And he had learned his lesson well that time. In eleven years he had had no relationship with a woman. He bedded one when he felt the need, sometimes the same woman on more than one occasion if she were beautiful enough. and if she satisfied his needs well enough. But he had never set up a mistress and had never come closer to a woman of his own class than the occasional conversation at a dinner table or the rare dance at a ball if he felt he could not avoid it.
The Earl of Raymore set down his empty glass on the polished table at his right elbow and moved into the dining room.
Chapter 2
Sylvia and Rosalind were awed when they entered the Earl of Raymore's home. The hall was enormous, the marble floor echoing beneath their footsteps. White marble busts lined the walls, huge paintings hung above them, gleaming chandeliers were suspended from the high ceiling. A broad marble staircase ascended from the center of the hall, two branches leading to an upper gallery and the upstairs apartments.
A wooden-faced butler conducted the two young ladies past impressive liveried footmen and ushered them into a salon. He bowed himself out and closed the double doors behind him.
"Surely Carlton House cannot be grander than this," Sylvia whispered. Somehow it seemed inappropriate to speak aloud in such surroundings. "Our guardian must be enormously wealthy, Ros."
Rosalind was standing with her back to the room, her attention caught by the painting over the mantel. "It is surely a Rembrandt original," she said in awe.
"Oh, do you think so?" Sylvia asked, glancing briefly at the painting. "Ros, I feel decidedly nervous. How long will he keep us waiting here, do you suppose?"