Maggie MacKeever (24 page)

“What you are is the daughter of a duchess, it would seem!” murmured Vivien. “Oh, yes, I guessed—belatedly!—that Mrs. Quarles is your mama. Or Lady Stafford, as it seems we must call her. You must tell me how that came about. But not at this particular moment, please!” He enfolded Tabby in a warm embrace.

They were interrupted yet once again. “Vivien!” came an all-too-familiar female voice. With reluctance Tabby opened her eyes. It was indeed the divine Sara. Tabby supposed the actress would call her horrid names again. She braced herself.

But Sara—who knew quite well on which side her bread was buttered and who had additionally received a most handsome parting gift from Mr. Sanders—merely took St. Erth’s arm. “What a surprise to see you here! Have you also ridden out to inspect some supposedly prize horseflesh?” Her gaze rested on Tabby. “Ah, I see you have not! We must interrupt you no longer. Hallo, Margot! You here, too? Come, my dears, I have it on very good authority that there is some excellent French brandy to be had within!”

Stunned by such forbearance, Tabby stared after the actress. “She recognized me; I know she did!”

Vivien gently turned her back to face him. “You need not concern yourself about Sara. We have parted on good terms. Indeed, I have apparently already been supplanted in her affections. Still, you hesitate. My darling, what must I do to persuade you that I have reformed?”

“Well,” Tabby said judiciously, “I rather think that you might kiss me again.”

Mr. Sanders was pleased to do so. Some moments passed. “Oh, Vivien!” Tabby sighed when he allowed her to draw breath. “I do love you so very much!” and after that pretty declaration, of course Vivien had no choice but to kiss her once again.

Copyright © 1987 by Maggie MacKeever

Originally published by Fawcett Coventry (0449210294)

Electronically published in 2007 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.