Kitabı oku: «Love Affairs», sayfa 11
Chapter Fifteen
It had worked. She was naked with Avery in his bedchamber, all that remained was for them to be discovered and she had done what she could to ensure that. Now she had to deliver what she had promised and her courage was failing her for so many reasons.
He looked so like Piers and yet so different, so unsettlingly different. This was no idealistic, lovestruck youth, still growing into his body and his confidence. This was a man, self-assured, experienced and physically in his prime. And the overwhelming masculinity and sexuality he exuded shook her own poise. She desired him, he, very obviously, desired her, but it was six years since she had lain with a man. Could she entrance him sufficiently that he allowed her to stay the night, that he became careless of discovery?
She was acting out of calculation, acting against every instinct except the one that propelled her towards Alice. And yet she could not hate this man. She still could not find it in her to forgive him taking Alice, sending Piers back to war, but in everything else she desired and liked him. I love him, she realised, her breath taken by the realisation. I love him and I am going to betray him.
The only way she could go on was by drugging herself with lovemaking. Laura reached out and laid her palms on his chest, curled her fingers and raked down, lightly scoring. Avery closed his eyes and growled, deep in his throat, but he did not move as her hands moved downwards, winnowed through the coarse curls on his chest, circled his navel. She felt the skin tighten under her fingertips and she stayed still, deliberately tormenting him. Who would break first?
To her amazement he did. ‘Touch me,’ he ground out and opened his eyes, green and intense.
So she did, not tentative and not gentle, taking him in a bold grasp, stroking hard from tip to root and back. ‘Like that?’
‘Like that,’ he agreed and lifted her, both hands under her buttocks, and pushed her back onto the bed so her legs dangled over the side as her shoulders hit the mattress. It was outrageously arousing after the memory of Piers’s tentative, gentle caresses. Heat flashed through her and when he stroked between her thighs with arrogant possession she knew she was already wet for him.
‘Now,’ she gasped and reached for his shoulders as he bent over her, his feet planted on the floor, the high bed presenting her wantonly to him. Her conscience stirred and she blanked her mind to it the only way she knew how. ‘Now. Avery.’
He did not hesitate. One thrust and he entered her, filled her, shocked her into startled awareness of him, only him. Avery froze, poised over her, deep within her. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No.’ He had not, only overpowered her with his size and his certainty. ‘I am not sure I can move, though.’
‘Curl your legs around my hips,’ he prompted and, as she obeyed, ignoring the stab of pain from her ankle, the pressure eased. ‘Ah.’
Avery began to move slowly, his arms braced either side of her, his eyes never leaving her face as though he was reading her thoughts, her soul. It did not occur to Laura to close her eyes and escape that gaze as he remorselessly drove her higher and higher, tighter and tighter until she began to writhe and sob beneath him, begging for release. He shifted the angle and growled, ‘Come for me’, and she did, shockingly, suddenly.
When she surfaced out of the darkness and back to herself Avery was still moving within her, but he had shifted again, brought her up with him to lie on the bed. ‘Again,’ he ordered.
‘I...I can’t.’
In answer he bent his head to her breast, kissing, licking, nipping while she reached helplessly to caress the autumn-leaf hair, threading her fingers through the springing strength of it, holding him to her. The careful, sliding penetration had changed into a demanding rhythm that built the need back up in her, hot and swirling and tight almost to the point of pain.
‘Avery.’ And she was lost again. This time she heard him gasp, felt him go rigid and then withdraw before the swirling light and dark left her with nothing but the awareness of her own body, her own disintegration.
She came to herself to find him cleaning her with a cloth and cool water from the washstand. It was a curiously tender gesture from him. Laura realised she would not have been surprised if, having done with her, he had put her from the bed and left her to her own devices. As I deserve. Finally I have earned my reputation.
He had better manners than that, Laura concluded. She should be shy, ashamed even, to lie there naked amidst the tumbled sheets while a man showed her these intimate attentions, but she was too sated with satisfied desire to move. I love him and he has made love to me as I never could have imagined. Oh, Avery, I love you so much. Could she tell him, risk everything, admit what she had done and why? Would it convince him of her desperate need for Alice or would it simply disgust him? He will never believe me if I admit how I feel. She had done this all wrong, she realised. She should have told him she loved him, told him she trusted him with Alice. She should have loved both of them enough to risk letting them go.
