A Christmas Affair by Joan Overfield Page B

liked to throw her aunt’s offer back in her face, she knew she didn’t have the luxury of such an action. For her family’s sake, she would hear the old tartar out before making any decision.
    “Well, naturally I shouldn’t be so lacking in familial responsibilities as to deny my nieces the only home they have known,” Mrs. Herrick rushed on. “Indeed, I should never be half so cruel! And I suppose some provision might be made for the others. The military for the boys, perhaps, and a nice charitable school for the girl. Mrs. McAbernathy’s establishment in Kent has a very good reputation, and the child would receive training as a governess so we needn’t fear she would become a burden to us.”
    “Belinda would never be a burden to me,” Amanda retorted, her eyes almost black with fury. “And as for Stephen and the twins, they remain with me. We are a family, ma’am. A family.”
    “Brave words, my dear,” Mrs. Herrick scoffed, still refusing to believe she had lost. “But how do you propose to support this
family
of yours? That handsome wastrel your mother so foolishly married — quite against my advice, I might add — left you without a feather to fly with! You’ve been scraping along until now, but without your brother’s inheritance I think you will find things far more difficult. With me, at least, you will have a home.”
    “With you, Aunt, I would have a prison,” Amanda replied, rising proudly to her feet. “And I would as lief starve as be beholden to you for so much as a bread crust! Leave my study.”
    “Why, you insolent little hoyden! Who do you think you are talking to?” Mrs. Herrick stumbled to her feet, her chest rising and falling in her agitation. “This is my house now, and—”
    “No.” Amanda’s proud words cut into her aunt’s tirade. “It is
my
house, and for the moment at least, I have final say as to whom I choose to shelter here. I do not chooseto shelter you.”
    Mrs. Herrick was almost apoplectic she was so furious. “You . . . you baggage!” she shrieked pointing a shaking finger at Amanda. “I won’t be spoken to like this! I am your aunt, missy, and you will regret this! You will regret this!”
    The door to the study flew open at the sound of raised voices, and the butler and one of the footmen stood in the doorway, gaping at the two combatants with undisguised interest. Amanda drew an uneven breath for control and then turned to the elderly butler.
    “Aunt Elizabeth will be leaving, Linsley,” she said, her soft voice firm despite the fact her legs were trembling with reaction. “Kindly see that her bags are packed and that she is driven into the village.”
    “Y-yes, Miss Lawrence,” he stammered, watery eyes flickering toward Mrs. Herrick. “Ma’am?”
    For a moment Amanda thought her aunt would succumb to the vapors, but in the end, breeding won out. “Very well,
Miss Lawrence”—
she spat out the name as if it were an epithet — “you win . . . for now. But when I return, you may be quite sure I shall make you pay for such insolence. All of you.” Her eyes flashed meaningfully in Linsley’s direction before she brushed past them, her nose held high in the air as she stalked up the stairs.
    Amanda collapsed against the door, her defiance melting like the morning dew under a summer sun. She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them to send Linsley an apologetic smile. “I am sorry, Linsley,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I hadn’t meant to include you in all this.”
    “Nonsense, miss.” The old man drew himself up proudly. “As butler, ’tis my duty to show undesirable persons the door. And in the case of your esteemed aunt, ’twas also my pleasure.”
    Amanda’s smile softened and then disappeared. “She is the new owner of Lawrence Hall.”
    “I know, miss.”
    Of course he knew, she thought, turning back toward the parlor; Linsley knew everything. The man was a veritable fount of information, and the oddest thing was