Amanda Scott by Lord Abberley’s Nemesis Page A

his fifties, with thinning gray hair. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched upon his bony nose, and through these he surveyed the world with a birdlike alertness. The air of alertness, however, as both Margaret and Lady Celeste were well aware, was misleading. More likely than not, Mr. Maitland, rather than attending to what was being said to him, was thinking of something altogether different, such as an interesting passage he had read in one of the classics the previous evening. At the moment, he was faithfully doing his duty.
    “A dreadful business,” he said as he accepted a cup of India tea from Margaret’s hand, “that even men as young as Sir Michael should so utterly fall. But,” he added more cheerfully, “they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength and shall mount up with wings of eagles and not be weary. They shall—”
    “Papa, you are not in the pulpit now,” said Miss Pamela Maitland softly from her chair near Lady Celeste. He blinked at her, and she smiled back at him, a singularly sweet smile. Blonde and blue-eyed but long of face and lacking much in the way of a figure, Pamela Maitland was not a beauty. She was, however, one of the most popular young ladies in northern Hertfordshire, for her sweet nature and her many kindnesses had long since made her welcome everywhere, from tenants’ cottages to the great houses. She was Margaret’s age and one of her dearest friends. When the vicar, quite unoffended, began to sip his tea, she turned to Lady Celeste. “We are truly pleased to see you home again, ma’am.”
    “Can’t deny it’s good to be back in Hertfordshire,” acknowledged her ladyship with a bright smile. “There’s much to be said for the gaiety of Vienna, but there’s naught amiss with a bit of peace and quiet, either.”
    Pamela smiled again. “I believe we can promise you quite as much peace and quiet as you can tolerate, ma’am. Nothing untoward ever happens hereabouts, unless it’s young Timothy up to mischief.”
    “Sir Timothy,” corrected her father gently, proving that, upon occasion, he did listen to what others said.
    “Indeed,” Pamela said with a laugh, “though he is rather small to suit one’s notion of a baronet. How is he faring, Margaret?”
    “Well enough for the most part,” Margaret told her. “You’re right about the mischief, though. He’s already had more than one turn-up with Jordan just since our arrival, and I’m given to understand that such incidents are by no means unusual. His nanny seems to have taken a pet over something Jordan said to her about her methods of raising children, and she left a day or two before we arrived. I haven’t really thought about what to do with Timothy now. He’s too young to send to school, but I don’t know if a new nanny is the answer or not.” She didn’t want to mention that, until she had word from Abberley, she dared not take the initiative herself where her nephew was concerned, but Pamela seemed to understand her predicament well enough.
    “Have you thought about sending him to Papa for lessons?” she asked. “No one could object to such a scheme, surely.”
    “The very thing,” agreed Lady Celeste before Margaret could speak. “What do you say, Mr. Maitland?”
    The vicar looked at her blankly. “Say? What do you wish me to say, my lady? A fool’s voice is known by a multitude of words; thus, I should not wish to speak without knowing the subject upon which I am to discourse.”
    “I expect that means you weren’t listening,” said her ladyship sagely, “but ’tis deeds, not words, we want from you, sir. Can you undertake to tutor my great grandnephew?”
    “Sir Timothy?”
    “Of course, Sir Timothy. He should be well-grounded in Latin and numerous other subjects before he goes off to Eton next year, after all.”
    “Indeed, yes,” agreed the vicar, much struck. “Does he not have a governess?”
    “No,” replied Margaret. “Could you do it, sir? We should be