And now she had to stay here, stay in this bed or this, this beautiful, stupid, wicked mistake, would have been in vain. She had chosen the wrong path, but now she had to follow it to its end.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured as Avery tossed aside cloth and towel. She reached out and touched his arm. ‘Come back to bed.’
‘You can hardly keep your eyes open,’ he said, his own heavy-lidded gaze resting on her face.
‘We can sleep a little and then later...’ Laura let her voice trail off as she held out her hands to him. She did not have to act. Avery smiled and slid down beside her, pulled the covers over them both and settled her against his side, her head on his shoulder. It felt so good to be held by a man again, to be held by this man. His skin was salty and musky with their lovemaking, warm and soft over hard-strapped muscle. She wriggled closer and tried to turn a deaf ear to her conscience. It is too late. Too late to go back, too late to say I love you. Too late for trust.
Laura closed her eyes and finally slept.
* * *
They had woken twice during the night and reached for each other without words. Laura woke for the third time to the delicious drift of kisses across her stomach, then lower. Light was streaming through the open curtains, early morning light that showed her Avery’s broad shoulders and the top of his head as he eased himself between her wantonly spread thighs.
‘Avery?’ She had heard of this, but Piers had never touched her in that way. Avery silenced her with a kiss so deep, so intimate that her whole body arched off the bed. His hands held her ruthlessly while his lips and tongue and teeth destroyed every last inhibition she had. Her hands were fisted in the sheets, her breath was sobbing from her lungs and her voice was hoarse with pleading, but he was implacable. Laura convulsed, shaking and ecstatic, her blood thundering in her ears.
Then Avery cursed savagely and she realised the noise was not her blood pounding, but knocking on the door and an agitated female voice. Avery threw a sheet over her and twisted one around his waist as the door she had persuaded him to leave unlocked flew open to reveal Lady Birtwell, Mab and the indistinct shapes of other figures in the corridor behind.
Lady Birtwell slammed the door behind her, leaving everyone else outside. ‘Avery Falconer, how could you?’ she demanded, brandishing something at the bed, the evening slipper Laura had managed to drop from her foot the night before as Avery opened the bedchamber door. Her plan had worked and now she felt sick with nerves and self-reproach. Alice, think of Alice.
‘And Laura Campion, I am shocked and disappointed. Thank heavens your poor mother is not alive to hear of this. Well?’ She turned her furious gaze on her godson. ‘What have you to say for yourself?’
‘Who knows of this?’ he asked coolly. Laura, close to him, could see the tension in his jaw, the clenched fist on his thigh, but his voice betrayed nothing but bored enquiry.
‘Who knows? The entire dratted household, I should imagine!’ Lady Birtwell snapped. ‘Lady Amelia found the slipper when she was on her way to Miss Gladman’s room to borrow something and she brought it to me immediately, which was very proper of her, for, as she said, something must have happened to you if you were wandering about with only one shoe.’ She glared at them both. ‘Well, Falconer? What are you going to do about it?’
‘I can do little about the fact that Lady Amelia is a prurient little busybody,’ Avery drawled. ‘My immediate plans are to get dressed and have breakfast.’
The infuriated dowager raised both hands heavenwards as if in supplication for more strength. ‘What are you going to do about Lady Laura?’
Avery swivelled round to look at Laura, as unconcerned by his near-naked state as some pasha disturbed in his harem, she thought with unreasonable resentment. The irritation helped her meet his green eyes with some semblance of calm while she waited for the outburst. ‘Why, marry her, of course,’ Avery said calmly.
‘Thank merciful Providence for that.’ Lady Birtwell did not sound very thankful. She opened the door a crack, hissed an order and Mab sidled into the room. ‘Take your mistress in there.’ Lady Birtwell gestured towards the dressing room. ‘Get her clothed while I make sure no one else is still wandering about.’ She went out, closing the door behind her with a decided snap.
Laura swathed the sheet around herself, slid off the bed without looking at Avery and hobbled painfully after Mab, who had been gathering up scattered garments. The maid closed the dressing-room door and leaned against it. ‘What were you thinking of?’ she demanded.
