He was gushingly polite to her and doting toward Belinda, who had just arrived back at the Hall. “My dear, dear Belinda,” he said, retaining her hand. “I do hope you will permit me to address you so. I grew so accustomed to poor George talking of his lovely Belinda . . .” He sighed. “What a sad house this has been, but destined for happier days now, I’m sure.” Mr. Macy, man-about-town and intimate of royalty, was undeniably possessed of an air of elegant sophistication. His spindly legs, topped by an ample paunch, had been given a veneer of manliness by excellent tailoring and handsome, gleaming Hessian boots. His hair was an unlikely shade of chestnut, brushed up to give its sparsity a more youthful fullness. Chloe had long suspected he used rouge on his sallow skin, but if so, she had to confess, it was done with subtlety so one could never quite be sure. He turned his easy smile on Justin and Chloe, and Belinda retrieved her hand. To Chloe, she did not seem overwhelmed by Mr.
