“You must be mistaken, Count. You yourself heard the engagement.”
“One word apart, Monsieur Bromley.”
“Certainly.” The two retired to a grove adjacent.
“You recollect the compact we made, my friend, the night of the ball at Conisbro’ House.”
“I recollect the compact you proposed.”
“My part of it is complete, I dare say, with your assistance. Rely on me as regards la petite belle-sœur la Florence. Mademoiselle Constance, with the consent of Miladi Cogues and her own, is my affianced bride.”
“Indeed, Monsieur le Comte! till this moment I believed she was mine. You will pardon me in your turn, but for such a statement I must, under the circumstances, demand a little corroboration—especially as the waltz is already begun.”
Taking the Count’s arm, he forced rather than persuaded him to the spot where Lady Coxe and her daughter were still standing. Constance was pale as death—Lady Coxe a deep magenta.
“Lady Coxe, the Count tells me I may congratulate you on having secured him as a son-in-law. May I do so?”
“’E ’as my full consent.”