Seductive Deception

Chapter 14

Morgan let his mind ramble as he bobbed along in his barouche with Lady Rosamund Meade that Wednesday afternoon, a light drizzle and dense fog finally letting up. The park was sparse for an afternoon, despite a few gentlemen with new horseflesh who took to trotting around to a spectacle of awed children. The scent of wet grass and moist earth permeated the air as dulled horse clops surrounded them.

He'd met with the elusive Madam Cerise for several weeks and couldn't stop reliving every moment in memory. And since he'd met a dead-end finding Allegra, he struggled to reconcile his feelings for Madam Cerise.

He'd taken her advice that morning, ensuring the roof collapsed before Lady Rosamund rode with him in the park, despite the possibility of more rain. Morality trumped weather in the ton, so it seemed—yet another ridiculous rule.

"Riding," he recalled, as Madam Cerise leaned forward on the chaise that particular meeting, golden candlelight cascading over the room and making her glow like some sort of ethereal goddess, "Never in a closed carriage," she admonished, "unless the lady has a chaperone, never on the side in view of the horses and never next to the lady, always opposite her."

He made a mental checklist, checking the items off as he remembered her listing them.

"There is a great deal of conditions," he jested, "perhaps we should walk instead."

Her lip quirked. "I suppose there are, which is why I'm a better teacher than a student."

He smirked to himself at the memory.

In between his continual efforts to find Lady Allegra, through post, he spent the other half of his time practicing his skills.

He attended a dinner party at Lord and Lady Aschcombe's where he was seated beside Lady Hester Brown, arriving to their party on time—which Madam Cerise advised was uncouth as he should have arrived fifteen minutes late— but he was determined to rectify his transgressions as he made a mental note of Madam Cerise's teachings, rattling them off in his head as they waited patiently in the drawing room for a servant to ring the dinner bell:

Gloves must be removed before eating, never slurp, use the appropriate utensils for the appropriate course, never interrupt, never raise your voice, be modest, don't eavesdrop, never speak of money or ill of someone else after they've left the room, and of course, always bow when greeting others.

Unfortunately, he'd blanked when he stared down at the silver gleaming back at him beside his plate. However, he'd astutely studied others, watching discreetly as they picked up their oyster forks, leaving them behind for their dinner forks.

"Do you care for cats, Lord Whittington?"

He didn't really have any opinion on cats, but Madam Cerise's words echoed in his brain. "You must take an interest in her interests. No matter how mundane."
He'd be sure to admonish her over the agony he'd had to endure listening to Lady Brown's feline antics over the course of their seven-course meal.

"I name them all after royalty."

He took a sip of his goblet, praying that somehow over the minute she spoke, his water had turned to wine. Alas, it had not.

"I have Victoria, she's plump and quite humble. Do not take me wrong, Lord Whittington, it is an honor for a cat to be so plump, I do not mean to imply anything wicked."

Morgan didn't know how a cat could be humble, but of course, he kept his mouth shut.

"I have Georgie, he prefers this name to George, which is much too stuffy for his liking. He's a tom cat, you see. And he has huge paws. Much like this."