The Bolingbroke Chit: A Regency Romance Read Online Free Page B

variety of tableaux. If the gentleman had been willing and society permissive, she would have leaned him against a fireplace, stood him before a ruin and sat him upon a horse in full regalia.
    But the aspects of appearance that fascinated her as an artist did not necessarily interest her as a woman, for as she looked at the viscount now she thought there was something very appealing about his uneven features and open demeanor. She wondered about the attraction as she switched her attention from Miss Redburne’s chin to her ears, marveling at how beguilingly jaunty they were.
    Lady Bolingbroke’s fingers twitched with the nearly overwhelming desire to snatch the glasses from her daughter’s hands, but she managed to contain herself and merely begged for an opportunity to admire the beguiling jauntiness herself.
    “Yes, of course, Mama,” Agatha said agreeably, tightening her grip. She simply was not ready to relinquish her view of Viscount Addleson just yet. She was far too intrigued by the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.
    The Merchant of Venice started a few minutes later, and unable to justify looking across the way when the action was on the stage, Agatha returned the glasses to her mother. Lady Bolingbroke required no justification for the brazen observation of her fellow theatergoers, and she kept her eyes trained on the boxes opposite for the whole of the performance.
    Agatha could not imitate her mother’s unabashed curiosity and limited herself to darted glances at Addleson. Despite the activity around him—Mr. Abingdon was deep in conversation with the gentleman to his right, who seemed to be trying to teach himself how to juggle apples—he was engrossed in the play. Agatha wanted to be engrossed in the play, too, and was genuinely annoyed at herself for being unable to concentrate. She resolved to focus on only the stage, which she managed to do, but the effort required was almost as distracting as the viscount and she missed most of the dialogue.
    Conceding it was hopeless, Agatha abandoned all attempts to follow The Merchant of Venice and decided to think of something else—the British Matrimonial Society. While Shylock raged at the Venetian judicial system, Agatha laid out the scene in her head: Miss Harlow would stand in the middle of the lecture hall’s famous rotunda, looking bemused by all the attention, a pretty blush on her cheeks. Her suitors, also known as the esteemed members of the British Horticultural Society, would be gathered around her, their hands held high like schoolboys craving attention. Two or three would be lying on the floor, having tripped over themselves in their rush to court Miss Harlow. A large orchestra would be arrayed along the back wall, opposite the speaker’s podium, and next to it would be a table with a bowl of the notoriously weak lemonade served at Almack’s.
    Yes, she thought with silent satisfaction, that would do very well.
    The play ended with a standing ovation, which her mother enthusiastically joined despite not having watched a single moment of the performance, and it was universally agreed that they would not stay for the afterpiece. The duchess cited her own fatigue, but it was her sister who in fact looked exhausted.
    “Well, that was a treat,” said Lady Bolingbroke as soon as she and Agatha were in their carriage. “I cannot recall the last time I’ve enjoyed myself so much. The duchess and her sister are charming, and the acting was sublime. I do believe I shed a tear at the end.”
    Given that The Merchant of Venice was a comedy, Agatha could only suppose her mother had cried because she had to leave off watching her neighbors.
    Lady Bolingbroke recounted the delights of the evening during the drive home, which was mercifully short. Once inside the Portland Place residence, she requested a light repast to be served in the drawing room, but Agatha excused herself to work on her illustration. She did not say that to her mother, of course,