My Lady Mischief Read Online Free Page A

gratitude," Hobbs growled. At last, Hart saw a slight grimace on the older man's face. This had hit home! "Hobbs, I am indeed sorry for trying to leave you. You were ill, man. Just look at you now, snuffling and sneezing fit to blow the walls down. You do understand?"
    "Aye, my lord."
    Hart breathed a sigh of relief, but then Hobbs looked him directly in the eyes.
    "I tell ye now, sir, there is something odd about yon parlormaid. Watch out for yerself."
    Hart laughed, delighted that the old Hobbs had returned, heathen Scots' accent and all. Thinking of the chit again, he came to a decision. After dinner, he would seek her out.
    Putting the finishing touches to his neckcloth, he completed a perfect Waterfall. "You worry too much, Hobbs. And I thank you for it." He clasped his man's shoulder in a tiny squeeze, then scooped up his gloves and left the room.
    Once the door closed, Hobbs whispered, "And if I don't worry about ye, who else will?
    *
    It had been difficult to come up with a plan, thought Thea, but after a period of reflection, a solution had occurred to her. If Lord Hartingfield's purpose at Steyne was to ascertain her suitability as a wife, then she knew what she must do to put an end to such a notion.
    Standing before her wardrobe, she took particular care in selecting appropriate dinner garb with her abigail, Meg's, assistance. Miss Mimms had previously stressed the need for creating the right impression, and for once Thea found herself in complete agreement. She grinned, assured Miss Mimms might have succumbed to the vapors had she known just what sort of impression Thea wished to create.
    She dismissed several evening gowns as too prim, then finally settled upon a new gown that had been acquired for her dreaded upcoming London Season. Though she'd done everything in her power to dissuade both Papa and Miss Mimms from such a concept, they'd insisted upon her acquiring at least a partial wardrobe.
    With judicious removal of the lace at the bodice, Thea was pleased with the now plunging neckline. Her time had been well spent. "I regret the fact I haven't anything truly vulgar to wear, like Mrs. Twining over at the Rose and Crown."
    "She's no Missus, if you take my meaning," replied Meg as she held up a new bit of lace to Thea's bodice. "Any course, his Lordship would be very upset to hear you speak of her, Miss."
    She thrust the fabric back into Meg's hands. "I have no intention of using this."
    "Oh, Miss. Whatever will Miss Mimms say?" moaned Meg. "You never mean to go downstairs dressed like that. You simply must add some lace to that gown."
    "Nonsense," Thea replied with a puckish grin. Meg's distress was obvious. She was a young village girl whom Thea had taken in to train as her dresser. She was genuinely fond of the girl and deemed their arrangement successful in spite of Meg's outspokenness.
    Turning to check her image in the glass, Thea noted that the gown came a bit above her ankles and felt quite daring. The white gown of India muslin was adorned with dark green flowers on the lower panel and the puffed sleeves. A matching green ribbon encircled her waistline, just below her generously exposed neckline. She looked positively bold, just the image she wished to achieve.
    "It's relieved I am, Miss, that you didn't dampen your petticoats. I'm thinking you'd be happier if you wore some stays and an extra petticoat. You look like a lady who is no better than she should be—begging your pardon, Miss."
    "That was my intention, Meg. Look at the way this gown clings." She practiced a gentle sway, then nodded her head at her image, assured this would change Lord Hartingfield's mind about her suitability.
    "Do I indeed look vulgar, Meg?" She grinned wickedly. "Enough to curtail any thoughts of marriage the marquess may be entertaining?"
    Meg collapsed upon a chair with another moan while Thea donned a pair of matching green elbow-length gloves. Flashing the abigail a supplicating smile, she turned to make a final