‘Getting Alice. It worked,’ Laura said, pulling on her petticoat. If she sounded confident and pleased, then perhaps she could convince everyone else that was how she felt. It was a pity she could not convince herself. For one night she had known how it felt to be loved by the man she was in love with. Now, although she would lie with him for the duration of their marriage she had forfeited the right ever to tell him how she felt, ever to expect his love in return. ‘Stop lecturing and fasten my corset.’
‘But the scandal!’ Mab jerked the strings tight and shook out the chemise.
‘Lady Birtwell will squash it and he will marry me. I will be Alice’s mama-in-law.’ She turned on her maid who was unrolling stockings. ‘What are you muttering about?’ she demanded and sat down to take the weight off her ankle. She must have twisted it again during the night for it was throbbing like the devil.
‘You are getting Alice, but you are also getting a husband who is going to hate you—and he didn’t care for you too much to start with!’ Mab knelt to roll on the stocking, tutting over Laura’s swollen ankle.
‘Avery will not show his feelings for Alice’s sake,’ Laura said, praying she was correct. ‘And I will make him a good wife.’ Somehow I must make amends.
‘He’ll not forgive you,’ Mab warned. ‘He’s a proud man used to having his own way, used to being in control. You’ve trapped him in a net of his own honour.’ She stood and began to stick pins into Laura’s tangled hair with emphatic force. ‘You’ve got a tiger by the tail, my girl. Let go and he’ll eat you alive.’
* * *
Avery waited until Laura had been bundled out of the room by her maid, waited until Darke put his head round the door and retreated, wary and silent, to fetch hot water, and then swore viciously and inventively until he ran out of words. When he looked down, the sheet between his hands was ripped across.
Thank heavens he had not asked her to marry him before she had revealed her true nature, not let her glimpse the feelings he had not been able to acknowledge to himself until those moments when he had held her in his arms and thought he had read truth and pain and some stirring of emotion for him as a man.
Now his questions had been answered. He could not trust her, she was as manipulative and deceitful as he had feared. She had told him yesterday evening as clearly as it was possible that the thing she wanted most in the word was the thing that had been stolen from her. Alice. Avery smiled, with a bitter kind of satisfaction. Laura thought she had trapped him, cock-led him into matrimony. All that had happened was that she had betrayed herself, armed him thoroughly against her future wiles. There was nothing she could negotiate with now and he had what he wanted, a mother for Alice whose devotion to the child was assured.
Darke eased himself in from the dressing room and cleared his throat. ‘Your shaving water is ready, my lord. Will you require me to shave you this morning or...?’
‘I will shave myself.’ Avery looked down at his clenched hands. ‘No, you do it, Darke.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later he sat back in the chair, chin raised while Darke negotiated the tricky sweep around his Adam’s apple, and resumed the outward calm that had seen him through one duel and numerous diplomatic crises. Laura Campion was just one more crisis to be dealt with.
‘My lord!’ Darke stepped back, the razor dangling from his hand. ‘My lord, I almost... I am so sorry, I do not know what came over me.’
‘My fault, I moved abruptly.’ Avery dabbed gingerly at his throat and regarded the bloodstained towel with a rueful smile. ‘I hope you can dress the cut or the guests are going to assume I would rather cut my own throat than wed.’
‘Hah, hah,’ Darke rejoined, clearly uncertain whether that was a jest or not. ‘I am sure no one could think such a thing. A very delightful young lady, if I may be so bold as to offer my congratulations, my lord.’
‘Yes, thank you, Darke.’ Avery sat back in the chair and allowed the nervous valet to complete the shave. Laura. He had thought himself armoured against her—it seemed his nerves were not as steady as he had thought.
* * *
Avery went down for breakfast with a dressing on his throat under his neckcloth and an expression of complete blandness on his face. The breakfast parlour was almost full of house guests all eating very, very slowly in the hope of catching the scandalous lovers when they came down.
He smiled amiably, returned mumbled Good mornings with studied calm and sat down. ‘Something of everything,’ he said to the footman. ‘And coffee.’
‘You have a good appetite this morning, Falconer,’ Simonson said and then blushed when two ladies giggled and several gentlemen cleared their throats noisily.
Avery regarded him steadily for a moment. ‘Indeed I have. This excellent country air, I imagine.’
