Season for Surrender Read Online Free

no surprise that he should flirt a bit; in fact, it would be more notable did he not flirt with a young woman.
    Let us bow before his majesty. Wasn’t that what she was expected to feel now?
    Ha. Spending time with Lord Xavier was like juggling wax tapers: if one wasn’t very careful, one would get burned, or at the very least, wind up with dirtied hands.
    Louisa was always very careful. Always had been.
    So perhaps it was time she learned to juggle.
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    â€œWould you care for lemon in your tea? Or milk?” A young woman bent close to Louisa and added in a softer voice, “Or a splash of brandy, like your aunt?”
    At Louisa’s side, Lady Irving sat bolt upright with a sniff.
    Louisa offered the astute young woman a smile. She was slight, with light brown hair and impish hazel eyes. “Thank you, but I’ll leave my tea black. One of our party must remain sober.”
    â€œThere is such a thing as too sober, you know,” Lady Irving murmured into Louisa’s ear.
    They were seated next to one another on a damask-covered rosewood settee of Grecian style. The elegant piece was well suited to the airy room in which a dozen and a half of London’s respectable and notorious were now fortifying themselves. The room was papered in the delicate green of a new leaf. Overhead hung a Wedgwood chandelier, its dishes and fonts of black basalt ornamented with graceful figures of the Muses. Evergreen was wound through its metalwork, suffusing the room with a faint, crisp scent.
    This carefully tasteful room was, to say the least, not what Louisa had expected in the home of Lord Xavier. Nor was the young woman with the prim pink muslin gown and rebellious face, who had now turned her attention to Lady Irving. “Do you enjoy an afternoon brandy, then, my lady? I would be pleased to join you in a cupful. I am Miss Tindall. Jane.”
    Louisa crowded over on the settee to make room. Her aunt harrumphed, and Louisa covered a grin with her teacup, inhaling the bracing aroma. It was warm and fragrant, as if the leaves held the summer sun under which they’d been picked and dried. Surely not even brandy had so much power to soothe.
    â€œStrong spirits are not suitable for unmarried ladies.” Lady Irving took a dainty sip.
    â€œDrat,” Miss Tindall said. “I am constantly being told that the most entertaining experiences are unsuitable for unmarried ladies. My mother’s serving as hostess, you see.”
    With a crook of her finger, she indicated a round, ruddy-faced woman in a stiff, glazed-cotton gown who sat across the room. As Louisa watched, Mrs. Tindall stuffed an entire ginger biscuit into her mouth and chewed with an expression of transported delight.
    â€œThat’s how I came to recognize you,” Miss Tindall explained. “You are the Countess of Irving and Miss Oliver, yes? I’ve been poring over Xavier’s guest list since he created it, hoping something truly dreadful will happen this year.”
    She spoke the words with such relish that Louisa smiled. “I’ll hazard a guess, Miss Tindall, that you have a liking for Gothic novels.”
    The young woman shrugged. “I have a liking for anything interesting. For the last three days, I’ve had the choice of only two activities: sewing or writing letters. Since I cannot embroider without stabbing myself with the needle, I have instead been forced to stab myself with a quill. Lord knows there’s been nothing worth writing about so far.”
    Lady Irving clicked her tongue. “I’ll wager there will be plenty to fill your letters before the first week’s out.”
    â€œDo you think so?” The slight young woman perked up visibly.
    â€œI’ve been told there will be cards tonight,” Louisa offered.
    â€œOh.” Miss Tindall’s shoulders sank again. “I hate playing cards with Xavier. He is so repulsively competent.”
    Before either Louisa