed up in borrowed finery and permitted to join the grown-ups at play.



"She must have been charming. I recall her mop of curly hair myself. But I have to say that the young lady, lovely though she was then, has certainly outshone her ample potential. She has proven the veritable butterfly out of the cocoon."



She grinned. "Let's not get too carried away. Damning with fulsome praise is almost as bad as with faint."



Blake smiled down at her proudly. "Very good, my dear. An excellent bon mot."



Thomas winked. "She'll keep you on your toes, Blake, you mark my words."



"I'm counting on it. Speaking of toes, how is your wife? No trouble after…?"



"Nothing more than usual. Sore and no sleep. But a gorgeous son."



"Congratulations." Blake offered his hand.



"Married nearly two years now. Let's hope he will be the first of many."



"Two years. How the time flies."



"Ah, here she is. Charlotte, darling, you remember Dr. Blake Sanderson? And this is his ward, Arabella Neville."



Charlotte Eltham, dark-haired and voluptuous, but with eyes only for her husband, bowed to Arabella and gave Blake her hand to kiss.



She was dressed in the height of fashion, a square-necked sapphire gown which matched her eyes and showed off her elegant figure to perfection.



"Lovely to see you again, Your Grace. Are you well?"



"Very. And please, I'm just plain Charlotte."



"Anything but plain in that gown," Blake praised. "So pleased to hear about your son."



"Thank you. Young Thomas is quite a handful. You can tell he takes after his pa."



Thomas grinned proudly. "Apart from the eyes, which are yours entirely, my dear. Well, Blake, it's good to have us all together tonight. It was a long war for you. We actually came early hoping to run into you, to catch up on your news. I'd heard you would be doing the wine.



"Clifford and Vanessa will be along later. Baby is teething. Oh, I saw Alistair Grant just as I was coming in, and my old friend Philip Marshall is on his way. I hope you'll get to know him better now he's back from abroad."



"It will be good to see them all. And what of Jonathan and his bride?"



A loud halloo heralded Jonathan's arrival.



Thomas grimaced good-naturedly. "He's in his best Tony Lumpkin mode tonight, I'm afraid. Ever since we performed She Stoops to Conquer, he's been hopelessly comedic. Or perhaps just happily married."



The second of the Rakehells, looking splendid in his dark clerical garb which set off his sandy hair, came up and shook hands all around.



He stared at Arabella. "Who, pray, is this vision of pulchritude, Blake?" he asked in awed tones.



"My ward, Arabella Neville."



"Ward? Neville. Hum. Oh, Peter Davison's step-sister, of course. Shipped out, did he?"



"Before Christmas," she confirmed.



"Oh, what a pity. If we had known you could have come to us for the holidays. My wife Pamela."



The elegant blonde miss clad in a rather daring red silk creation for a clergyman's wife shook hands all around again.



"How is Sarah?" Blake asked.



"My sister is Ireland, but very well by all accounts, and looking forward to coming home soon," Jonathan replied. "You shall be dancing attendance upon my sister at her lying in, I have no doubt."