The Duchess of Haverford’s waiting salon might intimidate any young lady. Bel Westcott was terrified. After the fiasco at the duchess’s venetian breakfast two years ago caused by food prepared by her own hands, she had good reason.

“Calm down, Bel. She is both wise and kind. She knows it wasn’t your fault.” Bel’s best friend Merrilyn Finchwater, ever loyal, had been there when half the ton was sickened by food prepared in Bel’s kitchen.

Bel had her doubts.

Just then, the rather stern young woman who was Her Grace’s current secretary returned. “She will see you now.” It didn’t help that she cast Bel a sympathetic glance.

Regal and dignified, in subdued silk and simple pearls, the duchess yet radiated warmth and welcome from her high-backed chair. A fine porcelain tea set, bright white with delicate lavender flowers sat on the table at her side.

“Come sit with me ladies. It is good of you to join me.”

Bel murmured thanks. Her Grace requested their preferences and made certain to satisfy the polite requirements of tea service.

“I’ve quite looked forward to speaking with you for some time, Miss Westcott. What is it that troubles you?” the duchess said.

Bel’s head jerked up from her absorption in her own slippers to gaze directly at the duchess. “I— The venetian breakfast so humiliated me. All those people ill, and your fete ruined. I can barely face you.”

“My dear! That was two years ago. And I have reason to believe it was not your fault,” Her Grace said.

“Quite right, Your Grace. Bel would never,” Merrilyn said. “Her cousin—””

“Yes, yes, Lady Finchwater, I know. The not so Honorable Cecil Hartwell had his grubby hands all over it. My son Aldridge assured me that was the case and that the miscreant was dealt with,” the duchess said.

Bel stiffened her spine. “But I bear the stigma even now.”

Her Grace studied Bel carefully. “So you do. And that ridiculous nickname follows you. Westcott Menace. What nonsense. It has recently risen again among the gossips.”

“Untruths are spreading again, Your Grace,” Merrilyninterjected. “Lady Arncastle attended the house party at Hartwell Hall and has piled story on story.”

Both women looked to Bel. She nodded firmly. “Most of the stories Lady Arncastle spreads are untrue.”

“Most.” The duchess’s eyes twinkled. “But not all?”

Heat crept up Bel’s neck and burned her cheeks. “There was one thing. I…”

“Poisoned Lady Sophie Gilray?” The duchess asked, brow raised imperiously.

“Never!” Bel exclaimed. “That is, I may have tainted the cocoa but it wasn’t meant for my cousin Sophie. And John, well I was mistaken in him, and I thought—”

“You thought to get your own back for what happened two years ago.” The duchess completed the thought.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess leaned forward and whispered “Good for you,” startling Bel right out of her attack of remorse. She sat back. “And I have reason to suspect things turned out well in the end.”

Merrily beamed and nudged Bel. “They certainly did. Tell her, Bel.”

Bel did better. She reached in her reticule and pulled out a card printed in formal letters, and invitation. She handed it to the duchess.

“Marriage to John Conlyn, Earl of Ridgemont! Oh well done, my dear. You may be certain I will attend.

Bel smiled then, confidently. Things truly had turned out well in the end.

Snowed by the Wallflower

By Caroline Warfield

Belinda Westcott doesn’t want to injure the Earl of Ridgemont. She merely wants to humiliate him. After all, one good prank deserves a payback. How could she anticipate that it would go so terribly wrong, or that he would turn out to be nothing like she expected?

Skilled in both chemistry and cooking, Belinda happily hides in her aunt’s kitchen rather than risk embarrassment at the ongoing house party. The unexpected appearance of the earl and a skating party present the perfect opportunity to embarrass him in front of some snooty society miss. Unfortunately, his partner is Belinda’s own cousin, and even worse, the cousin drinks the hot chocolate—laced with emetics—meant for the earl.

As plain Major John Conlyn, John had sunk into a morose of dissipation when first released from the army. Neither his actions nor his companions make him proud. The death of a beloved cousin shocked him back to sense. It also made him an earl and the heir to his grandfather, a duke. He’s been ordered to find a wife and settle down. He wouldn’t mind, but now he’s surrounded by flighty debutantes and their grasping mothers. The one woman who interests him avoids him. She acts as if she despises him. Is it possible he did something when out of control that he ought to apologize for, something he can’t recall?

https://books2read.com/snowedbywallflower

What happened at the Duchess of Haverford’s venetian breakfast? Be sure to read Jude Knight’s The Blossoming of the Wallflower to find out.