By Mary Balogh
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Additional info for A Matter of Class
Good Lord, his mind was babbling, and he was missing what the Countess of Havercroft was saying. She had risen to her feet to say it, and Reggie scrambled to his again. “Mr. Mason, William,” she said, looking from Reggie’s father to Havercroft, “how can you possibly expect the young people to come to any sort of amicable agreement unless they are given the chance to speak privately with each other? We will leave them alone. Mrs. Mason, do come into the music room. ” And she swept across the room and opened a door that led to a connecting room—the music room, obviously.
And you too, Mr. ” Lady Annabelle Ashton sank back into the seat from which she had risen on their arrival. It was as close to one of the windows as it could be without actually falling out of it to the ground below. Reggie sat some distance from her. He would have lifted one hand to loosen the knot of his neckcloth, but such a gesture would suggest that he did not feel entirely comfortable, and he did not want to give anyone the satisfaction of suspecting that that was true. “Mr. Mason,” the countess said, her eyes on him, “have you met my daughter?
Mason’s one consuming ambition is to wiggle his way into the ranks of the beau monde. And while he has not been able to accomplish that goal on his own account even after thirty years or more of trying, now at last he has seen an opportunity for his son and has not hesitated to seize it. You may be ruined, Annabelle, but you are still the daughter of the Earl of Havercroft. You are still Lady Annabelle Ashton. You are still a prize worth having to someone of Mason’s ilk. ” Annabelle gathered her aristocratic dignity about her and raised disdainful eyebrows—as well as her nose and her chin.