Lady Birtwell entered and the men got to their feet as she cast a repressive glance around the table and announced, ‘The carriages will be at the front door at ten for morning service. For those who wish to walk, it takes twenty minutes and one of the footmen will direct you.’
From the expressions around the table it was obvious that the fact this was Sunday had escaped almost everyone, swept up in the delicious scandal bubbling in their midst. Avery accepted a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage and kidneys and made himself eat. He could not recall ever being so purely angry.
There had been fury mixed with grief and guilt over Piers’s death, he had been more than annoyed when he discovered Laura Campion in London and realised what she was doing, but now he was conscious of little else but a desire to shake her until her sharp white teeth rattled in her head. It did not help that some of the anger was directed against himself.
He made himself converse with his neighbours on topics that were suitable for a Sunday which, eliminating horse racing, royal scandal, the latest crim. con. cases in the courts and most plays, none of which would have been approved by their hostess, rather restricted discussion.
There was a desultory exchange underway about the death of an ancient royal cousin and whether court mourning would be decreed when the door opened and Laura came in, leaning heavily on the arm of one of the footmen. The gentlemen rose to their feet and then sat again when she took her place, reminding Avery of a flock of lapwings, alarmed at a passing hawk, rising off a ploughed field and then settling back.
‘Good morning,’ she said generally, then, ‘Tea and toast, please,’ to the footman.
‘You are very pale this morning, Lady Laura,’ Lady Amelia said with sweet smile. Avery regarded her with dislike. How the blazes had he thought this sharp-tongued cat might have made a suitable wife? Laura’s judgement had been quite correct.
‘My ankle is very painful,’ Laura said. ‘How kind of you to be so concerned.’
Avery almost smiled before he recalled how furious he was with her. The wretched woman looked, pallor aside, completely calm. Actress, he thought. No shame, not an iota.
The room had gone very quiet except for the scrape of knives on plates and the rattle of cups in saucers. The other guests did not appear to know where to look—at him, at Laura or at their plates. What did they expect—that he was going to fall to his knees at her side and ask for her hand? Well, he might as well give them something to twitter about.
‘With your injury I imagine you would wish to drive to church, Lady Laura.’
All eyes moved to her. ‘Certainly I will not be able to walk,’ she agreed and took a sip of tea. Over the rim of the cup her eyes met his, brown, unreadable. Last night he could have sworn he could see into her soul. Last night he had believed he could love what he would find there.
‘Then perhaps I may take you in my phaeton? It is not a high-perch one, so I imagine you will find it easy enough.’
‘How very kind, Lord Wykeham. That would be delightful.’
Not a blush, not a moment’s hesitation, the hussy. ‘Excellent. It will be at the door for ten.’ He would drive her to church and make only the most banal conversation. He would sit next to her in the pew and find the hymns for her. He would behave impeccably until her nerves were as tight as a catgut violin string and then he would drive her into the depths of the park and...settle this matter.
Chapter Sixteen
They think I am brazen and immoral, Laura thought, watching the avid faces around the breakfast table. Only a few of the guests had the decency to make conversation. Lady Birtwell seemed frozen and Avery, damn him, looked like a cobra waiting to strike.
When was he going to say something? It was obvious he wanted to torture her with suspense, because he could hardly propose to her in the phaeton with Alice there. It was beginning to dawn on her that Avery Falconer had reserves of self-control that made her own seem like those of an hysteric.
* * *
Laura came down for church in a sombre deep-brown pelisse over an amber gown with a new French bonnet.
‘Put your veil down,’ Mab whispered as she helped Laura descend the stairs.
‘I am not going to hide from them,’ she murmured, then raised her voice. ‘What a charming bonnet, Lady Amelia. So harmonious with your complexion.’
The bonnet was green silk. Miss Gladman tittered, Lady Amelia showed her teeth in what might have been taken for a smile. ‘And yours is delightful, too. I always think fawn is so flattering with an older skin.’
‘Very true,’ Laura agreed warmly. She moved closer and added, low-voiced, ‘And one of the benefits of passing years, as you will inevitably discover, Lady Amelia, is the awareness of the danger of making gestures which, however satisfying they may be for a moment, actually work against one in the end. All that effort to attach a certain gentleman, thrown away in one moment of spite. Oh dear.’ She smiled. ‘Look, Mab, Lord Wykeham has just arrived in his carriage. Help me to the door, if you please.’
