March smiled at Allen, who sat slumped and gloomy at the breakfast table. “Miss Onslowe, you must be my advocate here.” “Please do stay, Mr. Pendale,” Clarissa said. She licked pineapple juice from her fingers. What luxury, pineapple for breakfast—every day, if she wished it. “My father expects me, sir.” You liar, Allen. He seemed in a dreadful mood, toying with a cup of coffee and glowering at the table—probably he had drunk far too much last night. “I’m sure his lordship can spare you another day. I’d like to show you the estate, and I’m sure the ladies will be disappointed if you don’t eat dinner with us tonight.” “Well, then, I shall be honored to accept, sir.” This with a brief smile. “Mr. Pendale.” Clarissa touched his hand. He snatched it away as if she’d burned him with hot coals. “Mr. Pendale, I’m very glad you are to stay. Miss Celia shall have her first dancing lesson and we’ll have need of partners for her.” “You’ve plenty of possible partners for a dancing class loafing around here,”
