Amanda Scott by Sisters Traherne (Lady Meriel's Duty; Lord Lyford's Secret) Page B
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and looking up at the tall gentleman beside her. “Gladys doesn’t hold with menfolk,” she said.
“All menfolk?” His eyebrows arched comically.
“Nearly all. She was married years ago, but I don’t think he can have amounted to much, and he died in circumstances that she refuses to discuss. My brothers and sisters and I, I regret to confess, have spent many a cheerful hour making up appalling adventures for him, though none of us ever met him.”
“Has she no family?”
“A sister somewhere. She’s mentioned her from time to time, but the sister is married, and they do not correspond. Her father was something of a brute, I believe, for though she has admitted having one, she always curls her lip when she speaks of him.”
Sir Antony shook his head. “She is certainly not what I have been accustomed to in ladies’ maids,” he said.
“Are you accustomed to so many, then, sir?” Meriel inquired demurely.
His eyes danced. “Enough, ma’am, to have discovered that they have a habit of getting damnably in my way, and I’ve a strong notion that your Gladys Peat has just served notice of an intention to be the worst of such nuisances that I’ve yet encountered.”
“Surely she would not forget her place, Sir Antony.”
“Poppycock,” he retorted. “Her attitude back there—in my own bedchamber, might I remind you—was that of a haughty dowager thanking a minion of the lowest extreme for a slight service. It was not that of a maidservant knowing her place.”
Meriel smiled up at him sweetly. “I am persuaded, sir, that she will soon learn she has no need to protect me from a gentleman so kind and considerate as yourself.”
The sound emitting from the tall gentleman’s throat just then was certainly a snort, but she chose to ignore it, thanking him again for his kind offices on Gwenyth’s behalf and excusing herself to look in upon Eliza, who had repaired to their own cabin to rest. Since by this time they had reached the door to that cabin, Sir Antony was left with nothing to do but bow and wish her well.
Meriel discovered that Eliza was not resting at all but was seated at a small desk near the head of the curtained bed, primping while she regarded her lovely reflection in a hand mirror. As Meriel entered, the younger girl turned, the fingers of her free hand still entwined in one honey-colored ringlet.
“Oh, Meriel, how is Gwenyth?”
“She will do. Gladys is with her now.”
Eliza nodded, returning her attention to the mirror and peering closely at her face.
“Have you got a spot forming or something?” Meriel inquired.
“No, thank heaven.” The younger girl straightened, setting the mirror down with a sigh. “I say, Meri, do you not think Mr. Trent is very handsome?”
“Good gracious, Eliza, he is a manservant.”
“I know,” Eliza replied, “but do you think him handsome?”
“He is well enough, I suppose,” Meriel said, racking her memory for a vision of Sir Antony’s valet and finding it difficult to remember what he looked like. “Really, dear, you must cease this foolish tendency to regard every gentleman you meet in some idiotishly romantical light.” Her gaze shifted to a slim leather-bound volume lying open, facedown, upon the bed, its gilt lettering gleaming brightly.
Though she said nothing, her tact went unnoticed, for Eliza’s gaze had followed hers, and the younger girl said tartly, “I know you cannot approve of the books I read, Meri, but there is truly no harm in them, and I do not imagine myself to be one of the heroines, regardless of what you and Auntie Wynne believe.”
Meriel sighed. “I trust you have better sense than most of your heroines have, Eliza. Now you had best begin preparing for dinner, however. I believe they mean to serve it shortly after noon in the dining cabin.”
The dining cabin was situated between the ladies’ saloon and the great cabin on the upper deck and was scarcely large enough to contain more than half the
“All menfolk?” His eyebrows arched comically.
“Nearly all. She was married years ago, but I don’t think he can have amounted to much, and he died in circumstances that she refuses to discuss. My brothers and sisters and I, I regret to confess, have spent many a cheerful hour making up appalling adventures for him, though none of us ever met him.”
“Has she no family?”
“A sister somewhere. She’s mentioned her from time to time, but the sister is married, and they do not correspond. Her father was something of a brute, I believe, for though she has admitted having one, she always curls her lip when she speaks of him.”
Sir Antony shook his head. “She is certainly not what I have been accustomed to in ladies’ maids,” he said.
“Are you accustomed to so many, then, sir?” Meriel inquired demurely.
His eyes danced. “Enough, ma’am, to have discovered that they have a habit of getting damnably in my way, and I’ve a strong notion that your Gladys Peat has just served notice of an intention to be the worst of such nuisances that I’ve yet encountered.”
“Surely she would not forget her place, Sir Antony.”
“Poppycock,” he retorted. “Her attitude back there—in my own bedchamber, might I remind you—was that of a haughty dowager thanking a minion of the lowest extreme for a slight service. It was not that of a maidservant knowing her place.”
Meriel smiled up at him sweetly. “I am persuaded, sir, that she will soon learn she has no need to protect me from a gentleman so kind and considerate as yourself.”
The sound emitting from the tall gentleman’s throat just then was certainly a snort, but she chose to ignore it, thanking him again for his kind offices on Gwenyth’s behalf and excusing herself to look in upon Eliza, who had repaired to their own cabin to rest. Since by this time they had reached the door to that cabin, Sir Antony was left with nothing to do but bow and wish her well.
Meriel discovered that Eliza was not resting at all but was seated at a small desk near the head of the curtained bed, primping while she regarded her lovely reflection in a hand mirror. As Meriel entered, the younger girl turned, the fingers of her free hand still entwined in one honey-colored ringlet.
“Oh, Meriel, how is Gwenyth?”
“She will do. Gladys is with her now.”
Eliza nodded, returning her attention to the mirror and peering closely at her face.
“Have you got a spot forming or something?” Meriel inquired.
“No, thank heaven.” The younger girl straightened, setting the mirror down with a sigh. “I say, Meri, do you not think Mr. Trent is very handsome?”
“Good gracious, Eliza, he is a manservant.”
“I know,” Eliza replied, “but do you think him handsome?”
“He is well enough, I suppose,” Meriel said, racking her memory for a vision of Sir Antony’s valet and finding it difficult to remember what he looked like. “Really, dear, you must cease this foolish tendency to regard every gentleman you meet in some idiotishly romantical light.” Her gaze shifted to a slim leather-bound volume lying open, facedown, upon the bed, its gilt lettering gleaming brightly.
Though she said nothing, her tact went unnoticed, for Eliza’s gaze had followed hers, and the younger girl said tartly, “I know you cannot approve of the books I read, Meri, but there is truly no harm in them, and I do not imagine myself to be one of the heroines, regardless of what you and Auntie Wynne believe.”
Meriel sighed. “I trust you have better sense than most of your heroines have, Eliza. Now you had best begin preparing for dinner, however. I believe they mean to serve it shortly after noon in the dining cabin.”
The dining cabin was situated between the ladies’ saloon and the great cabin on the upper deck and was scarcely large enough to contain more than half the
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