And not a moment too soon, she thought as she heard the sharp hiss of indrawn breath and saw Lady Amelia’s gloved fingers turn to claws on her prayer book.
The tiger was at the horses’ heads and Avery stood waiting for her with Alice perched up on the seat. There would be no room for Mab.
‘Allow me, Lady Laura.’ He put a hand either side of her waist and lifted her up to sit beside Alice, then walked to the other side, climbed up and took the reins. The tiger ran round and scrambled up behind.
‘Good morning, Lady Laura.’ Alice, bandbox-neat and clutching her prayer book, peeped up at Laura from under her bonnet brim. ‘Are you safe now?’ she whispered. ‘From the bad man?’
‘I hope so,’ Laura whispered back.
Alice slipped her hand into Laura’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘Papa will protect you,’ she said confidently. ‘Are you having a lovely time? I am.’
‘Do you get on well with the other children?’ Laura asked, conscious of Avery’s silent figure looming on the other side.
‘Oh, yes. Tommy Atterbury was horrid because I do not have a mama, but I said I would rather not, if mine dressed me up in such a silly way. His mother makes him wear a velvet suit with a floppy bow at the neck and he has ringlets, you know. Anyway, the others all laughed at him and Priscilla Herrick said I was a good sport and they’ve all been very nice.’
Laura could feel her lips twitching into a smile and bit her lips until she could answer with a straight face. ‘That was very quick-witted of you, Alice. Well done.’ Given Lady Atterbury’s own appalling dress sense poor Tommy’s outfit was no surprise at all.
She glanced sideways and found Avery looking at her. ‘I can’t be with her all the time,’ he remarked mildly.
‘Of course not. Self-defence is important. No doubt Alice has learned her quick wit from you.’
‘And the sharp edge of her tongue is doubtless inherited.’ His eyes were on the road again, fixed between the heads of the pair of handsome greys he was driving.
‘Attack is often the best form of defence,’ Laura remarked. ‘Especially for a woman. We have fewer natural weapons.’
‘I would beg leave to disagree,’ Avery remarked, looping his reins as he guided the pair down the lane to the church. ‘Men are constrained by honour from retaliating.’
‘Given their natural superiority of strength and the unfair advantages law and society give them over women there has to be a balance somewhere.’ With Alice listening Laura struggled to keep her tone light and free from the anger she felt. Honour! What a hypocrite he was.
‘Papa, may I have the money for the collection plate?’ Alice asked, cheerfully unaware of the battle raging over her head.
‘When we get down, sweetheart.’ Avery reined in and waited for the tiger to jump down before he descended and swung Alice to the ground. ‘Allow me, Lady Laura. I trust the ride did not jolt your ankle.’
‘Not at all.’ Laura took his arm and limped into the church. Eyes followed their path down the aisle towards a box pew whose door was held open by one of Lady Birtwell’s footmen. ‘Not that one. I will sit there, with Lady Atterbury,’ Laura said, recognising the towering confection that her ladyship considered suitable as a church bonnet.
‘I imagine Lady Birtwell has given instructions on who is to sit where.’ Avery continued down the aisle, her hand trapped against his side.
‘But we look like a family group,’ Laura hissed.
‘And?’ Avery let Alice go in first, then ushered Laura through. ‘That is your aim, is it not?’
‘But not yet,’ she hissed. Without creating a scene there was little she could do except sit down on the embroidered pew cushion. Laura leaned forward to place her prayer book on the shelf and said, ‘I would prefer to be asked first.’
‘You have already done the asking,’ Avery remarked. He picked up a hymn book, consulted the numbers on the board and rifled through until he found the first before placing it before Laura. ‘I am merely trying to exhibit some dignity by not screaming and thrashing about in the trap you believe you have sprung.’
To her horror her eyes began to sting. Laura dropped to her knees on the hassock and buried her face in her hands until she got the urge to cry under control.
The congregation came to their feet and Avery put a hand under her elbow to hoist her up. ‘Or do you propose to remain there, praying for forgiveness?’
Laura ignored him, sat down and remained seated through the entire service. She helped Alice with her hymn book, moved her lips as though she was singing and fought her temper and her fear.
