She was still young and considered handsome. She had a doting husband, three children, and an active social life. She enjoyed good health and excellent credit, but still the frown was quite pronounced. “What has got you in the hips?” her brother asked, not greatly interested. “What am I ever plagued about these days? It is Lady Barbara, of course.” “What has the hellion done to set the town on its ear today?” he asked, with a little smile of anticipation that took the harsh edge from his face. As one of London’s more eligible bachelors, Lord Clivedon was accustomed to hear himself called handsome, though he was not precisely so. He was dark of complexion, with features more rugged than refined, but when he smiled, he created an illusion of handsomeness. A well-cut coat was on his shoulders, a well-tied cravate at his neck, and blindingly polished Hessians on his feet. “I don’t know that she has stirred yet today—it’s only ten-thirty, and after being out till four this morning, I expect she is still in her bed.”