Finally the vicar and choir processed out and the congregation gathered their possessions and began to file down the aisle towards the south door. Laura had no idea what she said to the vicar as they left, although she must have said something reasonably coherent because he smiled and shook hands and no one seemed shocked.
Avery waited for his phaeton. ‘Gregg, take Miss Alice to Miss Blackstone, please. If she has already left, then walk Miss Alice back to the house.’
With a sinking sense of helplessness Laura allowed herself to be helped into the seat and waved to Alice with the best imitation of cheerfulness she could manage. Avery got in, took the reins and sent the greys off at a brisk trot in the opposite direction to the house.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To hell in a hand basket, I imagine.’ Avery turned into a lane and drove on until it widened into a little meadow beside a stream. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the brook plashed cheerfully amongst its stones. An exquisite spot for a proposal, Laura thought, wondering if Avery’s sense of irony had led him to select it for that reason.
He pulled off onto the grass, stuck the whip in its holder and tied the reins around the handle. ‘I have to give you full marks for tactics, my sweet.’ The endearment was like a slap in the face. ‘The slipper on the floor outside my door was masterly.’ She did not trouble to deny it had been deliberate, but concentrated on aligning the markers in her prayer book as though the fate of nations depended on their straightness. ‘And as for your performance in bed, why, that was positively professional. Anyone would have thought you were actually enjoying yourself.’
The book fell to the floor of the carriage, the markers blew away in the breeze that did nothing to cool her burning cheeks. ‘I was not pretending and neither were you. You know there is something between us. You said as much back in the village after we first met. Desire.’
‘I am impressed by your ability to separate your emotions from your passions, then.’ Avery looked down at his hand, opened his clenched fist and began to strip off his gloves. Laura saw one had split along the seam. ‘The general wisdom is that it takes a kick in the groin or a bucket of cold water over the head to stop a man performing, but that ladies are far more sensitive. I doubt I could have lost myself in the moment quite as thoroughly if I was engaged in such a masterpiece of deceit at the same time.’
‘You drove me to it.’ She turned her shoulder to him. If she could just spring down from the carriage, confront him face-to-face instead of being forced to sit passively next to him. If only she had the courage to tell him she loved him. ‘If you had not forbidden me any access to Alice, I would have been content, but you had to take her from me utterly. Utterly. How could you be so cruel?’
‘Well, you have got what you wanted, for I doubt any respectable woman is going to accept an offer from me now, with this on top of the prejudice about Alice’s birth.’
She had to be certain. Laura swivelled on the seat to look at him. Avery had leaned forward, rested his forearms on his long thighs and was staring at his clasped hands. ‘You...you will marry me?’
He looked up at that and his lips curved into a smile that chilled her to the marrow. So must a master swordsman look when he was about to run through some hapless opponent. ‘But of course.’
‘And we will live together, with Alice? Be a family?’
‘Of course,’ he repeated. ‘Your powers of acting are established and you will find mine are almost as good. Alice will not be affected by any household rift. As for when we are alone, my dear, we will keep separate suites. I will come to you when I wish to get you with child, for as long as it takes, and, how shall I put this...doing only what it takes. I think I will settle for the conventional heir and a spare. You need not fear my demands will be onerous.’
The ice congealed around her heart so she could almost hear it cracking. ‘I imagine your mistress will be glad to have so much of your company, then,’ Laura said. She could almost feel pleasure that she sounded so indifferent.
‘I keep my vows,’ Avery said, and now she could hear the anger beneath the even, slightly mocking tone. ‘I have no mistress now, nor will I take one. You may be sure I will be faithful, my dear.’
‘So you expect us both to suffer?’
‘Suffer?’ He shrugged. ‘Sexual release is a mechanical matter, I do not expect to experience any pain of deprivation.’
‘But we could have had so much more,’ Laura flung at him and took hold of his lapels, shook him, desperate to crack the mocking facade.
‘We could have had,’ Avery agreed. ‘You have ensured we never will.’
When her hands dropped away from his coat he dug in his pocket and produced a small box. ‘You see, I came prepared. Think of the pleasure of displaying this to Lady Amelia and her friends.’ The square-cut diamond glittered in the sunlight. Beautiful, cold, expensive.
‘Thank you,’ Laura said steadily as she drew off her left glove and held out her hand. ‘I must obviously take my pleasures where I may. You can be sure I will gloat in the most ladylike manner.’
